Page 82 of Psyop Kings

Theo: They’re probably reading our texts. We can talk when you get back.

My mind reels for a couple of reasons. For one, he’s confirmed what I already know. The phone they’ve given me is being tracked and watched. Secondly, Gareth had another daughter who died. Was she adopted too?

I glance up from my phone to see Gareth watching me over his shoulder from the row in front of me. Chills of fear race through me, but I refuse to let it show. Forcing a fake smile at him, I go back to texting.

Me: Just promise me you’ll check in on her. Please. I’ll owe you one.

Theo: Yeah, babe. I got you.

Caius’s hand covers my phone and then he plucks it from my grip. He tucks it into his inside jacket pocket before threading his fingers with mine as the vehicle slows to a stop. “It’s time, little girl. Game face on.”

We’re here.

I can do this.

Romy

Avonia Beach.

At least that’s what the sign says. Unfortunately, I can’t see anything other than white, blinding snow. Wind shakes the vehicle, but neither Gareth nor Caius seems concerned.

“Are we really going on a boat? In that?” I thump the glass with my knuckle, hoping they’ll snap out of their indifference. “There’s literally zero visibility.”

“It’s not a boat,” Caius says, correcting me. “It’s a yacht.”

The driver speaks up, pride in his tone. “It’s not just any yacht, sir. Mr. Grayhawk purchased this World Superyacht Award winner in 2022 from a private seller in northern Europe for just a bit over two hundred and nine million dollars. The two-hundred-nineteen-foot-long vessel boasts two luxurious VIP cabins with balconies plus eight more king-sized staterooms. The wellness center was recently remodeled. Mr. Grayhawk’s guests are welcome to enjoy the steam room, sauna, massage room, and beauty salon within the wellness center. I do hope you appreciate the stunning beauty of it as not many people ever experience such luxuries.”

Caius smirks at me as if to say, “There you have it,” as he shoves my new, crimson-colored fur-lined parka at me to put on. As I begin layering up to walk through a blizzard to board an overpriced death trap, I wonder how a “steel man” can afford such a boat. If I had my phone and some time alone, I’d research what Solomon’s net worth is. It’s possible the steel company is alegal front to keep eyes off his illegal hidden business ventures. There’s definitely something there.

All too soon, the driver pulls up to the dock where the superyacht awaits. Since the wind is blowing snow everywhere, all I can see is a massive, dark gray outline amidst blinding whites and grays. Caius takes hold of my gloved hand, hurriedly ushering me toward the vessel. We board the yacht and after climbing a flight of icy steps that takes us from the lower deck to the one above, we make our way across the sun deck and covered pool to a set of glass doors. Once inside, a dozen workers all dressed in tailored white suits assist in taking our coats and outerwear. I trade my boots for a pair of comfy slippers. Seeing Caius in a matching pair has me smothering a laugh. He looks ridiculous.

The interior of the yacht is stunning as expected. Everything is white with silver accents—floors, walls, furniture. No wonder they had us remove our snowy clothes and shoes.

“Welcome to the Beach Club deck,” a man with a thick black mustache and even thicker English accent says. “Enjoy a drink while your luggage is taken to your rooms. Mr. Grayhawk welcomes you. He looks forward to meeting with you all for dinner on the main deck saloon dining area.” He taps the marbled bar top and then grins at us. “Champagne to warm you up?”

I nod because the wine I consumed earlier has left my system. A little champagne will help take the chill off and keep my nerves down a couple of degrees.

The wind outside whips at the side of the yacht, but it holds its own, only bobbing slightly. I’m worried, though, how it’ll be once we’re out on the waters. Lake Erie isn’t some regular placid lake. It’s one of the Great Lakes, albeit the smallest, and seems more like a sea than a lake.

With champagne flutes in hand, we make our way out of the bar area to a room deeper within the yacht. This room has two low, wide sofas—white, of course—that face each other on either side of a grand window that offers a picturesque view of the snow falling on the choppy lake. Despite the heat warming the space, I can’t help but shiver.

Gareth sits on one sofa while Caius guides me to the one opposite his brother. I don’t even argue at Caius’s closeness because he’s somehow warm despite his frigid personality.

“Cold, love?” Caius asks, voice deceptively sweet and caring. “Come here.”

Right.

We’re playing our parts.

Knowing contact with Megan is at stake, I lean willingly into his strong, warm body. He wraps his free arm around me, hauling me closer so that I’m squished against him. I’m not exactly hating it, which annoys me. I hook my jean-clad leg over his thigh, snuggling closer while precariously holding my flute so as not to spill it all over my “boyfriend.” With my head resting on his shoulder and cozied up against him, I could almost pretend we’re a real couple.

Gareth marvels aloud about the “badass” yacht. The mustache man who greeted us appears with a tray of stuffed mushrooms and what looks like caviar. He sets it on the table between the sofas before getting trapped in a conversation with Gareth. I sip my champagne, pleasantly surprised at how delicious it is, and try not to inhale Caius’s equally delicious scent. It’d be much easier to hate him if he didn’t smell so good.

We both finish our drinks, and as if having eyes in the back of his head, the mustache man discreetly relieves us of our glasses, while never missing a beat of talking to Gareth.

Voices resound in the bar area, and I strain to listen. A female one can be heard loudest. Her cackle of laughter has Caius’sentire body tensing. Naturally, this has me on high alert. Who’s the woman?

Moments later, a voluptuous woman with vibrant, long, wavy, red hair and piercing green eyes enters the space. As soon as she sees Gareth, she grins. Four young teen girls follow behind her, plainly dressed in comparison to the sexy older woman.

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