Page 103 of Psyop Kings

Someone knocks on the door.

What if it’s LuLu?

I race over to the door, hoping that the girl has come to me with her friends. Maybe we can throw on our outer gear and somehow sneak off once we’re docked. The second I open the door, though, I regret it instantly.

“Gareth,” I say with a groan. “Bye.”

Before I can close the door, he places his thick black boot in the way to stop it.

“Wait,” he says, voice soft. “Ro, please. Can we talk?”

“No.”

“I want to…apologize.”

Not falling for it this time.

“I was worried,” he continues. “I saw my brother… Did he, uh, touch you against your will?”

I detect sincerity in his tone.

Could be another lie.

“I’m coming in to apologize and explain what happened to Emma.”

My interest is officially piqued. “Fine. Hit me again and I’ll tell Caius.”

I’m not sure Caius would be my savior, but I think Gareth believes this. He grunts in agreement. Moving away from the door, I allow him entry. The lamplight casts a golden glow on his handsome features that are pinched with regret.

“You’ve been crying,” he utters, motioning to my face. “You have black shit all over your cheeks and your eyes are red.”

“Captain Obvious.”

He smirks and I’m reminded of the man I somewhat trusted once before. Now that I know his true nature, I don’t warm up to him.

“Look,” he says, humor fading, “I know a lot of crazy shit’s been happening on this boat. What I saw Caius doing in the hallway, when no one was watching, went beyond your ruse. You seemed as if you were in pain.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “So you admit he’s not really my boyfriend.”

He shrugs and saunters past me, making his way over to the windows where we have a prime view of the dock. “I’m going to be real with you, Ro. You’re right. It’s fake.”

A flare of victory ignites in my chest.

“Which is why I was so worried,” Gareth continues. “If it was assault, I’ll…”

I scoff at his words. “You’ll what, Gareth? You nearly knocked me unconscious earlier because I made you angry. Now you’re suddenly my protector rather than my aggressor?”

To his credit, he doesn’t lose his cool. His features remain cowed and embarrassed.

“I fucked up,” he admits. “I’m sorry. Truly. My kids are a touchy subject.” He scrubs a palm over his face and expels a shuddering sigh. “I got defensive when you spoke about Em. God, I miss her.”

My heart aches at the pain in his voice. A person can’t fake grief like that. He really is hurting over the loss of the girl. Maybe I provoked him.

He shouldn’t have hit me, though.

I straighten my spine, not letting his sadness break down my walls. The man on the dock starts walking toward the yacht. Distracted, I move toward the window to watch whatever’s happening.

Always watching and doing nothing.

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