Page 39 of Coal Hearts

Clapping his hands, he ordered, “We’re leaving. Right now.”

“What? Why?” Roland threw back the rest of his drink. “Henri’s just about to—”

“Some rich pricks brought cocaine into the nightclub.”

“How is that different from any other night?” Roland frowned.

“Instead of keeping it quiet, they’re flashing it around. The police have been called and are on their way to do a drug bust. They’re searching everyone on the premises.”

“Merde.” Henri backed away from me.

My entire body sagged with relief.

My core throbbed from his almost-invasion.

With shaking hands, he yanked the condom off and shoved his cock back into his trousers. With a wince, he zipped up and buckled his belt before shoving the unused piece of rubber into his pocket. “What happens now?” His eyes dropped to my ankle where my broken knickers hung in tatters. Bending down, he yanked my foot up, tugged my underwear free, and slipped them silently where the condom had vanished.

My teeth cracked together.

He took them.

Why?

What depraved, unholy thing would he do with them?

“We leave.” Victor pressed a button on the black device that scrambled cellphone reception. Pulling out his phone, he dialled and rushed, “Wings up in forty minutes. We’re on our way.”

Henri glanced at me, his trousers tented from sick and twisted lust. “If the police are on their way, I should let her go. Might be best for everyone if—”

“She’s coming,” Victor snapped. “She’s mine. Bought and paid for.” Grinning, he added, “You can come too, Henri. You can finish what you started when we land. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Seven

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Henri

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I’M GOING TO LOSE MY ever-loving mind.

No, not just my mind.

My soul.

My heavily-tattered, black-riddled soul would soon be nothing more than shreds of humanity, torn apart from the beast’s claws inside me.

“Fair skies tonight, sir,” the captain smiled from where he stood at the top of the private plane. “We aim to have you touching down by four forty-five. Just in time for dawn.”

I glanced at my antique Casio watch my mother had gifted me for my thirteenth birthday—one of the few things she’d given me. Basic and ancient analog, with no fancy pedometers or heart rate monitors. I didn’t need a watch to tell me my heart was sick and skipping...I felt it thank you very much.

The hands showed 1:30 a.m.

Three hours?

We’d be flying for three hours?

Damn, a thousand islands existed in the Atlantic Ocean with that sort of travel time. Some known. Some not. Some private. Some full of partying tourists.