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He hadn’t spoken to me.
But he had spoken to them.
Arching his chin at the two jewels, he shrugged with indifference. “I don’t know what we’ll be walking into when we return, but I do know Victor will expect a winner. I’m claiming all of you. It’s the only way I can think of to keep you safe.”
Rachel and Mollie shared a look.
Keep you safe.
Such a protective sentence yet said with blood-tipped frost.
What did he mean by that?
Had he had a change of heart and seen the errors of his ways?
Is he going to help us?
Peter remained passed out, unable to offer his counsel.
What he’d said before…the comment about seeing something in Henri.
What had Peter seen?
Fragments of light?
Filaments of hope that Henri hadn’t truly forsaken his task?
I sucked in an optimistic breath; pain daggered right in my ribs.
The urge to bend over and hug my bruised chest faded as Rachel cupped her belly, shielding her new pregnancy.
I sucked in shallow breaths as she bit her lower lip. Bracing her shoulders, she nodded. “You’re right. Victor might be psychotic, but he’s strangely fixated on rules. If you shoot us too, I doubt anyone else will have managed to shoot three jewels at close range. He’ll add up the bruises and announce you as the winner.”
None of us mentioned that the winner was entitled to do anything he wanted. And with how empty Henri looked, I honestly didn’t know how far he’d go.
He turned Kyle into ribbons.
“This is nuts.” I threw up my arms, immediately paying for the move with a flush of agony and that nasty stabbing in my side. “Let’s crack open a few balls and just smear the paint over you.”
“It has to be authentic.” Mollie stepped forward, jutting out her chest and presenting her faded bullseye. “The game is called Bruises, remember?”
I shook my head. “The colour doesn’t match. Henri was given orange paint.” I pointed at the area of his jeans that used to be tinged with brightness but only found blood. No sign of orange anywhere, thanks to him wearing every droplet of Kyle’s lifeforce.
“I don’t think it will matter.” Rachel dropped her arms and balled her hands. “Victor has a soft spot for him. I’ve never seen him be so tolerant to another Master before. That has to count for something.”
“What about Peter?” I glanced at our comatose friend. “We can’t shoot him while he’s borderline dead.”
Mollie nodded and pinned her brown eyes on Henri. “I agree with Ily. Just shoot us. Make every bullet count. But leave Peter alone.”
Henri merely nodded.
And then, he let fire.
The canister held far more rounds than I could’ve counted. His aim stayed accurate as he worked his way down each girl’s legs and then shot at their shoulders and arms. At the end, he shot once…directly at their bullseye. They staggered back in matching pain, but at least he hadn’t shot anywhere in their soft middles.
Who was this ice-cold man who moved like rigor mortis had set in, yet had the foresight not to hurt unnecessarily?
I wished Kyle had been that considerate.
