Page 29 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)
Devin
I carry her out.
The girl’s face is so swollen, her pretty features are barely recognisable. There’s a trail of blood from her mouth that I know has nothing to do with the damned thing he rammed into it.
She’s lighter than I imagined. She feels different too. Not weaker, not stronger… just different.
Gunther is still raging, he’s still having his tantrum and unfortunately for the slaves, there’s still eleven of the fuckers still in there for him to sate his anger out on. I doubt my brother will be getting any of them returned when this party is over.
The girl whimpers in my arms. It’s a pathetic noise.
I glance down at her and I wonder if she’s done it on purpose, if she thinks it’ll make me feel guilt or some such nonsense for dragging her back in there. As if that wasn’t my job. As if I would risk my life and my family’s reputation for her.
The priest is behind us. I’m too big a man for him fit beside me and anyway, I know where I’m going despite his attempts to tell me otherwise.
We walk out across a courtyard, out past the pretty formal gardens and the fancy smelling roses that have all started to turn brown.
A guard is stood in front of a wooden gate and as I approach, he unlocks it without a word.
I walk through, taking note of the sentries all along the fortifications. They call this place a Palace, but this part is far older, and it resembles more of a medieval military compound than a place of luxury.
Ahead, I can see the shack. It’s small. Weatherbeaten.
Another guard opens it for me, and I carry the girl in before placing her down for a moment. There’s a set of chains attached to the trestle in the roof. It takes me a moment to pull the thing loose and then I’m picking her up, placing her wrists in the shackles. Locking them in place.
I know the priest is watching. I know Gunther sent him here to ensure I see her suitably punished but for a second I don’t give a fuck about him. About the Chapter Lord either. About any of it.
She’s hanging there, her knees just touching the dirty floor, her arms above her head and her breasts are poking through the great tear in her dress. She’s bloodied. Bruised. Between her thighs I can see the smear of her period – the so-called reason for this punishment.
She looks beautiful.
She looks magnificent. Her chest is rising and falling and with the chill in the air, her nipples look so delightfully hard.
I bite my lip, resisting the urge to bite them, to fall on my knees and make it hurt more for her.
God, she’s a whore, isn’t she? She’s a fucking bitch to make me feel these things.
I shake my head, clenching my fists, reminding myself that all women are the same. They all have mouths and cunts and when you’re the one fucking them it doesn’t matter what they look like, how they feel.
But that’s not true. Not really. I know this bitch’s cunt would feel good. I know this bitch here would feel incredible as I made her weep and beg and cry so prettily for me to hurt her more.
“Blake.”
Someone calls my name, bringing my out of my traitorous thoughts.
As they do it, the girl wakes up, she lifts her head, and she looks at me. Her left eye is so swollen she can’t see out of it. Her lip is bleeding again and there’s such a bruise across her cheek from where a boot made contact.
She was so beautiful. So, so beautiful.
And then her husband ruined it.
I turn, walking out, leaving her whimpering as those metal chains rattle.
“She stays here.” The priest orders. “While she is dirty, while she bleeds, she will remain here.”
I don’t look back. I don’t react to it. My job is done. My shift is over.
I’m out of here. I’m fucking done.
I need to get that bitch out of my head. I need to get her pleas and her eyes, and the sound of her crying, I need it gone. I need her gone.
Maybe I’m a monster. Maybe I’m as fucked in the head as my brothers think but perhaps it would be a good thing if she just died. If she shut her eyes and never opened them again.
It would certainly make my life easier.
Would make everything better.