Page 283 of Coal Hearts

He kept his dark blue eyes locked on Henri, his silver shirt and slacks almost blinding in the glare.

And Henri just stared back.

Unafraid.

Or...very good at hiding it.

Peter’s arm tightened around my shoulders as if he expected another gunshot to go off any second. He tugged Citra into our huddle too, pulling her from where she’d been hiding close by. He tried to push our heads down so we wouldn’t see Henri’s skull shatter apart.

“Don’t.” I shoved him off.

“Ily—”

Crawling away a little, I shivered as a few Masters on the deck noticed me.

I froze and kneeled, cupping my bare breasts.

What did I think I could do?

Rehearse another script? Begin another pantomime?

Henri was the leading star, and there were no lines left for me.

It’s all a lie anyway.

No...

I-I couldn’t believe that.

If I did, I’d snap.

I needed to have faith in something.

It just sucked that I had no idea what was real or fake anymore.

It felt as if hours ticked past, but finally, Victor’s lips twitched.

Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, the twitch morphed into a smile, and the smile cracked into a laugh. And once he started laughing, he got louder and louder until he reached across the table and dug his fingers into Henri’s shoulder.

He shook him and waggled a finger in his face, his laugh almost obscene.

Guests froze.

Guards shot each other a confused look.

Slaves retreated deeper into the gardens.

And Henri merely raised the half-eaten baguette in a toast. “Exactly.”

Exactly what?

“Oh, this is too parfait.” Victor threw his head back and laughed his damn ass off. Only once he wiped tears from his eyes did he stand and announce to all of us: “It seems that the very man who has been trying to ruin me for years has been very generous indeed.”

“I don’t get it.” Roland sulked. “What the hell is so funny?”

Turning on him, Victor snickered. “Q fucking Mercer paid me—a trafficker he’s been trying to stop for years—two million euros for a slave.”

“What?” Roland wrinkled his nose. “But Henri paid—”