Page 110 of Once Upon a Fable

“But—”

“Fuck’s sake, Wes!”

Ididn’t have time for this shit. Wes was lucky. Thanks to his torture-cabin out here in the woods, he was one step closer to freedom. The others were still in there. Hurting.

“Fucking go, Wes! Now! The others will find you.”

I ran before he could throw other complications in my face.

Complications like how the hell he was going to go anywhere in his condition.

He couldn’t walk unassisted for long.

Some bastard had gone too far in his blood play last month and not provided aftercare. The wounds on Wes’s leg were infected. He was starting to smell bad. Even if he got out of this place, he would probably die.

I ran harder, smearing the guard’s blood on my trousers. I’d have to wash away his death before reporting to serve. I had to hide what I’d done, for just a little longer.

Storymaker would never see me coming. Would never believe that his toy of almost nine years would break his conditioning.

His guests.

His empire.

They were all about to come crashing down, bled dry by my hand, slaughtered by a broken slave.

I choked and fell forward, snatching my hair with a groan.

Christ.

I could smell Wes’s sickness. I could feel the slipperiness of blood. I could hear the screams as I—

Stop!

Rocking, I dropped my arms to wrap around myself. My fingers found roughed areas of dried mud, followed the silvery tracks of old scars, pressed hard muscles and strong bones that hinted I was still alive.

Still here even if I was alone.

But...I’m not alone.

Shit.

Wrenching my head up, I locked eyes with her.

She’d twisted in her seat, her lips parted, her face a picture of worry. We didn’t say a word as I calmed my breathing, sat up tall, and acted as if I hadn’t just been suffocated by shitty memories that refused to die.

Memories that had no business tormenting me while I was awake.

“Are...are you okay?” she whispered. “You sounded as if something skewered you.”

Something did.

Lots of things, actually.

Toys and instruments. Knives and sadistic apparatus.

Glowering at her, I ignored her concern and shoved aside a bag full of female socks, underwear, and other toiletry items that I’d been rifling through before my minor relapse.

My hands trembled and sickness still swirled, but at least the walls in my head were back in place. Plus, I had an entire car-load of distraction to investigate.