Page 83 of Psyop Kings

“My favorite Crowne,” she croons, voice raspy like that of an old-time jazz singer. “Good seeing you, hon. How are you?”

Gareth rises to his feet and pulls her in for a hug. “Better now, Ms. Herring.”

She cackles again. “You’ve seen me naked, sweetheart. Ava. You’re to always call me Ava.”

Their exchange is weird, to say the least. I glance at the girls behind her, but none of them even look up. They’re all silent and sullen. It’s unsettling.

“Have you met Caius’s woman?” Gareth asks. “This one’s serious.”

Caius pats my hip and I know that’s my cue to play along. I untangle myself from his hold, hopping quickly to my feet to offer my hand.

“Romy Langston. Nice to meet you.”

Ava blinks her thick lashes several times as if she’s calculating something in her head but it’s not computing. “My, what a surprise.” Her green orbs cut over to Caius, who’s now standing. “I didn’t think your cold heart had an ounce of warmth.” She smirks. “From the looks of it, though, you’ve practically robbed the cradle.”

Caius casually wraps an arm over my shoulders, pulling me close. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Ava?”

She bursts into more obnoxious laughter, covering her full, cherry-red lips with her dainty hand. “I can’t help it if youngermen are attracted to me.” She winks at him. “You’re the only one who could ever resist me.”

I’m starting to really get grossed out by this woman. If she’s anything like her creepy buddy Solomon, she’s probably plucking those young “men” from the boys’ homes for her own pleasure and amusement. The thought makes me want to gag. It also has my attention darting over to the group of teenage zombies.

“Your children?” I ask, not pulling my gaze from the girls.

One of the girls, with jet-black hair, lifts her head and stares at me—brown eyes empty and apathetic. It makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“They’re my girls,” Ava says, stepping in front of the strange girl, blocking my view with her curvaceous body.

I want to ask more, but Caius’s hand on my shoulder tightens. It feels like a warning.

“They’re pretty,” I blurt out.But look nothing like you, lady.

“I should hope so for as much trouble as they are.” Ava’s smile never falters, but I don’t miss the edge of irritation in her tone.

Before we can continue this bizarre encounter, the mustache man proclaims our rooms are ready.

“The cabins are on the level above this one,” he says to us. “However, Mr. Crowne and his lovely lady will be rooming in one of the VIP suites above that on the owner’s level.”

Special treatment.

I’m not sure I like the idea of being on the same deck as Solomon Grayhawk.

Ava herds her odd girls out of the room and down a hallway. Gareth saunters after the older woman, playfully chatting her up along the way. Caius drops his arm and then takes hold of my hand. The mustache man shows us to a door that leads to a private staircase. Caius goes up the steps first, tugging mebehind him. We go up two levels and exit into a large lounge complete with a pool table, another bar, and multiple low sofas.

“This way,” he says to us. “You’re on the opposite end as Mr. Grayhawk. Unfortunately, his wife won’t be with us for our voyage. She sends her regards.”

I shoot Caius a questioning look, but he ignores me. Gritting my teeth, I follow him into our suite. Once the mustache man—whom I now know as Roberto after looking at his stitched name tag—leaves us to rest until the evening, I turn on Caius.

“Are you getting weird vibes?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because I certainly am.”

Our luggage rests on top of the bed, ready to be unpacked. Caius, clearly over wearing the slippers, kicks them off and begins digging in his suitcase. I keep mine on because they’re comfortable.

“Don’t ignore me,” I huff out. “I’m serious. Behind all this lovely is something awful.”

Caius yanks a pair of leather dress shoes out of the suitcase before whirling on me. Fire burns hot in his dark gaze. I recoil from the intensity of it. With eyes locked on mine, he sets the shoes down and slides each foot into them. Then he prowls closer to me. I yelp when he grabs my jaw, dipping his head until our noses touch.

“You want to speak with Megan?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.

I can’t form words because his sudden change in personality has my voice box shriveling up, so I nod instead.

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