Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 144760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
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.
Killing.
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.
Bang.
Dead.
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.