Page 11 of Claiming Liberty
“Not only that, but there will be about a hundred stupidly wealthy men all competing to see who can kill the witnesses who leave the island fastest,” he adds.
I turn my head toward him, my eyebrows squeezing.
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together, taking on a posture similar to in the bathroom. “Believe me, I’m well aware of all the obstacles in our way. Like I said, we’ve been planning for ayear.”
I sit up straight and turn my body toward him. “I’m listening.”
One side of his lips lifts into the tiniest of smiles. “I thought you’d be interested.” He puts a fist to his mouth and clears his throat. When he lowers it, he turns toward me as well. “For a long time, we had very little hope of pulling anything off, but recently, we got a very powerful member of the island to join us. His name is Shaun Miles, I believe you’ve met. He’s the one who told me about you and your … fighting spirit.”
I search my mind for a Shaun Miles, even though I know it won’t do me any good. Men at the manor don’t tell the women their names. That’s rule number one. Surely, Peter knows this.
“Shaun is the architect of the island’s security, so we have all the information we need in order to prepare. We’ve managed to put a few guards on the manor’s property who are with us, and we have a handful of women on the residents’ side of the island willing to cooperate. What wedon’thave is any women inside the manor, and our number of residents is still lacking. We need more people to turn, preferably inside the manor.”
I blink. He can’t be serious. “That’s what you want me for? You think I can get the manor whores to cooperate?” I bark out a laugh. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t refer to them as whores.”
I feel my forehead wrinkle as I lean back. This is a weird twist.
His face softens. “We don’t needyouto do it. There’s no chance in hell we’d get you into the manor without you being recognized. I just want to hear your ideas on how to get it done.”
“Trust me, it’s a waste of time. No one is turning them.”
He frowns. “You were able to get Mr. Ramos under your thumb. If you can do that, you can do anything.”
“Angel isn’t…” I draw a deep breath and let it out, my shoulders caving in as my chest deflates. “Angel isn’t what you think. He’s…” I don’t know how to finish that in a way that anyone would understand.
He’s different.
He’s kind.
He’sgood.
To an outsider, it would sound ridiculous.
“He’s a murderer,” Peter says. “He enslaves women, then kills them when they no longer meet his needs. He killed his own slave. It’s miraculous you made it out alive.”
I shake my head. “He didn’t kill Beth; she committed suicide. And he doesn’t enslave women. This is Sawyer’s island. He—”
“Three different women watched him push her off a cliff.” Peter’s eyes narrow. “Hold on a second… Youbelievehis lies?” He cranes his neck back while something flashes over his face that looks a hell of a lot like dread. He puts a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” He lets out a dry laugh and lowers his hand, peering at me. “Please tell me I’m wrong.”
When I don’t immediately answer, Peter shoves from the couch and scrubs his hands over his face. He groans as he drops his hands and walks to the kitchen. I set my water on the floor and get up to follow him.
“I can still help,” I insist, stopping a foot away from him as he grabs a shot glass and a liquor bottle from a cabinet that’s otherwise bare.
He twists off the bottle’s cap and tosses it flippantly onto the counter where it clinks on the white laminate. I can see the frustration fuming off him, see the regret on his face. He’s disappointed he brought me here.
He pours a shot, but before he can knock it back, I grip his wrist, sending clear liquor splattering onto his skin and the floor.
“I canfuckinghelp.” I hold onto his wrist, my face a hard mask as he stares at me.
He pulls away from me and swivels his body my way. “How? You just told me you have no idea how we could turn any of the women inside. And it doesn’t sound like anything that happened with Ramos was intentional. If anything, he’s the one who manipulated you. So how exactly could we use you? Hell, it sounds like you’reone of them.” He turns his head and peers at the bottle. “You’re not an asset. You’re a liability.”
He pours another shot, and this time I don’t stop him. I cross my arms over my bloodied chest and wait for him to look at me.
“You said you knew who I was. You knew I was Robert Gaumond’s wife, and you knew I had a ‘fighting spirit.’ Correct?”
He stares at me without answering.