Page 532 of Coal Hearts

Then again, Peter had endured five years. Rachel three. Mollie who knew how long.

I could handle four months.

As long as we don’t get caught.

If everything goes to plan, we’ll be free in sixteen weeks.

And if you’re not?

I shut off that thought immediately.

Failure was not an option.

This Christmas, Victor would receive a present he never saw coming. A firework display explosive enough to burn his entire island down. And if luck was on our side and karma kept us safe, he’d never go hunting for jewels again.

* * * * *

“Have you asked him yet?” Peter murmured.

I nibbled on a piece of apricot shortcake May had given us when we’d huddled in the larder’s shadow four days later. Just Rachel, Peter, and me today. Mollie was busy making wicks in the slave quarters, hidden under her covers. Faiza had managed to sneak in three bottles of bleach, some pool chlorine, two bottles of pesticide, and even a bag of fertilizer pellets, courtesy of Willem, the gardener.

Our supplies were carefully tucked behind all the pasta, flour, and sugar boxes in the larder.

Peter leaned against the wall, his bandage-wrapped hands not as thick as that first day but still a nuisance. Passing him a napkin to protect his bandages, I gave him the rest of my shortcake.

He gave me a soft smile.

My heart surged with warmth, grateful for the friendship after the chilly few days I’d spent in Henri’s company.

I’d tried to seduce him.

I’d deliberately stepped out of the bathroom and dropped my towel by ‘accident’.

He choked and looked away.

I’d lain beside him and watched him type on that blasted laptop. I’d even touched his arm and sat up, leaning toward him like I had the night I’d been high on GHB.

He gritted his teeth and leapt out of bed.

He’d cradled his laptop and sat in the throne chair, resuming his frantic typing.

His grey eyes almost manic.

His skin etched with fine lines from lack of sleep.

For four awful days, I’d tried to get him to see me again.

To talk to me.

Touch me.

Fuck me.

And nothing.

He’d shut me out.

Cut me off.