Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

The guards would be the hardest part of tonight. They were trained. They had guns. However, after so many years of no real issues and only the occasional discipline required, they’d grown lazy and unprepared.

It just took speed, that was all.

Speed that I committed to as I reached the bottom of the stairs and broke into a run. I bolted through the foyer, skidded into the library, and sliced at the guard on the left then the one on the right.

I struck their arms, rendering only wounds instead of death.

But it gave me enough time to snatch one of their guns and shoot.

Bang.

Bang.

Dead.

Dead.

Storymaker leaped to his feet, his alcohol-induced snooze shattering into pieces. “What the—”

The scuffs of footsteps and quiet whispers of victory sounded behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I eyed my family. “I thought I told you guys to get ready to leave.”

“We want to watch,” Elise muttered, wringing her hands, rope burn obvious on her wrists.

“Yeah, we need to know it’s finished,” Sarez murmured. Her sweet gaze caught mine. “Please, Kas?”

I’d planned on dragging Storymaker’s demise out.

I wanted him to know what it felt like to be carved open by a knife, to struggle in handcuffs, to beg for his life.

I’d already lost my soul to this.

I thirsted for his death. Stuart Page, the goddamn Storymaker, was mine. I wanted to bathe in his screams. To sink into his misery.

But I wouldn’t taint my family with more tyranny. Watching death was one thing. Watching torture might scar them even worse than their current wounds.

“What the fucking hell have you done, Kassen?!” Storymaker bellowed, finding his voice after gaping like a fish at his deceased guards.

I spun to face him, loving the presence of my family behind me. “I did what you all deserved.”

“You’ll fucking pay for this.” He raised his hand, pointing a shaking finger in my direction. “Go to bed, all of you. You’ll be suitably punished in the morning.”

A few stifled moans sounded behind me. Conditioned psyches needing to obey. “There won’t be any punishment, guys,” I whispered. “You don’t need to fear him anymore.”

“You do. You have so much to fucking fear.” Storymaker stepped toward us, his eyes on the gun I held. He’d always prided himself on training us so well, he didn’t need to carry a gun to keep us afraid.

Bet he wished he hadn’t been so arrogant now.

“Don’t move,” I seethed.

I was the gatekeeper to his hoard of slaves and there was no fucking way I would let him lay another finger on them.

My head tipped down, my eyes locking onto my hands.

Blade or gun.

Both weapons waited to be used.

The blade would be more satisfying, but the gun would be more efficient.

I wanted out of this place.

I wanted my family free.

Raising the gun, I smiled icily. “Your disgusting club and membership have been revoked, you sick son of a bitch.”

A cold laugh echoed over my shoulder.

Jareth.

I would recognize his barely restrained violence anywhere.

And then, I squeezed the trigger.

Not just once.

Not just twice.

I emptied the entire fucking clip, bullet after bullet, filling our diabolical master with lead.

I ended the entire establishment.

I turned to my family.

I relished in our hard-won freedom.

But then, the world turned hazy, blurs spinning into colors, colors morphing into a new reality.

The library solidified around me.

One night traded for another.

No more blood. No more death.

Just a woman with blond hair, hazel eyes, and a rope wrapped tight around my wrists.

Horror came from nowhere.

Thick, black, unbearable horror.

It’d all been a dream.

A dream where I’d liberated us only to wake and find I hadn’t.

No!

Christ, no.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t do this again.

I couldn’t endure another night, another rape, another moment.

“NO!”

Poisonous air strangled my lungs.

My vision blurred in and out.

Frenzied fear made me swim in nausea.

I fought the rope.

I motherfucking panicked.

For a second, all I thought about was myself. I was selfish, absorbed, hysterical at my own impending pain.

But then, terror drowned me.

Them.

Nyx and Quell, Wes and Zanik.

Maybe this wasn’t a dream, after all.

Maybe I’d waged war on our guests.

Maybe I’d killed a few.

But, regardless of my success, I’d failed.

I’d failed because I’d forgotten one.

I’d missed a guest.

One was alive.

She’d caught me, trapped me, and was ready to make me scream.

I couldn’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Did she have the others?

Were they about to be ripped apart for my crimes?

No.

I can’t let that happen.

If anyone would pay, it was me.

I wanted to snarl, to curse, to tear her into pieces. To end her.

Instead, I permitted a lifetime of obedience to wash over me.

If she had my family, my life was over.

I had nothing left.