Page 98 of Coal Hearts

How soon was someone coming?

How many officers would swarm this place?

Would they shoot every last one of Victor’s disgusting guests? Would they arrest them and interrogate them and line them up before a jury of their peers?

Suddenly, I was strong again. Ready to fight, endure, and survive.

I looked up, frowning when Henri didn’t reply.

His eyes had shut down, his face utterly unreadable.

My hope stuttered as quickly as it’d formed.

My fear returned.

Ily...you dolt.

My imagination had run away with me, like always.

I’d let hope bandage over panic, and the crash into truth hurt ever so much.

“Wow, I’m an idiot.” Horrified goosebumps scattered. “T-There’s no one coming to save us...is there.”

God...I’m so, so stupid.

Henri cursed hotly. “Bon dieu, tu vas me tuer.” (My God, you’re going to kill me.)

His slur sank like poison into my blood.

I trembled and fought another wash of unwanted tears.

His eyes snapped to mine; his entire face twisted. “If you cry again, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

I sniffed. Rubbed at my lashes.

A single droplet fell.

He snarled and fisted both hands into my hair, holding me completely still.

I flinched, waiting for abuse, for pain.

His tongue captured the slowly rolling droplet, drinking it down before a harsh gasp escaped him. “Goddammit, just listen to me. Do what I ask instead of making this so much harder.”

I struggled in his grasp, but he pressed his hips against my stomach, forcing me to feel the thick ridge of his arousal.

“Feel that? That’s because of your tears. That’s because I can’t stop thinking about how delicious you’d be if I made you sob. Truly sob. Ugly fucking wracking sobs. If you sobbed because I hurt you? Shit, I’d lose myself. I don’t want to snap. And I don’t want to hurt you, despite the fact I really fucking do.”

My breath caught, my mind racing at his contradictions. “If you want to, then...what’s stopping you?”

“You know what.”

I moaned as he jerked my head back, his fingers tight in my hair. My voice was far too feeble, desperately trying to understand without getting carried away with wishful thinking. “I don’t. I don’t know a damn thing.” I fought the stinging urge to cry again. “Please...just tell me. Tell me how this ends. Please—”

“Quiet.” His fingers opened and closed in my hair as if fighting his true nature.

If he was going to hurt me like he said in the foyer...he would’ve done so by now.

Wouldn’t he?