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Every organ throbbed. My liver and kidneys, stomach and womb. Perfectly round bruises swelled and grew hotter the deeper night fell.
Tossing the empty gun at Mollie, Henri muttered, “Bring that with us.” Then he strode toward the eviscerated corpse that used to be Kyle and hauled him over his shoulder like a dead deer.
My eyes widened as he headed toward the hidden exit where the other Masters had gone.
He disappeared, leaving the three of us to blink in exhaustion and try to figure out our next step.
I couldn’t get a read on him.
I daren’t ask him if he’d suddenly switched back to our side.
When he came back, minus a body, and headed toward the other Master he’d dispatched with a log to his head, he ordered, “Stay here.”
Those two words ignited a fire within us.
We didn’t listen.
All three of us fell into helping.
Henri staggered with his own injuries and exhaustion but didn’t order us to stop as Rachel and Mollie took a dead Master’s arm, and I helped Henri with the legs.
Silently, we’d carried the Master, slung like a hammock, out of the cave via a civilised tunnel and heaved our way up rough-hewn stairs that hinted the open-top cave was known and used, even if its wild appearance said otherwise.
Every step cost me.
Every shallow, painful breath not nearly enough for my winded, wounded frame.
I existed purely in the numbing shock of adrenaline.
At the top, we cut through the sparse trees and ended up at the cliffs.
Down below, the angry tide frothed and crashed.
Dusk had well and truly become night, and the half-moon granted just enough light to catch Henri’s nod. Without a word, we all joined in the rhythmic swing as we gathered up enough momentum to toss the body over the side.
We let go.
The body went sailing through the air.
No splash.
No sign he’d fallen.
Henri raked both hands through his blood-soaked hair, looked at the moon with a heavy exhale, then slowly led us back to the cave.
Peter lay in a small puddle of moonlight, looking as if this wasn’t just a resting spot but his new grave.
None of us said a word as Henri stumbled, righted himself, then headed toward Peter. His shoulders sagged with tiredness; his arm oozed with blood.
He towered over Peter with hands fisted and an unreadable black look. He studied my friend for so long, I feared he meant to dispatch him and leave him there.
Worry crawled up my spine.
If he means to kill him…
Both Rachel and I darted forward and barricaded ourselves in front of him. “What are you doing?”
He blinked as if the answer was obvious even though he didn’t speak.
