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Henri bit my neck.
And the rest became a supernova.
* * * * *
I shielded my eyes as we stepped into Victor’s private nightclub.
The rainbow flashing strobe lights, hazy air, and scents of sharp alcohol reminded me so much of the night I was stolen that my heart stopped.
My feet stopped too.
Henri turned to face me.
His gaze held matching memories.
The way our eyes had met across the bar.
The way I’d known right there and then that he was different and unique and mine.
Reaching out, he grabbed my hand. Taking a gamble that Victor wouldn’t see as our host and capturer strolled through the elegant chaos, he squeezed my fingers and pressed a fleeting kiss to my lips. “It’s okay. It’s just another night.”
We’d gotten good at ‘just another night’. We dabbled with the toys Victor gave us and sometimes put on a different show, doing our best to prove that Henri felt nothing for me each time he abused me.
So far, we’d won.
Victor continued to be gallant and generous.
We’d headed back to the snuffbox as a foursome two days ago and regularly shared breakfast with him and Rachel in the mornings.
Victor had well and truly bought Henri’s act, and if a trafficking psychopath could be capable of favourites and fondness, he seemed well and truly smitten with Henri.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he even had a crush.
The way he watched Henri sometimes. The pride in his eyes as Henri drew my blood. The joy on his lips as Henri made me beg. Each time my Master whipped me, punished me, or chained me to fuck me, Victor praised his protégé as if he was personally responsible for Henri’s change of heart.
I didn’t care if he thought he was the reason.
I knew the truth.
I knew he was mine and no one else’s.
Henri flashed a look at the circular black velvet couches ringing the dance floor. Red light turned the entire place into a hell realm, crimson illumination falling from chandeliers dripping over each table, making the Masters’ eyes ghoulish and their skin as sickly as the dead.
“Peter mentioned Faiza and the cleaners managed to place a few small bombs in vases in the foyer today,” I said. The pumping music offered a perfect chance to talk.
I kept a careful eye on Victor as he patted the shoulders of his guests on the small dance floor, gossiping with those who’d flown in this weekend.
Another week.
Seven days tiptoeing us closer to Christmas.
“I really wish Peter would stop encouraging that foolish enterprise.” Henri cupped my throat and dragged me into him. Fisting my breast, he painted an image of a Master groping his jewel all while we plotted anarchy. “I told him to stay simple. Fuel and fire. That’s it. He should be focusing on weapon collection.”
“Mollie and Rachel know their stuff. If they say it’s worth making them…then I don’t see the harm.”
He huffed and bent me backward, latching his teeth on my throat. “The harm will come if Victor catches one of them red-handed.”
I scrambled in his hold, giving off the impression of a jewel fighting her Master’s bite. “The kitchen staff have already placed a few knives around Joyero.” I struggled harder as he dropped his hand between my legs and shoved me high onto my tiptoes. The purple negligée and G-string I wore were no match for his questing fingers.
