Chapter Nine
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Ily
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IF THE OLD ILY COULD SEE ME NOW...if she watched me willingly leave behind her only weapon and walk over the drawbridge into Victor’s fortress, she would’ve disowned me for my stupidity.
She would’ve screeched and shouted and ordered me to run and swim and do whatever it damn well took to get as far away from here as possible.
But...
But.
I sighed heavily as I glanced at the sorry company I kept.
I’d come here alone, yet somehow, I’d grown attached.
Three jewels and one Master.
All of us dripping in pain.
Leading the way, Henri prowled on bare feet. His left arm coated in blood from where Kyle stabbed him, his t-shirt soaked with murder.
We matched, him and me.
We all did.
He might be painted in blood, but the rich scarlet matched the red paint covering me.
Stars pinpricked the black velvet sky above. The hazy whirlpool of a galaxy gleamed brightly as if studying our sad procession.
Rachel walked beside me. Her own body covered in red paint like mine. When Henri had snatched Kyle’s gun, checked the canister still had paintballs, and aimed at Rachel and Mollie, I’d leapt in front of him.
“Don’t you dare shoot them.” I’d balled my hands, fighting through debilitating pain from all my bruises. I’d studied his blood-streaked face for some reaction. But there’d been none. He was a total stranger with every emotion shuttered and every feeling hidden.
He hadn’t spoken to me.
But he had spoken to them.
Arching his chin at the two jewels, he shrugged with indifference. “I don’t know what we’ll be walking into when we return, but I do know Victor will expect a winner. I’m claiming all of you. It’s the only way I can think of to keep you safe.”
Rachel and Mollie shared a look.
Keep you safe.
Such a protective sentence yet said with blood-tipped frost.
What did he mean by that?
Had he had a change of heart and seen the errors of his ways?
Is he going to help us?
Peter remained passed out, unable to offer his counsel.
What he’d said before...the comment about seeing something in Henri.
What had Peter seen?
Fragments of light?
Filaments of hope that Henri hadn’t truly forsaken his task?
I sucked in an optimistic breath; pain daggered right in my ribs.
The urge to bend over and hug my bruised chest faded as Rachel cupped her belly, shielding her new pregnancy.
I sucked in shallow breaths as she bit her lower lip.
Bracing her shoulders, she nodded. “You’re right.
Victor might be psychotic, but he’s strangely fixated on rules.
If you shoot us too, I doubt anyone else will have managed to shoot three jewels at close range.
He’ll add up the bruises and announce you as the winner. ”
None of us mentioned that the winner was entitled to do anything he wanted. And with how empty Henri looked, I honestly didn’t know how far he’d go.
He turned Kyle into ribbons.
“This is nuts.” I threw up my arms, immediately paying for the move with a flush of agony and that nasty stabbing in my side. “Let’s crack open a few balls and just smear the paint over you.”
“It has to be authentic.” Mollie stepped forward, jutting out her chest and presenting her faded bullseye. “The game is called Bruises, remember?”
I shook my head. “The colour doesn’t match. Henri was given orange paint.” I pointed at the area of his jeans that used to be tinged with brightness but only found blood. No sign of orange anywhere, thanks to him wearing every droplet of Kyle’s lifeforce.
“I don’t think it will matter.” Rachel dropped her arms and balled her hands. “Victor has a soft spot for him. I’ve never seen him be so tolerant to another Master before. That has to count for something.”
“What about Peter?” I glanced at our comatose friend. “We can’t shoot him while he’s borderline dead.”
Mollie nodded and pinned her brown eyes on Henri. “I agree with Ily. Just shoot us. Make every bullet count. But leave Peter alone.”
Henri merely nodded.
And then, he let fire.
The canister held far more rounds than I could’ve counted.
His aim stayed accurate as he worked his way down each girl’s legs and then shot at their shoulders and arms. At the end, he shot once...
directly at their bullseye. They staggered back in matching pain, but at least he hadn’t shot anywhere in their soft middles.
Who was this ice-cold man who moved like rigor mortis had set in, yet had the foresight not to hurt unnecessarily?
I wished Kyle had been that considerate.
Every organ throbbed. My liver and kidneys, stomach and womb. Perfectly round bruises swelled and grew hotter the deeper night fell.
Tossing the empty gun at Mollie, Henri muttered, “Bring that with us.” Then he strode toward the eviscerated corpse that used to be Kyle and hauled him over his shoulder like a dead deer.
My eyes widened as he headed toward the hidden exit where the other Masters had gone.
He disappeared, leaving the three of us to blink in exhaustion and try to figure out our next step.
I couldn’t get a read on him.
I daren’t ask him if he’d suddenly switched back to our side.
When he came back, minus a body, and headed toward the other Master he’d dispatched with a log to his head, he ordered, “Stay here.”
Those two words ignited a fire within us.
We didn’t listen.
All three of us fell into helping.
Henri staggered with his own injuries and exhaustion but didn’t order us to stop as Rachel and Mollie took a dead Master’s arm, and I helped Henri with the legs.
Silently, we’d carried the Master, slung like a hammock, out of the cave via a civilised tunnel and heaved our way up rough-hewn stairs that hinted the open-top cave was known and used, even if its wild appearance said otherwise.
Every step cost me.
Every shallow, painful breath not nearly enough for my winded, wounded frame.
I existed purely in the numbing shock of adrenaline.
At the top, we cut through the sparse trees and ended up at the cliffs.
Down below, the angry tide frothed and crashed.
Dusk had well and truly become night, and the half-moon granted just enough light to catch Henri’s nod. Without a word, we all joined in the rhythmic swing as we gathered up enough momentum to toss the body over the side.
We let go.
The body went sailing through the air.
No splash.
No sign he’d fallen.
Henri raked both hands through his blood-soaked hair, looked at the moon with a heavy exhale, then slowly led us back to the cave.
Peter lay in a small puddle of moonlight, looking as if this wasn’t just a resting spot but his new grave.
None of us said a word as Henri stumbled, righted himself, then headed toward Peter. His shoulders sagged with tiredness; his arm oozed with blood.
He towered over Peter with hands fisted and an unreadable black look. He studied my friend for so long, I feared he meant to dispatch him and leave him there.
Worry crawled up my spine.
If he means to kill him...
Both Rachel and I darted forward and barricaded ourselves in front of him. “What are you doing?”
He blinked as if the answer was obvious even though he didn’t speak.
Pushing us aside, Henri ducked to his haunches, gathered Peter’s unconscious limbs, and hoisted him into his arms.
My heart squeezed.
Hope, delicious hope.
All the pressure, the pain, and the fear of the day threatened to become too much as I witnessed a man who’d willingly bullied this jewel. A Master who’d judged him, ridiculed him, and been jealous of him—cradle him close as if he was a brother.
Tears stung my eyes as Henri swayed a little before clutching Peter closer to his chest.
Peter’s head flopped back, his shoulders supported by Henri’s arm and his legs draped over another.
Was Henri helping him because of tactic and schemes? Did he do this to stay in Victor’s good graces? Or was he helping because none of this was right? All of this was wrong. So very, very wrong.
And...he’d participated.
Silently, we followed him as he carried Peter out through the tunnel and up the stairs. I’d left the knife tucked discreetly behind a rock, aware the guards would steal it the moment I stepped foot into the stronghold.
Every instinct ordered me not to go back there, but...what choice did we have?
Enter with Henri as our reigning winner and trust him to keep us safe or...risk our lives by swimming.
Krish would never forgive me if I drowned.
No one spoke as we padded silently through the forest, climbing higher and higher, following the same paths we’d sprinted down this morning.
Every day since I’d arrived here, the hours had defied the usual length of a normal trip around the sun. It felt as if I’d been a prisoner for years, yet that journey through the woods felt like it lasted an eternity.
My muscles burned with bruises, my ribs felt far too sharp, and my feet had long stopped screaming for walking over painful things. I didn’t want to see how badly cut they were.
We were all spent by the time we broke out of the forest, sighing in relief as bare toes sank into the luscious grass of Victor’s runway.
Rachel bared her teeth as the stronghold with its battlement walls, sniper guards, spotlights, and star-puncturing turrets appeared.
Uplights danced over every chiselled stone.
Arrow slits and modern windows flickered like fireflies with illumination from within.
With its caged balconies and gargoyles, angels and pointy parapets, Victor’s home might be a nest full of monsters, but...
it looked rather beautiful in the starry night.
“You’re late,” a guard muttered as our feet thudded heavily over the drawbridge and traded open air for stagnant imprisonment.
Henri sniffed. “Long day.”
“The Master Jeweler is waiting for everyone to present in the ballroom. Rollcall should’ve finished three hours ago.”
“Tell him he can keep waiting.” Henri looked at Peter in his arms. “This jewel needs a doctor. Now.”
Scowling, the guard spoke into a radio hooked onto his black jacket. Muttering something, his eyes skimmed the rest of us, growing wider as he noticed how paint-covered we all were.