Page 106 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Grace being auctioned. Her perspective. Antonio winning the bid and her horror as she realises she’s been played.

Two years. That’s how long I’ve been waiting. How long I’ve been kept, sequestered, neatly packaged up like a little treat for them all.

You’d think it would be enough to reconcile me to all this, to help me make peace with my fate, but as I’m literally carted out before all these hundreds of baying men, I know an entire lifetime could never prepare me for what tonight’s horror will be, and what tomorrow’s torture will become.

I’m dressed in a sheer, silk shift. It’s silvery white, the fabric so fine it feels like it’s kissing me. I know it’ll be the only tenderness I feel, the only tenderness I get. Underneath, there is nothing. I’m as naked as the day I was born and every single one of these arseholes can see it.

I grit my teeth, tightening my grip on this ridiculous thing I’m being transported in and I can see my knuckles are going white.

I told myself I’d be brave. I told myself that I’d be courageous, that they wouldn’t see me crumble, that I would face my fate the way my father did. Only, now I’m here, now I’m literally looking these bastards in the eyes, all that bravado is rapidly crumbling to dust.

“Make way,” Someone yells as the cart comes to a stop.

Who’s stupid idea was this? To haul me out, to bring me from the back of the crowd? I narrow my eyes and I see exactly who, standing on the big stage, watching me.

Magnus Blake. Our new Chapter Lord. Not so new now though. He’s had a few years to settle in, to make his mark, to cull half my family too, to butcher and murder and kill my friends, my acquaintances, anyone who dared support my father in his attempt to beat him.

I let out a huff as our eyes meet.

They say he’s the devil. They say he’s as ruthless as they come. That he always wins, always gets whatever he wants. I guess it must be true considering I’m the one in chains and he’s the victor.

Hands suddenly grab at me, someone tries to pull me over and I scream out before one of the two guards beside me beat the person back.

The cart jerks once more and we continue on, continue through like a little victory procession. I feel like Cleopatra, I feel like a barbarian queen, caught, captured, being dragged through the streets of Rome and about to be devoured by the lions while everyone enjoys the sport.

As we reach the stage, it is his brother Conrad who takes my arm, who pulls me out in a manner that tells me he expects me to fight.

He’s twice my size, at least twice my strength. I know I shouldn’t do it, but the moment presents itself to perfectly to resist and I curl my fist, landing a good punch to his smug fucking face.

He groans, stumbling slightly, and the crowd jeers louder.

“Fucking bitch.” He says, wrenching me by my hair.

I kick out, I buck my body as I’m manhandled onto a giant wheel. My arms and legs are stretched wide, I’m now spreadeagle and the dress I have on is riding dangerously high.

I gulp back, fighting down the tears. I knew this place was an abomination but nothing could ever prepare me for this level of barbarity.

“Take it off. Take it off. Take it off.” The crowd chant, louder and louder.

My eyes snap to my right, to the man responsible for all of this.

Magnus prowls towards me, his eyes fixed on my face like he wants to savour every moment of my torment.

In his hand he has a tiny golden blade and as he moves close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin, I can’t help but whimper.

I know it’s no good begging. I know it’s no good wasting my breath. But he pauses, as if he thinks I’m stupid enough to do it anyway. Well, fuck you, Magnus Blake. I won’t give you that.

He grabs my dress by the collar, pulling it far enough from my skin so he can slice it open without carving me up.

Freezing cold air rushes to meet me. I shut my eyes, as my body is exposed, and those awful cheers reach a fever pitch.

“May I present to you all, Grace Ratcliffe.” He says so silkily, so damn smug as he spreads he hands wide.

I shudder, trying to pull myself free but the rope is far too strong for that and all I do is make myself look like a desperate, weak little fool.

I glance down, stupidly I glance down and I can see myself laid out, looking like Christ himself, ready to be sacrificed. Only, he got the promise of an after-life. He got to die knowing he would be reborn in a few days.

“She’s pierced.” Someone shouts, pointing at my breasts that are heaving because I can’t get my ragged breathing under control.

I grit my teeth, shooting a look of pure venom at my captors.

Magnus smiles more. Conrad actually laughs as he steps forward. “We thought we’d add a little extra sparkle to our prize.” He says, before leaning right over, pulling my labia back, showing them all the other horrific thing they did to me.

“Fuck me.” Someone close to me groans, like he’s never seen anything as good in his life.

“Piercings take a while to heal.” Conrad says almost bored. “We decided to be efficient and use the two years we had, waiting for her to come to age, to our advantage.”

“Bastards,” I hiss under my breath.

“What’s that?” Conrad says, grabbing my face, forcing me to face him.

I shut my eyes, I shudder as that awful memory hits me, as that flashback of him and Magnus holding me down as they shoved those needles into me, as they mutilated me and turned me into a whore-in-waiting.

He flicks the diamond encrusted bar that goes through my right nipple, then flicks the left straight after.

“Be grateful, Grace.” He murmurs. “We didn’t have to auction you at all.

Me and Magnus could have simply kept you here, kept you in locked away in Oblivion and used you as our own personal slave. ”

I know he’s trying to scare me, trying to intimidate me, but it won’t work. They’ve already done their worst in killing my father, in killing my aunts, and uncles, and my baby cousin too. Selling my virginity, selling me, is just the last insult in a list of so many.

I throw my head back, spitting right into his face and it lands on his cheek as a white foamy mess.

He wipes it clean with the cuff of his shirt, laughing.

“Let the bidding begin,” He says, turning his back on me. “We’ll start at fifty million…”