Chapter 19 Chapter 19
Tessa
“Say it, you. “You belong to me,” he said with a growl. I refused to say it, and he squeezed my throat again. “Come on, beauty,” he said again. As he continued thrusting into me. This was a violent act of ultimate possession. It was the claim of a man who had just executed a threat and was now branding his property. His fury was so consuming, leaving me shattered and undone. He was declaring, in the most primal, terrifying way possible, that I was completely his.
“Fuck, come for me, beauty,” he said with a growl, and on command my body reacted, and an orgasm tore through me. “Fuck,” he groaned.
The ultimate possession was complete; he leaned into me and kissed me again. “Now stop fucking around, or the next time will be worse,” he said, pulling away from me, causing me to sink to the ground. He left me there shaking alone in the cold. The game was over. I had lost everything; Alex was gone. But I was still imprisoned. The debt was paid, and the price was everything.
I heard the echo of boots on the concrete, and then there was a shadow over me. His face was still hidden, even his eyes. He bent down and tried to touch me, and I pushed his hands away; he grabbed my hands.
“Stop,” that was all he said before wrapping a blanket around me and picking me up in his arms. I didn't lean into him; I was just broken. He began walking; he took me back to the car and put me in.
“Be a good girl,” he said before closing the door and walking off into the dark of the night. I sat there for a long time, shaking and crying. I made a decision. I started the car, determined to get away from the world this time.
I don't remember the drive back home, not really. I drove the car out of the desolate, piss-cold Navy Yard, and the next thing I really registered was the familiar sting of the porch light hitting my eyes. It was eleven o'clock at night.
I was physically, mentally, and emotionally wrecked. My body was aching, my head felt stuffy and distant, and I was still reeling from what he did to me. Every single part of me was screaming, but there was a horrible, dead kind of calm wrapped around the screaming, too. Alex was gone. The immediate, suffocating threat was finally, finally removed. But the man who removed it was a hundred times scarier, and now he owned me. I was a debt that had just been violently settled, but the interest was terrifying.
I pulled into my driveway. The house looked safe, quiet, and normal. But I knew better now. Nothing was safe. Nothing was normal.
I killed the engine, but I didn't get out right away. I just sat there in the dark, staring at the porch. And that’s when I saw him.
Sitting on my front porch swing, looking completely out of place,was Carlo. What the hell was he doing here? He wasn't wearing his usual crisp, black suit; he was in dark jeans and a simple leather jacket, but he radiated that same intense, professional calm.
I pushed the car door open, making sure the blanket was wrapped tightly around me. The sound of the car door slamming was deafening in the quiet street. I walked up the path with unsteady legs. Carlo stood up when I reached the bottom step. In his hand, he held a dark canvas duffel bag. It looked heavy.
“Ms. Jansen," he said, his voice low, a deep rumble that barely broke the silence.
“Carlo,” I returned, my voice sounding rough and unused. I didn’t ask what he was doing here. I didn’t need to. The bag told the whole story.He stepped off the porch and met me halfway up the path, holding the bag out.
“Mr. Rhyland does not like debts. He said he promised payment, and I am here to deliver it,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. He shoved the bag into my hands. It wasn't heavy, and it was heavy at the same time.
This was the one million he offered for helping him. I just nodded at Carlo. He turned and walked back down the path to a completely black SUV idling down the street and disappeared into the night. Just like that. No emotion, no goodbye, no humanity. Just a delivery man finishing his shift.
I stood there alone, the heavy canvas bag dangling from my numb fingers. A million dollars.
This was it. I had enough money to disappear forever, and I would do it meticulously. That fucker would never find me. Let me see if his claim crossed international waters.
I fumbled with my keys; my hands were shaking again, but this time, it wasn't just fear. It was a cold, hard, clarifying fury. I dragged the bag inside and locked the door with every deadbolt and dropped the bag onto the living room floor. I didn't bother turning on the lights, using only the ambient street glow filtering through the windows.
I opened the bag.
It was packed tight with cash. Bundles of hundred-dollar bills, neatly stacked and wrapped This was my get-out-of-jail-free card. This was my chance to cut every single thread connecting me to Zaiel, to the Owner, to the Athena tower, to every single thing, and to this sick, broken life.
I went into autopilot; I wasn't Tessa anymore. I was an operative. A runner. First things first: change. Not clothes—identity.
I dragged the bag of cash into my bedroom and dumped it on the bed. Then I went to the small dresser where I kept my important papers. Birth certificate, social security card, old school IDs. Things that could be used as a start.
My plan formed instantly, cutting through the trauma fog.
Look: Change my appearance completely. Hair, contact lenses, clothes. Nothing that screams "Tessa Jansen."
Documents: Use the cash to buy new, high-quality forged identity papers. Mexico, then maybe Europe. Somewhere they wouldn't expect an American girl to go. I'd heard stories about places you could go if you had enough cash.
Go: Get out tonight. Now. Before the sun rose and their surveillance system rebooted, the stalker decided he missed his toy.
I rummaged through my closet, pulling out the most nondescript clothes I had. Black leggings, a plain grey hoodie, and a pair of old, worn-out hiking boots. Anything that wouldn't stand out.
I grabbed a pair of scissors and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. My long hair. It was too recognizable. It was the hair Alex had known, the hair Zaiel had seen, and the hair the stalker had pulled.
I picked up the scissors. It felt monumental, a terrifying and irreversible step. I chopped it. Not neatly. Not with care. Just a brutal, uneven hack job that left my hair ragged and shoulder-length. It felt like shedding skin. I hated how I looked like a madwoman; my eyes were red and swollen, but I didn't care. Tessa had to go.