Page 46 of Fragmented Illusions

“Ten… Nine… Eight…” Creepy starts to count down, moving his arms so he can flick his knife through his fingers. I stare for a moment, captivated, as the blade shifts effortlessly around his fingers as he twists it so fast, it blurs.

“Seven…”

“I don’t know,” I blurt out, and immediately regret it.

“I thought we said not to lie… Damn, pretty girl. You’re a slow learner.” Creepy takes a step forward—towards the woman still passed out on the rotting floor—and my heart picks up again, fearful.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I—” Fuck this is hard. What do I even say?

“I was thinking her hair was very soft, and I wondered what it smelled like.” There, that wasn’t so bad. I huff a little, proud of myself for being brave, until Silent shakes his head, the movement small, but clear, nonetheless.

“That’s not what I asked,” he says, and this time, I’m the one shaking my head.

“Yes, it is.”

“I asked you what you were thinking thatmadeyou want to touch her hair.” He adds emphasis to the word made, and I quickly realize how much worse this question is.

“I, um.”

They’ll know if you’re lying, Fallon. You can’t lie about this.

I can’t be honest, either.

What’s the worst that could happen with your honesty? They already know your dirty little secrets.

Fuck, that’s true.

What do I have to lose?

“I was thinking about what she would look like as a corpse,” I blurt out, my words surprising even me.

Silence echoes out around us, only the sounds of our quiet breathing permeating the air. Well, their quiet breathing and my heavy, labored breathing. My lungs feel too small and unable to hold enough oxygen to filter to my brain, making me feel woozy.

I sway on my feet and the rotting floor beneath meets my face as my eyes close.

Spencer

“What the hell?” I whisper to Sol as we watch Fallon hit the floor, hard. She’ll definitely bruise from the fall, but it’s not like either of us knew it was going to happen, so we wouldn’t have been able to stop her anyway.

Not that I mind bruises on her body—not in the slightest. In fact, my hands itch to yank her leggings down her slender thighs so I can take a mental picture of the bruises I left on her. Bruises I know are painful to the touch. And along with those bruises is our mark.

An S carved into her beautiful flesh. It was a brilliant idea of mine, if I do say so myself.

I take a deep breath and release it, my hot breath blowing back in my face.

“Can we take these fucking things off yet?” I ask Sol. “I’m not used to wearing them for so long.”

“Not yet.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I bite my lip at the sharpness of his tone.

My dick is hard, stretching the material of my sweats to the max. I know Sol can see it—he sees everything—but he doesn’t comment on it.

“What are we going to do with her?” I hitch my thumb in Fallon’s direction and chuckle. “Damn, I can’t believe she actually said that out loud, brother. She must be desperate.”

“Hmm,” he responds, and I smirk.

This is going better than either of us could have ever hoped. She’s so beautifully broken and immeasurably desperate to be released from the confines of her own mind.

Little does she know my brother and I are going to help her.