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CHAPTER FIVE

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I WORE WAR PAINT created with tears, blood, and vomit.

Their tears, their blood, my vomit.

The moment Storymaker commanded us up the stairs, reeling off bedroom numbers where we were each to serve, my heart hadn’t stopped galloping a thousand beats a minute.

I’d dutifully trudged up the steps, linking my fingers with Quell, and giving Maliki a grimace of encouragement. We were well-trained. Well reminded. We didn’t deviate or pause.

Silently, we all broke away as we reached our respective bedrooms, enslaved to the end as we closed doors on our misery.

Behind those closed doors the sounds of pleased hellos and sleezy welcomes sounded, knotting my guts into snarls of pain.

It was excruciating to let Quell slip through my fingers as she reached her bedroom. She caught my gaze. She nodded once, stoic and so, so brave. “It’s okay, Kas. I’ll see you later, okay?”

I wanted so fucking much to hug her, snatch her, run away with her.

To run away with all of my family.

But my only option was to nod and let her go. To willingly say goodbye as she stepped into another night of rape.

I was the last to branch off from the corridor.

Alone at the end, I listened to the final snick of a door closing and took a second to prepare.

I would either see my family again or I wouldn’t.

This would work or it would fail.

Regardless, I was most likely dead tonight because even if I succeeded, I doubted I’d live to see sunrise.

You sure you want to risk this?

Risk them?

My jaw clenched as the sound of male laughter came and went. A laugh of a paedophile who probably already had Nyx bound and naked upon his bed.

Yes, I’m sure.

I would rather we all die tonight than endure anymore of this.

If I had to kill everyone, including my family to be free, then so be it.

Touching my blade one last time, I braced my shoulders, turned toward the door, and stepped over the threshold to serve Mr. and Mrs. Willby.

“You’re late, my boy.” Mr. Willby stood by the fireplace, his cock already hard thanks to a blue pill he always popped. His nakedness was obscene with the glowing flames highlighting a beer belly, huge balls, and a red-angry erection.

“Don’t berate him, dear.” Mrs. Willby lay on the bed in a pose she thought was seductive. Her sheer nightgown was open, revealing a pudgy breast, huge nipple, and a belly button piercing she should’ve removed decades ago. “We’re so glad you’re here, Kassen.”

Kassen.

I shuddered.

After tonight, that was not my name.

All of us Fable kids would choose new names. Names that weren’t chosen from books under the fierce instruction of Storymaker.

I couldn’t even remember what I’d been called before I belonged to him.

Kassen Sands was a character in a book full of fables about genies and wishes and deserts. He’d been the poorer cousin to a prince. He’d used his wishes to help his village members, wishing for water, food, and health. He hadn’t wished for riches for himself or to be king over his cousin. His heart had been good and he’d helped all those around him—even his enemies.

In return for his sacrifice and kindness, the genie had given him the greatest wish of all.

Happiness.

Kassen Sands was granted a house of his own, a wife, a child, a home.

He lived the rest of his life in peaceful joy.

I would never be so lucky, but perhaps, if I did what he did and focused on saving those I could, I would end up in heaven instead of hell.

“Take off your clothes, Kas,” Mr. Willby snapped. “I need your tight ass and my wife needs your talented tongue.”

I hid my shudder, my absolute disgust, and nodded like a good little slave.

Pulling my T-shirt over my head, I stepped toward the bed, ignoring the way Mrs. Willby’s eyes raked over my nineteen-year-old chest. I’d been their toy for almost half my life. They’d seen me grow from boy to man. They’d seen more of me than any parent I’d ever known.

And tonight, they’ll die.

Mrs. Willby shifted onto her knees, coaxing me forward with a wriggling finger. “My, my, you’ve filled out in the past three months since I last saw you.”

I didn’t flinch as she ran her pink-painted fingernail from my throat to my belt.

I didn’t kill her as she cupped my flaccid cock through my jeans.

“Ah.” She tutted under her breath. “Well, now, that’s disappointing, I thought you’d learned to come to us hard, Kas. We have no time for foreplay when we’ve been so eager to fuck our darling boy.”

“Here.” Mr. Willby grabbed his wallet from the side table, throwing a small packet of blue pills at his wife. “Feed him one of these. I want an all nighter. He needs to be out of his head with lust.”

“Oh, good idea, Donny.”

My heart kicked.

No way would I be able to commit genocide tonight with a chemical hard-on. Giving myself time to put my plan into action, I gave her a slow smile. “That won’t be necessary, Patricia.”

She blinked.

The first time I’d used her given name after countless years of her fucking me. Her cheeks pinked as if she liked it. Just as much as she liked me rutting into her in agony all while her husband whipped me, cut me, fucked me.

You’ll pay. Christ, you’ll all pay.

“I’m hard now.” I licked my lips, letting my eyes hood the way she liked. “Here, I’ll show you.”

She nodded quickly. “Oh, yes. Yes, show me. Show me what toys I’ll be playing with tonight.”

Swallowing fresh bile, I unbuttoned my jeans and let them fall. I kept my legs close to the bed to catch the blade as it slipped down with the denim.

Mr. Willby sucked in a breath from behind me, no doubt jacking off to the scars he’d layered me with. The many moments of pain he’d carved into my skin while I’d driven into his wife.

He couldn’t see my weapon.

They both never suspected I’d break from my extensive conditioning.

And why would they?

After so long, they’d all bought Storymaker’s claims that we were happy in our roles. That we no longer needed extra discipline. That we hadn’t tried to uprise or refuse in years.

And he was right.

It shamed me to my bitter soul that we only whispered about freedom in the dark but were too shit terrified to fight for it.

I supposed that was what happened when you’d been groomed since you were twelve. We were so grateful to have each other but so fucking afraid of what would happen if one of us stepped out of line.

We all paid the price.

All we had was each other.

And that was both a blessing and a curse.

Mrs. Willby blew me a kiss. “You’re so handsome, Kas. I think I’ll ask Stu about taking you home with us. I know he’s denied my request before but you’re older now. You need some life experience.”

I forced myself to smile, reaching for my weapon. “A change of scenery would be good.”

She beamed, flicking a disillusioned look at her beer-bellied husband. “I agree. It would be very good indeed.” Winking at me, she added, “Now, let’s play a game. I’ve missed you and you’ve made me rather eager.”

I shuddered, feeling the binds of conditioning, the constant need to protect my Fable family, the evil whispers in my head to submit, surrender, succumb.

Be a good boy.

Do precisely what they say.

Beg, moan, crawl, and cry.

I straightened my spine.

I curled my hand around the knife.

No more.

Tonight, I’m done.

I smiled at my masters.

I raised my hand, flames glinting off my blade.

And it was so easy.

Too easy.

The knife was sharp.

Mrs. Willby’s throat was soft.

I swooped up, sliced deep, and her skin parted like melted butter, blood pouring like a red, red river.

For a second, nothing happened.

Mrs. Willby blinked like an owl.

Mr. Willby chuckled as if I’d introduced a new game.

And then, all fucking hell broke loose.

She went to scream.

I shoved her backward and smashed a pillow over her face as she bled out.

Mr. Willby yelled a curse, throwing himself on me.

I elbowed him in the gut, spun around, hacked off his cock, then gave him the same bloody end as his wife.

His throat almost split completely in two. My force was too strong, making his head unstable and his body buckling instantaneously.

He gurgled and choked.

I moved the pillow from dead Mrs. Willby’s face to his, waiting until his final death throes ceased before standing and pulling up my jeans.

Blood drenched my chest, cooling and metallic.

The force of what I’d just done hit me out of nowhere, making me projectile vomit all over my two victims.

I stumbled against the bed.

I second-guessed everything.

If this goes wrong, everyone you love dies.

I clutched my blade and marched out of my bedroom to Quell.

I didn’t remember much after that.

It was nothing but a blur.

I was dancing.

Liberating.

Killing.

No, saving.

Saving my family, my loved ones.

I worked my way down the corridor, my bare footprints leaving crimson tracks on the expensive carpet. As each one of my family members were freed, they fell into line with me.

They watched my back as I ended all eighteen guests and turned the bedroom floor into a tomb.

Thanks to our mostly blind master and his two dumb-as-fuck guards, the muffled screams and cries for help as I stepped into rooms, threw myself on the members of Fables, and massacred them where they stood, were written off as groans of passion.

The corridors always echoed with screams on nights like this.

It was no different.

Only difference was the guests were the ones bleeding tonight, not us.

Once the last throat was cut, I looked at my half-dressed, shock-induced family, and commanded them to stay upstairs. “Stay here until I say it’s safe to run, then go to the dormitory, pack what you need and be ready.”

I had three more murders to commit.

Alone.

Maliki and Jareth stepped forward. “We’ll come with you.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’ve got this. You need to find Wes. I cut him loose earlier today, but I don’t think he’ll have made it far.”

“Wes is still alive?” Nyx squeaked. They’d shared the closest bond. Far closer than sister and brother like the rest of us. I’d always pitied them, finding love, connection in a horrid place like this.

“He is. He’s been kept in the cabin.” I tried to keep impatience out of my voice. “He’s heading toward the cave but needs help.”

Nyx immediately tugged Sarez toward the stairs. “Come on. We need to find him.”

“Not yet. Stay here until I’ve dealt with Storymaker,” I growled. “It’s not safe yet.”

“I’ll help you kill him,” Neo hissed.

“No, I’m doing this alone—”

“Kas, let me—”

“I said no. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Not waiting for more arguing, I slinked down the stairs with my butcher’s blade high.

The guards would be the hardest part of tonight. They were trained. They had guns. However, after so many years of no real issues and only the occasional discipline required, they’d grown lazy and unprepared.

It just took speed, that was all.

Speed that I committed to as I reached the bottom of the stairs and broke into a run. I bolted through the foyer, skidded into the library, and sliced at the guard on the left then the one on the right.

I struck their arms, rendering only wounds instead of death.

But it gave me enough time to snatch one of their guns and shoot.

Bang.

Dead.

Storymaker leaped to his feet, his alcohol-induced snooze shattering into pieces. “What the—”

The scuffs of footsteps and quiet whispers of victory sounded behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I eyed my family. “I thought I told you guys to get ready to leave.”

“We want to watch,” Elise muttered, wringing her hands, rope burn obvious on her wrists.

“Yeah, we need to know it’s finished,” Sarez murmured. Her sweet gaze caught mine. “Please, Kas?”

I’d planned on dragging Storymaker’s demise out.

I wanted him to know what it felt like to be carved open by a knife, to struggle in handcuffs, to beg for his life.

I’d already lost my soul to this.

I thirsted for his death. Stuart Page, the goddamn Storymaker, was mine. I wanted to bathe in his screams. To sink into his misery.

But I wouldn’t taint my family with more tyranny. Watching death was one thing. Watching torture might scar them even worse than their current wounds.

“What the fucking hell have you done, Kassen?!” Storymaker bellowed, finding his voice after gaping like a fish at his deceased guards.

I spun to face him, loving the presence of my family behind me. “I did what you all deserved.”

“You’ll fucking pay for this.” He raised his hand, pointing a shaking finger in my direction. “Go to bed, all of you. You’ll be suitably punished in the morning.”

A few stifled moans sounded behind me. Conditioned psyches needing to obey. “There won’t be any punishment, guys,” I whispered. “You don’t need to fear him anymore.”

“You do. You have so much to fucking fear.” Storymaker stepped toward us, his eyes on the gun I held. He’d always prided himself on training us so well, he didn’t need to carry a gun to keep us afraid.

Bet he wished he hadn’t been so arrogant now.

“Don’t move,” I seethed.

I was the gatekeeper to his hoard of slaves and there was no fucking way I would let him lay another finger on them.

My head tipped down, my eyes locking onto my hands.

Blade or gun.

Both weapons waited to be used.

The blade would be more satisfying, but the gun would be more efficient.

I wanted out of this place.

I wanted my family free.

Raising the gun, I smiled icily. “Your disgusting club and membership have been revoked, you sick son of a bitch.”

A cold laugh echoed over my shoulder.

Jareth.

I would recognize his barely restrained violence anywhere.

And then, I squeezed the trigger.

Not just once.

Not just twice.

I emptied the entire fucking clip, bullet after bullet, filling our diabolical master with lead.

I ended the entire establishment.

I turned to my family.

I relished in our hard-won freedom.

But then, the world turned hazy, blurs spinning into colors, colors morphing into a new reality.

The library solidified around me.

One night traded for another.

No more blood. No more death.

Just a woman with blond hair, hazel eyes, and a rope wrapped tight around my wrists.

Horror came from nowhere.

Thick, black, unbearable horror.

It’d all been a dream.

A dream where I’d liberated us only to wake and find I hadn’t.

No!

Christ, no.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t do this again.

I couldn’t endure another night, another rape, another moment.

“NO!”

Poisonous air strangled my lungs.

My vision blurred in and out.

Frenzied fear made me swim in nausea.

I fought the rope.

I motherfucking panicked.

For a second, all I thought about was myself. I was selfish, absorbed, hysterical at my own impending pain.

But then, terror drowned me.

Them.

Nyx and Quell, Wes and Zanik.

Maybe this wasn’t a dream, after all.

Maybe I’d waged war on our guests.

Maybe I’d killed a few.

But, regardless of my success, I’d failed.

I’d failed because I’d forgotten one.

I’d missed a guest.

One was alive.

She’d caught me, trapped me, and was ready to make me scream.

I couldn’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Did she have the others?

Were they about to be ripped apart for my crimes?

No.

I can’t let that happen.

If anyone would pay, it was me.

I wanted to snarl, to curse, to tear her into pieces. To end her.

Instead, I permitted a lifetime of obedience to wash over me.

If she had my family, my life was over.

I had nothing left.

Nothing.

I bowed over my knees.

Eight years of conditioning. A decade of loneliness. A lifetime of pain.

I’d done everything I could and it wasn’t enough.

I’d tried.

I’d died.

I was hers.

And she was about to ruin me.