Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

But now? Now, I was being eaten alive by this monstrous house, and I had to go.

Packing a bag with some food and water, I stepped out of Fables for the last time.

And, in some serendipitous, ironic, cruel-as-fuck timing, three men smiled from the front garden.

A man with a groomed white beard and expensive suit glittered in the sunlight, flanked by two fierce guards, their hands resting on the holsters of their guns.

“Well, well.” The man tipped his head. “And just who the fuck do we have here?”

Stop.

I rocked with my fingers digging into my skull.

Just stop.

I didn’t want to see this. Didn’t want to remem—

I ran.

I was weak.

I dropped my bag and bolted back into Fables with its bleached carpets, disinfected air, and spotless bedrooms hiding all signs of a massacre.

“Get him!”

A shot rang out as one of the guards fired at me. All concepts of tackling the new guest and killing him like I’d killed Storymaker fled.

I’d lived with demons for too long not to recognize one.

Run!

Gasping, I shoved away the memory, recalling the discipline required to shut the doors and turn the keys, reinforcing the walls between my past and present.

I wasn’t strong enough.

I fell back into nightmares.

The interrogation lasted days.

I lost track of time. I lost too much blood. They broke my bones, my mind, my hope. I lived in a never-ending merry-go-round of questions, abuse, and torment.

The silver lining in being tortured was my sanity finally snapped.

I drifted into a place they couldn’t reach.

“Tell me what happened here!”

“Where is Stuart Page?”

“Where are the guests, the guards, the slaves?”

“Tell me!”

Each question came with pain.

Pain that would never be strong enough to make me give up my family.

I swallowed down answers until they were so far inside me, they’d have to kill me, resurrect me, then murder me all over again to access.

Time flickered.

The shouting and torture stopped.

Silence was my friend until the door opened and light entered and the man with a white beard squatted by my broken face. “Unfortunately, our time together has come to an end. I have a pressing engagement that requires swift attention.” He patted my cheek, grimacing as my blood stained his fingers. “I was going to kill you like you killed everyone here, but...I have a worse punishment for you.”

Standing, he braced himself over me. His heavy boot pressed against my throat. “I’m going to give you a parting gift. And you’re going to die slowly, painfully, all fucking alone in this valley. If I ever hear that you’ve survived or that you climbed out of here like a sewer rat, then I will slice you apart and feed your pieces to my dogs.” He laughed. “You think you stopped us? You think this place is the only one?” He ground his boot harder into my neck. “Stupid boy. No one, especially not you, can stop the lucrative peddling of flesh. Ponder on that while you die. Know that there are others, children, obedient little possessions all kneeling for their masters.”

In a burst of suicidal rage, I fought him. “You fucking son of a—”

And that was the last thing I remembered.

His boot crunching against my head.

Over and over and over...

Fuck, stop!

Throwing myself forward, I didn’t care about the shooting pain up my broken arm or the many aches and stiffness. I crawled out of the blankets and tripped to my feet. I stumbled across the room and slammed into the wall, my breathing shallow and quick.

Clutching a bookshelf, I swallowed hard, doing my best to calm my galloping heart and forget.

Forget.

You’ve done it before. Do it again.

Forget!

Slowly, the sharp horror in my head faded, transforming into grimy water that swirled down a drain and vanished. Only once my breathing leveled out, and I no longer shook with nausea did I turn around and face the room.

I sighed gratefully.

Just a room.

Nothing more.

No ghosts. No memories. Nothing but a—

What the fuck?

I stalked forward, noticing for the first time I hadn’t been alone in the blankets on the floor. A girl lay on her side, blond hair tangled on the pillow, exhaustion creating deep shadows beneath her closed eyes.

She slept heavily. Her forehead furrowed as if she suffered bad dreams. Her body curled up protectively.

Just as the library was familiar, so was she. I didn’t know her name, and I didn’t know where she’d come from, but she wasn’t a stranger.

Was she friend or foe?

I moved closer, my hands balled, violence simmering in my blood.

Who are you?

Whoever she was, this house was mine. Mine.

I would never have given her permission to stay—

A savage kiss in a storm.

A soul-altering moment as I sank inside her, her body welcoming me, her heart granting me peace, her kindness giving me a sliver of happiness.

I reeled backward.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Her.

Gemma goddamn Ashford.

I shook my head as more images poured through me. Recent ones instead of tarnished with history. These fresh recollections couldn’t be shoved behind rusty doors. These were far too vibrant.

Trespasser.

Seducer.