Chapter Thirty #3
“What?” He eyes popped wide. “Y-You’re saying you’d step aside?”
“I am.” I fought the jittery mess of my pulse.
“But I would also fight like hell because what you saw is true. I would cut out my heart if she wanted to dine on it. I would cut out the heart of all those she asked me to. I’m twisted, I won’t deny that.
But what you didn’t see is...when I love someone, I become the most faithful son of a bitch.
And Ily loves you. Therefore, I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. ”
He staggered a little. “She said that? That she loves me?”
I sighed.
I really, really didn’t want to hurt him.
I tried not to say it.
I said it anyway. “As a friend. A cousin perhaps.”
“A cousin?” He winced. “She said she loves me like a cousin?”
“Fuck’s sake.” Raking both hands through my hair, I glowered.
“No, you fool. We don’t exactly lie around talking about you.
I have no idea how she feels about you. I just...
I saw the way she looked at you before Emerald Bruises started.
You were high and hurting and her heart fucking broke for you. ”
“Because she loves me...”
“Because she cares about you. Look, I have to go. I don’t trust anyone in this godforsaken place and can’t think straight when she isn’t near me. Are we doing this or not?”
“You think a sob story of you as a kid is gonna earn my trust?”
“Merde, you’re hard work.” Crowding him, I held out my hand. “You need a vow? Fine. I’m in. I’m all fucking in. I’m doing this—not for you or for her—but for my brothers and sisters who I failed when I was younger. I’m in, alright?”
Peter never broke eye contact.
His worry and fear faded a little as he looked at my outstretched hand.
“Come on, Peter...” Ticking time scratched against my nerves. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Swallowing hard, he studied me.
He saw me.
Judged me.
And then, he softened.
His hate turned to hope.
His loathing to trust.
And for the first time in my pitiful life, I felt a brotherly bond.
The same bond I’d tried to cultivate with Q.
I hated that it was with the man who wanted what I had, but...it also made sense.
We were the same in that respect.
Slowly, he inserted his gloved hand into mine.
We both winced at the contact.
Both cringed away from the sensation of signing our lives over to each other.
“It’s Paavak,” he said with a proud edge, shaking my hand. “Paavak Chauhan.”
“Henri Mercer.”
His lips twitched. “And you’re not a cop.”
“Better.” I grinned and broke the shake. “I have no laws I need to follow and already have blood on my hands. What’s a little more?”
Stepping into me, his voice dropped to a quieter whisper. “When the time comes to kill Victor...I-I want that right.”
My eyes flared. “Fine.”
“In that case...” Stepping back, he nodded at the cook beckoning us to hurry.
“So far, we’ve made twenty-three small bombs and hidden them in the bedrooms that aren’t used.
We’re on track to making eighty of the damn things, including a few sketchy ones that Mollie doesn’t want to make but Rachel says are needed if we want to cause structural damage.
We have a few cleaners on our side and most of the jewels.
We haven’t told the new slaves yet for obvious reasons.
We have two gardeners working for us and most of the kitchen staff.
And are currently trying to figure out what guards could be turned.
If you can get a guard or two on our side, then it would mean we had a few guns for when the time comes. ”
He gave me a weary look. “That reminds me. The night of the treasure hunt, Ily and I overheard Master L—Larry—say that he has a guard on retainer and plans on killing you with their gun.”
“Wait, what?”
“Keep your wits about you and stay alert. Not sure who he’s bribed, but...I’ll let you know if I find out anything more.”
“Gee thanks.”
His eyes got shifty as he glanced around the kitchens.
“Joyero will be busy until Christmas, especially now that Victor has allowed his guests back. We need you to keep him distracted. Listen if he starts making noises about anything we’re doing.
If he sounds suspicious or gives you any reason to think he’s onto us, let us know immediately. ”
My heart thudded painfully. “You’re planning on blowing the place up?”
He nodded. “Christmas Day Victor will be here, mostly alone. A few stragglers will be here too—those without a family or kids to entertain on the big day. We’ll have all the presents go off at noon. And then...we just have to hope.”
Shit.
I didn’t speak, absorbing the mess he’d just described.
Fidgeting, Peter asked quietly, “So...what do you think of the plan?”
Yes, the plan.
I had a fuck ton of issues with it.
I’d read enough books to know that the grand plans of attack and surprise never went like the characters expected them to.
Especially a ragtag bunch of people who had no experience in war.
I exhaled hard. “Want my honest opinion?”
“I don’t know...do I?”
“I’m assuming by bombs you mean smoky things that have to be lit by hand? Little fire starters that are more of a nuisance than catastrophic?”
“We’ve got all the usual household cleaning supplies. Diesel and petrol from the different generators and Styrofoam that Rachel says will make—”
“Homemade napalm.”
His eyebrows knitted together. “You know how to make it too?”
“I read. And if you intend on setting yourself on fire along with the entire island, then sure, make that. Napalm spreads in a second, melts even stone, and cannot be put out.” I struggled with another wash of despair.
The waves weren’t as thick now that Ily and I had talked, but I still suffered beneath the crushing, miserable weight.
Especially now.
Especially now that I’d heard their plan and came face to face with the very real notion that...there was no plan.
Not one that would work anyway.
“Even if you do manage to fly under Victor’s radar long enough to make your little ‘presents’, hide them, and find a way to light them all at the right time, unless you have weapons, you’re just as dead.”
“Well, you’re a bag of fucking positivity.”
“I’m only trying to help. Even if you succeeded and pulled off the impossible—because it is impossible unless you have proper ignition, fuses, fuel, correct placement, structural blueprints, etcetera—it’s a waste of bloody time.”
“You got a better idea?” Peter scowled.
“Nope, but I’ll think about it. I need to know every little detail. How are you keeping the chemicals separate before detonation? What fuses are you using? Do you have checkpoints and timeframes mapped out? Who lights what? What if one doesn’t go off and—?”
“Rachel is a chemist. Mollie is a quantum physicist. I’m leaving the finer details to them.”
“Still won’t work.” I checked my watch.
Too long.
Time to go.
Peter looked as if he’d punch me, but then he groaned and scrubbed his face.
Thick depression rose up and choked him.
“So you’re saying to give up before we’ve even begun?
What the fuck sort of advice is that? I told you...
I won’t survive. I’m done. I’m so fucking done that I’m ready to do anything, even if I die while doing it. ”
I fought the urge to leave. “Want to know what I’d do? What all the successful breakouts in the books I’ve read have done?”
“I’m dying with suspense.”