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My fault.
Fuck, this is all my fault.
Bolting to Peter, I guided him away a little, limping and stumbling, before whispering in his ear. “I don’t think now is the right time to talk about that, do you?”
He shivered dramatically. “Having you this close does things to me.” He giggled. “He’ll probably burn my cock off next, seeing as I can’t seem to help myself around you.” Looking down his front, he shrugged as his cock remained flaccid in his briefs. “Huh. Stupid thing. Wake up—”
“No, no, it’s fine. I think…I think your body is dealing with a lot of trauma, and you need to rest.”
“Can’t.” He bopped me on the nose with a burned finger. “Going hunting. Well.” He grinned. “We’re the hunted but still…don’t have time to rest.” Swaying into me, he whispered, “So…when are we gonna finish what we started? I tried telling the others that we’re gonna get them out of here, but they think I’m high. I mean…” He laughed. “They’re not wrong, but I’m not talking shit. I’m done, Ily. I’m so fucking done. This ends. Now.”
God, I’ve broken him.
Me and my stupid big mouth have destroyed this wonderful soul.
Giving him a soft smile, I nodded. “I believe you, but we have to stay quiet, okay? It’s a secret, remember?”
“Right. Secret.” He zipped up his lips. “Can’t let them know.”
“Exactly.”
“Right, you two. Come ’ere.” A guard snapped his fingers at Rachel and me. Tossing us two pairs of knickers and bras in a slightly lighter skin tone than my natural shade, he ordered, “Put those on and go see Smith. He’ll paint you up.” Checking his wristwatch, he added, “You have five minutes.”
Rachel pushed Peter out of the way. “Sit down for five minutes, Pete. Give your poor feet a rest.” Grabbing my hand, she guided me toward the hen house. A chicken darted between my legs, clucking with annoyance.
Once we were apart from the others—all whispering worriedly and looking at each other’s painted skin—she slipped out of her teal see-through gown and sniffed. “Is this your fault? Is Peter talking about escape because you think it’s possible?”
Unknotting my bikini top, I tossed it to the ground before securing the bra and shoving my arms through the straps. “Yes.” I couldn’t meet her eyes as I shimmied from bikini bottoms into cotton knickers. “I was such an idiot. I-I think I broke him.”
She winced as she slipped her own pair of knickers into place, her bruises stark against her pale flesh. I expected her to tear into me. She came across prickly and reserved, but she shocked me stupid by breathing, “I’m in.” Her eyes narrowed pointedly. “If you and Peter are planning something. I’m in. We all are.”
The urge to hug her exploded through my arms.
Ideas flowed.
Plans of using the noisy kitchen as our undercover meeting spot.
Fantasies of chopping up Masters like meat on a butcher’s block—
But then commonsense slapped me around the head.
Victor was all seeing, all hearing, all knowing.
To even think we had a chance against him was idiotic. Worse than idiotic, it’s suicidal.
Somehow, all my grand ideas of fleeing were replaced with behaving the best I could so no one else got hurt.
I sighed heavily.
Peter used to be the careful leader, protecting his flock.
I used to be the wild card, instigating an insurrection.
Somehow, our roles had reversed.
And the thought of being the cause of any more pain filled me with absolute horror.
“Let’s talk about it another day—”
“Gotta talk about that bite on your neck and the way you looked at your Master too,” Rachel muttered. “Don’t you remember anything Peter told you? Guard yourself. Don’t let them into your heart, new girl. That’s just asking for trouble. Pregnant trouble.”
I cupped the small scabs left by Henri’s teeth.
I had no idea how to explain what’d come over me that night or why I couldn’t seem to stop this…this addiction.
Looking at a chicken pecking in the grass, I sighed. “I’m doing my best—”
“Get over here.” A guard waiting by a table with three pots of paint waved a paint-brush in our direction. “Time to mark you.”
With a sharp nod, Rachel whispered, “I’ll help you with whatever you’re feeling. I’ve been Victor’s fave for three years, and I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say at least once in that time I’ve had feelings for him. But…whatever you think you’re feeling is just survival. Your heart is trying to make this easier on you. Your body is doing the only thing it can to endure.”
Squeezing my hand, she stepped closer. “If I survive today and don’t miscarry, I flatly refuse to have this kid in here. You’re getting us out before then.” Her eyes narrowed. “We’ll do whatever you think will work. But…we’re doing it. We’re at least gonna try. Our countdown has officially started because we can’t stay here. None of us can.”
