Page 43 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

A pparently, the usual kneeling and flogging isn’t enough this time.

Apparently, my sins are so great, that harsher measures are necessary.

I don’t bother to speak, to plead, to do anything.

I feel numb. Utterly numb.

And completely broken.

Devin hands me over to the waiting Priest who looks like he can’t wait to get started with whatever this punishment is. He yanks me into the Chapel, and slams my body as hard as he can against those marble slabs.

I scream out, curl up, afraid that he’s about to do something unforgiveable, that he’s about to hurt me the way Gunther allows his friends to do.

The Priest sneers, staring at my breasts, at my thighs, at my exposed pussy too.

“Dirty, filthy little whore.” He says, grabbing what looks like a load of dried-up brambles. They’re a metre long in length, one end bound together with some rope that provides a handle.

He raises his arm, bringing it down on my side, and all those thorns catch as they tear into my skin.

I scream more, I sob, as he beats me. It feels like he’s torn all the skin off my back.

He sneers, taunting me, then hauls me up, drags me by my hair and forces me into what looks like a sarcophagus.

It’s made of metal. It’s big, but not big enough for me to stand in. On the bottom are spikes and as my feet scramble to get some footing, I realise any false move will result in impaling myself on them.

I hunch over, trying to use my hands to create some leverage.

He stares at me, laughs at my pathetic attempt to try to help myself and then he slowly starts to shut the front.

“No.” I scream, realising that he’s locking me in.

The metal slams with shut finality.

The sides of my new cage are bitterly cold, and it feels like I’m entombed. It feels like I’ll never get out of this hell.

It’s pitch black. There isn’t even a seam of light where the front meets the sides.

“You will stay in here.” The Priest says loud enough for me to hear his nasty little voice. “Jesus was entombed before he rose from the dead…”

It’s bullshit. I know it is. He’s twisting the words, twisting scripture to fit his needs.

“In three days’ time, we’ll see if you’re fit for decent society again.”

Three days? Three fucking days? I can barely take any more of this, and I’ve not even done ten minutes. How on earth am I going to manage three days?

I bite my tongue so hard. I chew the very end to keep the whimper in.

He wants to break me. Gunther wants to break me.

I know this will undoubtedly be the worst test of my strength to date but I will not give in. I will not. I’m a damn Founder. I’m better than him, better than all of them.

I clench my fists, burying my nails into my palms. I don’t care how much it hurts. I don’t care if I do go batshit crazy. I will not submit, I will not become the broken shell they want me to be.