Page 203 of Once Upon a Fable

Not him.

I’d been sodomised and abused. I’d been ridiculed and punished. I’d done everything he ever commanded because if I didn’t, my family would pay. Yet I’d never been fucked by our master.

He was into girls.

He—

“Oh, don’t panic, darling Kas.” Storymaker blew me a kiss. “I’m not after your tight hole, not unless you’ve swapped a cock for a pussy.” Wrapping the leather around his waist, he buckled it then snapped another impenetrable padlock into place.

Laughing under his breath, he tugged the chain, putting pressure on my ankle and pulling my leg forward. It was either move or fall.

I moved.

I moved away from the kind kitchen maid fixing my shredded back.

I moved with a straight spine and balled hands and stopped before Storymaker, understanding what this meant.

He nodded. “I see you get it.”

I dropped my eyes obediently. “Yes, sir.”

He tugged the chain again, motioning to the belt he now wore. “Wherever you go, I will feel it. If you try to go where you are not permitted, I will know. If you sneak out of bed to get food for those little bastards, I will be there.” He reached out, his hand landing on my head, sinking manicured fingers into my hair.

Fisting the strands, he snatched my head to the side as his face lost its groomed mask and slipped into the devil beneath. “You hear me, boy? I am the spider, and you are the fly. You are in my web, little Kassen. I suggest you tread carefully.”

STOP!

I couldn’t breathe.

I gasped and clawed toward the light, falling to my ass as my hands dropped miles’ worth of tarnished chain. It spilled around me like a sinister metal snake.

Digging both hands into my hair, even the pain of my broken armcouldn’t stop me from clutching the strands and doing my best to rip them out.

To rip the memory out.

I wanted it gone. Erased. Burned to ash where it belonged.

Please.

I sucked in another breath, this one untainted with the power to pull back the curtains that’d enclosed me. Slowly, the darkness receded. My stomach hurt as I shoved Storymaker and all his nasty games deep, deep inside me.

Gemma.

Shit.

Panic did the rest for me, shoving aside the fear of my past for the fear of my present.

She could’ve woken up by now.

She could’ve grabbed her bag and left, all while I broke like an idiot on a bedroom floor.

Stumbling to my feet, I snatched up the chain and tripped into the corridor. I crashed against the wall as I reached for the banister. The stairs blurred into one unending slide.

My vision played tricks. My palms slipped on the railing. The chain bounced and plinked behind me as I dragged it down the hazy steps to the foyer. My knees threatened to buckle as I reached ground level, wincing as the soft thud of bronze links on carpet became high-pitched pings of metal on marble.

Hurry.

Swallowing sickness and forcing my balance to remain operational, I stumble-strode into the kitchen and once again crashed against the doorframe.