Page 662 of Coal Hearts

“You...you agreed?” Ily asked, resuming her rocking but shooting the two jewels a look.

“We did.” Penelope nodded. “I was a foster kid and was taken when I was ten. I belonged to another before Victor traded me, so I have no one. And Abs...”

Abigail winced. “My brother accidentally killed my parents in a drunk-driving incident. My world ended, and I hit the road after their funeral. I was trafficked from a dirty motel where I spent the night. There’s no one waiting for me. We both have a clean slate. We could become completely different people.”

“That’s no reason to marry the men molesting you,” Ily whispered coldly.

“You can’t talk.” Abgail sniffed. “You’re in love with the man molesting you. Is it so hard to believe we are too?”

Ily wrinkled her nose. “But...”

“Out of all the Masters we’ve had, the moment Ben and Stewart started visiting, we could finally breathe. We could sleep without pain. We felt cherished and listened to and protected. We hate when they leave. We count the days until they’re back. They’ve offered us freedom as well as wealth. We want to take it.”

“No prenup,” Stewart muttered. “We’re loaded and lonely. If we can atone for participating in this place by giving everything we have to the two girls who love us regardless of how we met, then we’ll happily be penniless because we’re fucking miserable without them.”

Ily looked up my body, her fiercely intelligent gaze catching mine.

What do you think? She licked her lips.

I’d never been so thankful for the strange, eerie connection between us.

Not sure. I ran my thumb over her cheekbone.

Looking at Ben, Ily whispered, “Are you willing to help?”

“Of course. That’s why we’re here. We know you won’t trust us, but you need more Masters. And...” Ben shrugged. “We don’t just come on our own.”

“What do you mean?” I narrowed my eyes.

“We’re friendly with three guards.”

“What? How?”

Stewart winced. “I’m a smoker, you see. I loiter outside a lot, and when you loiter around guards, you inevitably start talking shit. ‘What’s it like working here? Do they enjoy their job?’ That kinda thing.” He sighed. “Turns out, they’re as much a prisoner as all the rest.”

“What are you saying?” I went deathly fucking still.

“They’re housed in barracks down Victor’s long driveway by his helipad. They have their own jewels that are kept separate. They also have care packages flown in. They have luxuries and are treated well but they can’t go online. They can’t visit family. The day they signed their contracts, Victor flew them here and refuses to let them leave. He keeps them obedient by reminding them that it’s better to be the one holding the gun than the one wearing the collar. Each one is mostly a millionaire with how much Vic pays them, but what good is money if you can’t spend it?”

“Why haven’t they revolted before now?”

“They haven’t dared. Money is far better than rape. But...a lot of them are sick of it. They came as young men who were only thinking about pussy and money, but they’re older now and wanting more.”

“You’re saying they’d be open to a coup?”

“The three I’m friendly with just want off this fucking island. So yes. If they could be assured we’d win, they’ll start hiding weapons around the place. There’s an armoury attached to the barracks. They have access to ammunition and a stack of other shit that would ensure success. Hopefully.”

My heart pounded.

I hated that the longer we talked, the more I wanted to believe them.

The more I needed to believe.

I hadn’t wanted to voice my fears, but the closer we crept toward December, the worse my panic grew. For all our plans, it would most likely be suicide.

The jewels were powerless. The cleaning staff mostly useless. The gardeners only less so with their spades and rakes. Even the knives that the kitchen staff gave us only worked if a Master didn’t electrify a jewel before they got close enough to stab.

We need guns.