Page 27 of Psyop Kings

No one comes rushing to do my bidding, so I make my way to the bathroom. A discarded robe is at the foot of the bed, this time, a light pink chenille. I burst into the bathroom, knowing things will be different there too. It’s all the same color and looks just as the first bathroom did, but this one has a singletoothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste sitting by the sink. Ignoring them both, despite feeling as though my breath is deadly, I rush into the bedroom. It’s then I realize the door is ajar a couple of inches.

I creep over to the door as silently as possible. My heart hammers inside my chest as fear threatens to consume me.

What’s on the other side of the door?

Is this another trap?

It’s then I remember the fork. I shove my hand into my hoodie pocket and curl my fingers around the metal handle.

I still have my weapon.

The scent of cigar smoke wafts its way in through the cracked door. Everything in me wants to yank open the door and take off in a sprint. But I have no idea what’s on the other side of the door.

I steel my nerves and tighten my grip on the fork. Slowly, with my free hand, I pull the door open, hoping it doesn’t creak or give me away. Once I’ve opened it far enough to slip through, I ease my body through the opening.

My eyes blur as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing. It almost feels like a dream. In front of me is an endlessly long hallway with doors and light sconces lining it.

Am I in a hotel?

The prospect of finding someone who can help me escape overwhelms me. A giddy laugh bubbles out of me, but I quickly swallow it down before it gives me away.

I just need to find a stairwell, elevator, or exit.

The smell of food is enticing, but my potential escape is all the sustenance I need.

At first, I walk slowly, but soon, I find myself running as fast as I can down the never-ending hallway. Ahead of me, a door opens. Before I can slow down, a beast of a man steps in my path.I’m unable to stop myself from slamming right into his massive chest.

I cry out in shock and yank my hand from my hoodie pocket, ready to stab the man with it. He grunts when I make a stabbing motion toward his eye but easily snags my wrist in his strong grip.

We both look at my fork.

It’s not a fork anymore.

It’s a spoon.

A useless silver spoon.

I blink in confusion and utter a whimper of defeat.

The man—whom I quickly realize is the middle brother, Gareth Crowne—booms with laughter.

They’ve tricked me once again.

Romy

“Drop the weapon,” Gareth says, lips curling up into a wide grin that reveals all his shiny, perfect teeth.

He doesn’t say it in a menacing way.

It’s almost as if he’s joking with me.

Like this is some game we play all the time.

I spit on his face. I bet he wasn’t expecting that.

His brows lift in shock and then he lets go of my arm to wipe his cheek on his sleeve. “Your loyalty to him is noted.”

Frowning, I shove my useless spoon back into my pocket and glower at him. “Who? Why am I here? Where’s Megan?”

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