Page 100 of Psyop Kings

She’s happy?

Behind her is a dark mahogany bed frame. I can’t see anything else. What if she’s in a prison and being held under duress?

Her features soften and she gives me a grim smile. “Look. I can see you’re upset about…whatever kind of relationship it is you think we had.” She waves a manicured hand to gesture between us. I note that she’d always been a nail biter, but these nails with fanciful artwork must’ve cost a fortune that she neverhad. She continues with a sigh. “I’ve moved on from my old life. I’m no longer a moth. I’m a butterfly.”

“You were never a moth to me,” I say softly.

She opens her mouth to respond, but another voice enters the room she’s in.

“Meg,” a deep voice says, amusement in his tone. “You’re not dressed yet? Our friends are waiting at the pub. Come on, babe. Throw on something sexy and let’s go.”

I don’t see the face, but I know the voice.

It cuts like a thousand razor blades, deep and long, forever scarring me.

The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

Agonizing hurt consumes me.

“I gotta go,” Megan says, a guilty look on her face. “Tell Caius bye for me.”

The screen goes black, and I’m left staring at the empty screen. Tears spill from my eyes, no doubt tracking mascara in their wake. An ache in my chest makes it hard to breathe. With my fist, I tap the center of my chest, hoping to beat some air into my lungs.

Thoughts spiral out of control and the room spins.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

This isn’t reality. It’s a dream. I’m having a stupid dream.

Maybe I’m still in my childhood closet, hiding from the evil that lurks about, making up stories in my head to entertain myself and pass the time.

I shake my head back and forth as if to clear the confusion from my mind. All it does is make the throbbing inside my head intensify.

Can’t I just go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare already?

“Something wrong?” Caius asks, voice cold and knowing.

I hate him.

I hate this man with my entire being.

Without looking at him, I rise from the desk chair and stumble toward the bed, desperate to disappear under the covers, hide from this world.

Before I can climb into the bed, Caius grips my hips with his hands. A flare of explosive fury has me whirling on him, eager to pour all my wrath onto him.

“Just when were you going to tell me?” I demand, voice rising as more tears flood my eyes. “When?”

“Tell you what?” he implores, eyes narrowing to slits.

He knows exactlywhatI’m talking about.

The sick bastard gets off on torturing me. He wants me to say it.

“Just when were you going to tell me Bastian was involved in your twisted bullshit?”

My own brother.

I don’t understand.

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