It wasn’t often I was speechless, but I had nothing as I took the joint, pressed it between my lips, and lit the end. The spicy smoke gushed into my lungs as I inhaled deep.
If my go-to saviour could keep my mind on one thought and my pain far away, then I might have a chance at finding Pim sooner rather than later.
Because one thing was for sure, I wasn’t leaving the Phantom until I had a name and address.
And once I did…well, war was coming, and I didn’t care who would be making my enemies’ funeral arrangements.
Chapter Six
______________________________
Pimlico
I FLINCHED FOR the fiftieth time since grudgingly accepting Tess’s request for a few more minutes of my time.
Ha! It was more like an abduction than a request.
The second she’d slapped her husband, she’d yanked the baby from his embrace, hoisted him onto her hip, then turned and stalked toward me.
With the child squirming in one arm, she’d muttered something about needing another ten minutes to explain, then grabbed my wrist, and dragged me quick-sharp back into the house.
What I should’ve done was keep running.
What I should’ve done was given her the finger and refused.
That was what Tasmin would’ve done.
But Pim became my guiding force, slapping a gag over my lips and bowing my head in acquiescence.
I’d returned to the French chateau, but nothing could calm my over-sensitive reactions—not sitting on one of the comfy couches in the lounge. Not the French bull dog mix that’d passed out on the rug by my feet. Not the unwavering stare of the baby boy in his green two-piece.
I wish I’d kept running.
Nothing Tess could say could heal the bone-deep anger inside me.
I couldn’t look at her husband without my hands curling and fingernails imbedding themselves into my palms.
I’d never been a violent person. But sitting in that cosy lounge with true love tainting the air and a baby chirping happily in its mother’s arms, I was a hurricane of loathing ready to unspool.
Just as I couldn’t look at the father, I could barely look at the son.
The baby had such an intense stare it stripped me to my marrow. That shouldn’t be possible nor could it be allowed.
“Right then,” Tess snipped, glaring at her husband who still lurked in the foyer as if closing the front door was a mammoth task. She flashed me a worried smile. “Let’s get this mess sorted, shall we?” Bending down, she plopped the baby on the floor with a mismatch of toys, then crossed her arms and tapped her foot until the man I hated prowled into the room.
And he did prowl.
He moved like a predator—like something ready to tear into its prey with sharp teeth and lethal claws.
In another world, I would’ve found him handsome with his dark hair and widow’s peak, his calculating eyes and iciness that only true killers carried.
But now, I merely despised him.
His eyes narrowed as he rubbed his red cheek bright with her palm print. “Care to tell me why you slapped me, esclave?”
My ears twitched at the word. What did that mean and why did Tess shiver when he said it?
As quickly as she’d shivered, she turned into a statue, pointing a finger in his face. “You stupid man.”
His face turned black. “Pardon moi?”
“You heard me. You’re a moron. An idiot.”
“I suggest you stop calling me names, Tess. Otherwise, I’ll give you plenty of others to scream.” He didn’t look my way. He didn’t apologise for the heavy sexual undertones. He didn’t care in the slightest that I watched in my red and blue ballgown on their couch.
Before my father died, my parents had had their fair share of domestics.
But this…this was on a different level, and it wasn’t the words they used but the fierce passion in which they wielded them. I’d often heard my mother say only the finest line existed between love and hate.
And these two…they’d blurred that line into something passionately crucifying.
“I can’t believe you, Q. How many times did I say to check all the facts? To not let what happened to me dictate your choices and overrule common sense?”
“Don’t you dare lecture me, woman. Especially on something you have no fucking right to—”
“Watch your language.” She threw a quick look at her child who slobbered on a cream teddy bear.
“Watch what you accuse me of.” Her husband stalked closer, his head lowered, watching her from shadowed eyes. “You know I don’t do well with slurs, Tess.”
“It’s not a slur if it’s true! You screwed up. Just like I said you would if you didn’t stop to listen!”
“Oh, I listen,” Q seethed. “And I’m listening well to this conversation. You have no right to scream—”
“No one is screaming.”
He chuckled as black as hell. “You will be.”
My mouth fell open.
It was as if I didn’t exist.
Who were these people who blatantly flaunted whatever kink they were into with no regard to my opinions?