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I hadn’t cried since I’d vowed I would never shed another tear the night Henri drew my blood. Not a single tear. Not for Henri. Not for myself. Not for any other jewel.
But for him?
Right there with my friend in pieces and high as a fucking kite?
My friend who I’d hurt in ways I’d never hurt anyone else?
I couldn’t stop.
Hot, stinging tears swelled and fell.
Crystal trails gushed down my cheeks as I struggled not to sob. “Paavak, I’m so, so sorry.”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Don’t be. He might’ve burned my feet to remind me there’s no running, and he might’ve burned my hands for touching what wasn’t mine to touch, but…fuck ’im. I don’t give a shit anymore. We’re leaving.” He grinned ever so bright, his brown hair flopping over one eye. “We’re gonna get out of here. Together. And when we do, I’m gonna ask you out on a proper date. We’re gonna fly to India and go to my cousin’s restaurant. We’re gonna hold hands and kiss under the moon and—”
“Let her go.” Rachel tugged Peter off me and beckoned Kirk to join us. “Can you get some shoes for him? He’s gonna die from infection if we don’t do something.”
“He’s probably gonna die from shock before that happens.” Kirk sniffed sadly. “Look at him. When I was ten, my little sister accidentally spilled hot oil on me when she climbed onto the kitchen counter while the fryer was on. I could barely move for months. It’s still the most pain I’ve ever felt. So…how?” He waved his hand at Peter. “How is he even standing?”
“’Cause I’m responsible for all of you and I’m gonna get you out.” Peter slung a fever-sweaty arm around my shoulders. Me and Ily. We’re gonna—”
“Hush up.” Kirk drew a finger over his throat. “That’s fighting talk, Pete.”
“Damn right it is.” Peter nodded. “No pain, no gain. I’ve got plenty of pain, so we’ll make lots of gain. We’re gonna fight to make it right.” He giggled. “Hey, I rhymed. I should become a poet when I get out of here.”
“Fuck, he’s lost it.” Kirk winced at Rachel. “He’s not gonna make it through the day.”
“Says who?” Peter barked, letting me go and wagging his finger like a drunken headmaster. “Now give me Citra’s slippers and—”
“You know you can’t have them.” Kirk looked on the verge of tears. “Strict orders, remember?” He cupped Peter’s cheek, his face drawn and aged by a decade. “We’re only allowed what we’re wearing, man. Just…stay high. That’s the only protection you have from the agony.”
“Will do.” Peter swayed forward and placed a smacking kiss on Kirk’s cheek. “You look like such a grump but you’re such a softie. Gonna hook you up with my second cousin when we get home. You deserve someone who can return all your softiness.” He frowned. “Softiness. Is that a word? Sounds funny—”
“Someone grab me a shovel,” Rachel muttered under her breath. “Maybe if we knock him out, we can say he fainted from the burns and can’t serve. He might survive that way.”
Peter crossed his arms, his blackened hands oozing in the sunlight. “Anyone tries that and I’ll swing back.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rachel sighed heavily, her own pain flushing her cheeks. Ignoring Peter she asked Kirk, “Do you know what’s gonna happen?”
Kirk squeezed the back of his neck. “Nah. The guards who painted us didn’t tell us jack. But we’re painted with a fucking bullseye, so I’m guessing we’re about to get shot.”
“Like the dart boards!” Peter chuckled as Rachel braced through another cramp before brushing away her own stray tears. “Remember, Kirk? They threw darts at us after dinner one night? Got a few lodged in our thigh.”
“Yep.” Kirk pinched the bridge of his nose. “I remember, Pete.”
“Bet Molly remembers too. One cunt got her in the tit.”
“Yep.” Kirk dropped his hand. “How about you just eat your muesli bar and get ready, huh? Save your energy, okay?”
“Wise man.” Peter saluted him with his sticky bar. “I have a feeling we’re all gonna have to run like mad, so…we all look after the slowest of us, yeah?” Limping on charred, tattered feet, Peter headed toward the throng of silent, bullseye-painted slaves. “No one is left behind. We all run as one, got it? Stay as a crowd, and they can’t thin us out. And if we get a chance to retaliate, we shoot them—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dane dashed forward and clamped a hand over Peter’s mouth. “That’s enough, mate. You trying to give Vile Vic a reason to burn your tongue now, too?”
Peter struggled but then slouched. Tapping Dane’s arm, he licked his lips as Dane let him go. “You’re right. Gotta keep the uprising a secret.”
“Uprising?” Dane blanched and backed up. “Bloody hell, someone put a gag on him. He’s gonna get us all murdered.”
