Page 30 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Devin

I shouldn’t have come here. I should have just stayed in my dorm, but it felt like the walls were caving in and I needed to do something. Had to do something. Had to shut up the voices. Had to shut up the screams. Had to silence that need in me.

And in truth, this is the only way I know how. The only way that has ever worked.

I stand in the back, my eyes scanning the room as the crowd seems to get rowdier and rowdier. We’re all on benches, staring down into a pit below that’s illuminated so we can see every single bit of it.

A young woman is forced into the ring, her eyes wide with terror. She fights, just as they always do, but her struggle is short-lived.

She’s strung up, suspended on a giant wheel and potential buyers are allowed to come down and inspect her.

I watch as she whimpers and jerks while they sniff her hair, and they stare at various parts of her.

They’re not allowed to touch her cunt. That’s the only part of her that’s off limits.

Afterall, no one wants damaged goods, and what would be the point in auctioning off virgins if you spoiled their value right at the last moment?

The bids come in swiftly, she’s pretty enough for two men to get into a little fight over it, and when the gavel comes down, she’s taken down, dragged away, and prepared for what’s to come next.

Another follows after her, and then another. The result is the same. Pitiful screams, pitiful attempts to fight the inevitable. I’ve witnessed these auctions so many times I can play them out, scene by scene.

My attention drifts until the fourth girl is pushed into the circle.

Her blonde hair catches the light. There’s a fragility that reminds me of a porcelain doll, easily shattered, yet captivating in her delicacy.

Without fully comprehending my actions, I find myself raising my hand, entering a bid.

She’s no one of consequence, and the price reflects that, yet I can’t pull away.

No one bothers to fight me. I can even see a few men muttering, wondering why I of all people would be interested in this whore, especially considering I haven’t even inspected her before trying to make the purchase.

The gavel strikes, and she’s mine. A guard drags her out of the ring, and I make my way down, meeting him by the backdoor. I don’t need to hand him the money now, he knows exactly who I am, that we, the Blake’s own this place, own his arse too.

I grasp her arm tightly, ignoring her gasp of pain as I pull her towards one of the private playrooms.

Poor little bitch doesn’t have a clue what’s in store for her now.

She’s staring at me, pleading with her eyes. Does she think I’m her saviour? Does she fool herself into believing this is some rescue mission? Can the woman not see what I am, what my soul is?

The door closes behind us, and the lock clicks into place. She can’t escape here, but me, I can walk out anytime I want, my fingerprint is the key.

I draw in a deep breath, steeling myself, calming that roaring in my chest and then I remember that I don’t have to. This one is mine. Mine to use. Mine to break. I paid good money for her; I can do whatever I want.

And what I want right now, what I desperately need is pain.

I grab her arms, looping them together with a strip of leather. She cries out, begging, as if she’s not been paying attention to where we are. Does she think Oblivion is some sort of daycare?

I hook the strap up to a link in the ceiling and I pull it hard enough, tight enough that her entire body is hauled right up into the air.

She screams out, kicking, and I give her arse a good slap.

She’s pretty enough. Her breasts are smaller than they looked from where I was, her face is a little too pointed, but her hair, her hair is near perfect.

“Stupid little whore.” I snarl, slapping her again.

She starts to sob, shaking her head, mimicking the woman I imagine to perfection. I stalk over to the wall, to where all the best instruments are waiting. I pull off a horse whip, and with a turn, I strike at her flesh.

She screams more then.

She sings so fucking beautifully.

I lash her, I whip her, I tear the skin off her back. She’s screaming the entire time, kicking out, doing everything she can to get free.

Each sob, each bit of agony that pours from her, feeds the beast within me, a creature starved for the catharsis of punishment. I am both judge and executioner, doling out a sentence that satisfies my thirst for pain.

Eventually she falls silent, hanging so limply from her wrists, and I toss the whip, hearing it clatter across the floor.

I grab her legs, pull her body back, and free my cock.

As I push into her, she comes to life once more. She snarls and she struggles, and her inner walls tear so deliciously as I force my way in.

Virgin fucking cunt. Virgin pussy.

That’s what Gunther wanted, what he got. And right now, I’m enjoying that very same meal.

It doesn’t matter that she’s not a Founder, it doesn’t matter that this bitch here is the lowest of the low, her cunt will take me just the same.

I groan, shutting my eyes, feeling as those nasty barbs catch on her inner flesh. I can see it, I can see her splayed before me. I can see the way her blue eyes are so wide with tears.

And I can see all my come as I covered her.

I pull the girl’s body back at a greater angle, fucking her mercilessly, using her like the whore she now is. My dick slams into her cervix and it hurts so good. Even now, her muscles are refusing to fully submit, refusing to give way.

One day soon, I’m going to do that to her .

I know it.

I can feel it.

Gunther will have another of his ‘episodes’ and he’ll change his mind about who can and can’t stick their cocks into his precious little wife.

And I’ll be first in line. First up. I’ll hold her down, I’ll break her if that’s what it takes, but that bitch will take me, she’ll take all of me, and she’ll be crying for every second of it.

“Whore,” I spit. “Fucking whore.”

I don’t know what this is, this obsession that seems to have worked its way into my head. What do I care what her cunt does and doesn’t do? What do I care about any of it?

She’s nothing to me. I have my orders, I have my family, they’re all that matter, not some pathetic little bitch who can’t even beg properly.

My hands wrap tighter around the girl’s throat, I don’t even know when I put them there, but as I thrust into her, I’m squeezing harder and harder.

Her jerks become more frantic. Her screams turn to mush. I can feel the rapid beat of her heart pumping blood through, trying to stop this, trying to ensure her survival.

I need her dead. I need her gone. That fucking woman, that fucking bitch.

I think I’m chanting it, shouting it, bellowing it, as I force the oxygen, force the life from this woman’s lungs.

I need that girl dead. I need Paitlyn gone.

I come with a roar, I come pushing my cock once more as deeply as I can bury it inside her.

She’s still. Silent.

I don’t know how long she’s been dead, how long I’ve been fucking a corpse, but I don’t care. She was a means to an ends. A type of medicine, necessary to keep the wolves from pounding at my door, from tearing at my insides.

I wince, shaking that thought away. I am not like her. I am nothing like her.

My mother was sick. My mother had reasons.

But she also had voices, the same voices, the same clawing ghosts that reside inside me.

I stare at my hands, wondering what she would say if she could see me now. What she would do. She always hated this place, she hated this legacy, our legacy. The Blake’s. This was our inheritance, our prize, our chattel and our purpose.

She hated it all, almost as much as she hated our father in the end.

I take a deep breath, and that stench of fear and decay fills my nostrils. My heart feels almost calm now, my head feels normal, I feel normal.

I don’t bother to untie the girl; I leave her hanging there. Leave her like a tombstone.

The guards can find her later, they can deal with her. Her skin can be boiled, her skull can be extracted, and she’ll go up on display, be another corner piece along with the thousands of other skulls.

As I emerge from the room, I find Magnus leaning against the opposite wall, his arms are crossed over his chest, and I can tell he’s not here for his own amusement.

He looks at me with that infuriating smirk, as if he can peer into the depths of my soul and pluck out my darkest secrets. Like he doesn’t know every single one of them already.

“Brother,” he greets me. “I trust the evening’s entertainment was to your satisfaction?”

I glare at him, my hand still tingling from the whip’s bite. “What do you want, Magnus?” I growl, eager to be rid of his presence.

He pushes off the wall, glancing in to where the body is still hanging. For a second, he frowns, as it hits him what went on inside those four walls. “You know you’re not meant to kill them.” He says.

I shrug. Like I give a fuck in this moment what I am and am not meant to do.

He narrows his eyes, grabbing the scruff of my shirt like he can intimidate me. “The price is for their virginity, not their life.” He states like I don’t know that fact.

I brush him off, brush him aside. Did he really come here to talk about money of all things? “So, charge me.” I mutter.

He waves his hand, proving what we both know, that he doesn’t actually give a fuck about the girl.

“We need to talk. There are rumours, murmurings about Gunther…” he says, his tone turning serious, his voice low enough that only I can hear him.

Not that anyone is nearby, but with Oblivion, you can’t trust the walls, you can’t trust anything.

“I don’t give a damn about Gunther or your petty politics.” I interrupt, my anger simmering just below the surface once more.

He grabs me again, pulling me closer. “It’s not petty when our very existence is tied up in it.” He states.

He’s right. On some level, the bastard is right.

But tonight is not the night. Tonight was meant to be about clearing my head, sating my anger. Not unravelling more.

“Fuck off.” I mutter as I push past him.

He can think what he wants, it doesn’t bother me. I need to get back anyway. It’s a two-hour journey between here and the Palace. If I’m quick, I might be able to get a half-hours shut eye before my shift starts.