“I don’t want you by yourself,” Angel tells me, his voice higher pitched than normal. Our fingers are interlocked as we walk past the obnoxious flames, and Angel’s hand squeezes hard enough that I pull away.
When I shake my hand at my side, Angel glances at it, then my face. “Sorry.”
“I need to be alone. Both of us do. I’m supposed to be Peter’s slave, so if we’re seen together, it’ll only call attention to you.” I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin as we approach, mentally preparing myself to go inside. “Plus, I have my own stuff to do.”
“What?” Angel grabs my arm to stop me. I look down the walkway to check if anyone’s there, and Angel does the same. It’s only us out here, but he leads me away from the door anyway, settling on a shadowed spot beside the bushes.
“All we’re doing here is dropping off cigars.” He pats his suit jacket where the bundle of paper-wrapped cigars hides. They’re laced with something that’s supposed to cause a slow death, twenty-four hours after exposure, so no one will know what happened.
“Right.” I try to make my tone light. Innocent. As if I haven’t been purposefully keeping my intentions from him.
Angel’s hold on my arm tightens as he inches closer, towering over me. “You’re not going to do anything that could come off as suspicious. If Chaffer finds out we had something to do with this—”
“I won’t be suspicious.”
“Lib.”
“Hope,” I correct. “Remember?”
Angel presses his palms against his eyes and lets out a half sigh half groan, his head hanging. I take his hands and link our fingers before pressing myself into him and rising up on my toes to kiss his scowling lips.
He tenses, probably surprised at the contact, but after a moment he leans into it. His mouth tastes good, like whiskey. I’ve never been too fond of the drink, but now I savor it, my eyes closed and head feeling suddenly heavy.
I pull back abruptly before I can relax all the way into him. We have work to do.
Angel is just as good at convincing me of things as I am at convincing him, but there’s no way I’m letting him talk me into going back to the boat. And if I told him what I really have planned, the whole reason I wanted him to bring me here, he would absolutely insist I go back to the boat.
Our fingers break apart, and I put my hands on either side of his head. “It’s gonna be fine,” I assure him. “I promise. I know what I’m doing. I’ll blend in fine.”
“What are you doing?”
I take a deep breath and prepare to lie to him, telling myself it’s the last time. We should be so far past the lies now, but they keep happening. It’s what we do best.
I shouldn’t have argued with him about staying together. I should’ve let him lead me inside, then broke away from him the second I had the chance. But that just sounded … cruel. He only worries because he cares about me.
Regardless, I won’t be talked out of this.
“I want to take a mental inventory of the women in there and who their masters are. Find the ones who have bruises and such and make sure we’ll remember them if their masters don’t smoke a cigar tonight. That way we can get rid of those guys next.”
His eyes narrow, and he looks to his right as he considers this.
“That is our goal, right?” I ask, playing in to his earlier understanding with Peter. “To get rid of the sadists? It seems illogical to think they would all die or move because of Sawyer and Chaffer, so if we want to be thorough—”
“Fine.” Angel cocks his head. His fingers drum on his thighs. “But you won’t draw attention to yourself.”
“I will not draw attention to myself.”
He fingers drum another several seconds while he looks like he isn’t quite convinced. Finally, he moves his hand to his face and rubs his jaw. “’Kay, well, let’s get this done, then.”
He takes my hand and turns toward the front entryway before leading me toward it. I can tell he’s nervous. Scared. And I doubt it has anything to do with him switching out a bunch of cigars that’ll end up killing people.
He’s nervous because of me. Because he doesn’t want me here. He still sees me as the princess he needs to save, but I wish he wouldn’t. I’m not that person anymore, which is good because that person hated Angel.
We go inside, Angel holding onto my hand tightly, and I have to force him to let go of his punishing grip on my hand once we stop at the familiar double doors.
He takes a deep breath, his gaze moving between me and the door.
“I’ll go first.” I give him a small, encouraging smile, one you’d give a child just before the doctors come and take you away for heart surgery. Mommy’s fine, dear, don’t you worry.
I push open the door and throw my hair back as I make my way into the smoky room. It looks a lot like it did before only with more people, several of whom I recognize from the night I came with Peter. It isn’t like this at the manor. There’s the occasional familiar face, but it mostly feels like an endless shuffling of men. It all kind of blurs together when you’re dancing on a stage.
My feet carry me farther into the room, and I try to look like I belong. I wasn’t lying to Angel about everything. I am making a mental inventory of the women here, specifically the unhappy women. The women with masters who are heartless, vile men who made their lives a living hell the second they were bought from Sawyer.
Those are the women who are going to be the most motivated to help. A huge chunk of them are about to be masterless, which I can only assume puts them back at the manor. When Peter first brought me back to the island, he wanted me to tell him how to turn the women there. It was an easy answer for me: I couldn’t.
They’re too brainwashed by Sawyer. But these women? These women took their blinders off a long time ago.
I come to a small, two-person table on the edge of the room and quietly lean against it, hoping I look like I’m waiting for someone.
I roam my gaze around the room, surveying all the people. It’s easier to pick out the women who aren’t good candidates rather than the women who are. Several of them hang onto men I’m presuming are their masters, wearing smiles that light up the room.
I keep sifting, ruling them out one by one until I land on a woman with short, cropped black hair at the poker table. She’s sitting on a man’s lap with his arm around her waist, but her body language doesn’t suggest she’s relaxed by it. In fact, she looks tense, her back ramrod straight. Her stare is aimed ahead of her, but I don’t think her glazed eyes are registering anything. There’s no smile. To be fair, there isn’t a frown either. Her face is blank, vacant, like she isn’t even here.
It’s harder than I thought it would be to pick out the tortured women, but I keep scanning, searching for bruises or something to tell me for sure that she can be trusted.
Just as I’m about to give up on the woman, I spot it.
Her legs. Her dress is short enough that the marred skin on her thighs is just barely visible. If her legs were crossed, I would’ve missed it altogether, and if I hadn’t noticed the same scarring on Layan, I would never have known what it was from.
Layan does a thorough job of covering up the physical reminders of her previous master, but the day we got dressed for the manor, I saw the raised, spiderweb looking patches of discolored skin. I tried to look away, but it’s hard when you’re imagining how someone could get that kind of scar. She told me without me having to ask the question.
Acid. It’s an acid burn.
And from the looks of it, I bet they were done by the same man. It would be a weird coincidence otherwise.
My eyes move to the man. He’s kind of attractive, in a way the evilest of people seem to be. He doesn’t look particularly threatening, but somehow, staring at him, watching him study the cards in his hand, I know who this man is.
Eli Colley.
I turn and look down at the table, my pulse skipping. Goosebumps spread on my arms.
“Hey there.”
I jump at the voice, and spin to face a man in an atrociously green shirt with his teeth gleaming in a wolfish smile.
“Sorry,” he says, although there’s only humor in his tone. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I don’t say anything. It’s silly to be afraid of evil at this point in my manor whore journey, but being in the same room as the man Layan has told me about suddenly makes me want to leave.
The woman with the black hair catches my eyes before she walks to the door. I hurry toward her, never giving the green shirt stranger another look.
When I get to the hallway, my head jerks right and left. It’s empty.
Shit.
I start down the hallway, slowing at each door to listen for someone inside. I don’t know where the bathroom is in this place, otherwise, it’d be my destination. As it is, I wander around aimlessly.
Should I just go back? Wait outside the door for her to return?
I’m just about to when I remember Kingsley taking me to the kitchen to get a drink. It’s worth it to check.
This place is so fucking big, I get turned around searching for the kitchen, but eventually, I see the swinging door. I stride to it, fully prepared to merely swing it open long enough to make sure that the woman isn’t in there, but when I push into the kitchen, letting the door swish behind me, I catch sight of the back of her head and freeze.
The door slaps me in the ass, and I jolt forward
The woman turns to me, giving me only a cursory glance over her shoulder before turning back around and leaning against the kitchen island.
I walk to the fridge and open it, sticking my head inside while slyly looking over at her. She stares off, a can of soda pressed against her crossed arms as she lazily holds it.
I lower my eyes to her exposed thighs to be certain I saw what I saw.
“It isn’t polite to stare.”
I jump and smack the back of my head on the open fridge door.
She takes a sip of her drink but doesn’t look otherwise affected. I wouldn’t have known she noticed me if she hadn’t said something.
I grab a matching can of soda out of the fridge as if that was my intention all along and walk it to the kitchen island, resting it on the granite.
“Sorry,” I say because it feels right.
“What is it you want?” Again, her tone is flat. Uninterested. She doesn’t turn my way.
I think on it for a second. I don’t know what I was expecting … that maybe she would be hiding, cowering, searching for a savior? I should’ve learned by now. This place doesn’t always break you. Sometimes it makes you stronger.
And this woman looks strong.
She looks perfect.
Still, I need to be careful.
“I was just, uh…” I force a nervous laugh to fly past my lips. “I’m sorry, I was just curious. I know your master. He and I, um… He was at the manor the other night.”
I search for jealousy, hurt, betrayal, but all she does is take another sip of soda.
“You are Eli Colley’s slave, right?” My back slides along the counter as I move closer. “I mean, he’s taken?”
Now I get a reaction.
She turns to me with her steely eyes narrowed in a look reminiscent of the one Elsie gave me when I asked her if she was going to miss high school. Are you an idiot?
“Taken?”
I look away, waving my hand to dismiss the idea. “Sorry. Never mind.”
“We’re not in a relationship, if that’s what you’re asking. What are you, a manor whore?”
I bite one corner of my lips and move my gaze back to her. There’s so much bitterness in her expression it makes me wonder if I should be happy I found the right person for the job or ashamed for hoping there was such a person in this predicament.
“Yeah.”
“What’s your name?”
“Hope,” I say, the lie easily slipping from my tongue.
“I’m going to give you some advice, Hope. You can take it or leave it.” She sets her soda on the island and turns her body to face me. “Stay the fuck away from him. In fact, stay away from all of them.”
“Why?” I ask, my head tilting. “Isn’t the ultimate goal to get a master?”
She stares at me like she wants to shove my head in a blender. “Sure, if that’s what you want.” She turns to the island, picks up her can, and pauses. “Like I said, take my advice or leave it.”
“Why wouldn’t I want a master?”
“Because you’re not a fucking dog,” she growls and takes a drink before slamming the can on the granite counter. Her eyes close as she grasps the edge like she’s holding on for dear life. I let her, giving her time to work through whatever’s going on in her head. As soon as her eyes open, her grip releases, and she starts around the island to the door.
“Where are you going?” I ask, a little too panicky.
Her steps don’t falter.
“What would you recommend?” I ask, the fear in my voice real. Not for the reasons she might think but because I’m terrified she’ll walk away without me having her on my side. I need her.
She sighs and turns toward me. “Honestly?”
I nod.
“Fuck Sawyer so good he doesn’t want to sell you. He seems terrible until you find out what terrible really is… Then when that stops working, kill yourself.”
She turns and starts to walk away but halts when I speak.
“If you had the chance to kill Eli, would you take it?”
Her muscles bunch, and she doesn’t respond. I slowly start her way. “As well as his friends?”
And Sawyer.
I want to say it, but I can’t. I can barely say it to myself.
Sawyer has to die. That’s the reality. He should die. But killing him would be betraying Angel, so it can’t be a part of my plan. All I can do is hope it’s a part of Peter’s.
“Do you know how much pain you could cause yourself by saying something as stupid as that?”
I shrug. “If we should all just off ourselves, why not take a few of them out with us?”
She rears back, her lip curling. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I look away for a moment, my tongue poking into my cheek. If I tell her and she decides to tell Eli or anyone else, it’ll ruin our plan. It’ll ruin everything. It’s risky. Too risky.
I look back to the woman to see her searching my face, but it’s me who finds what she’s looking for.
Hope.
If not this woman… Who?
“In twenty-four hours, Eli Colley will be dead, and you’ll be taken back to the manor. Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s the truth.” I take a step toward her. “Now, if you want, you can try your strategy of being Sawyer’s fucktoy, although I have to warn you, that position’s taken… You could kill yourself, like you said, but I have a feeling if you were going to do that, you would’ve done it a long time ago.”
She blinks and opens her mouth, but I cut her off before she has a chance to speak.
“Or, you can do exactly as I say, and we can leave this island together. Along with every other woman here who’s being treated like property.”
I take another step, and she just stares at me, her face skeptical but her eyes glimmering. “Who are you?” she asks. I’m sure she means to appear cynical, and I would buy it if her voice didn’t shake.
When I reach her, I hold out my hand, not making a sound until she places her pale palm in mine.
“Liberty.”