Page 50 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

H e took my eyes. He took my eyes.

I wake alone. In darkness.

Every breath I take, every move, feels like my skin is ripping open.

He cut me. He carved me up.

But worse than all of that, he stole my eyes. He gouged them right out of my skull.

I scream out, I scream, and I scream, and I can’t stop it. I can’t.

It doesn’t matter what I do, it doesn’t matter if Gunther dies, if I somehow, miraculously, escape this hellscape, I’ll never rid myself of it. Of him.

My eyelids are swollen shut but that doesn’t stop the pain and, in my head, all I can see is that vision of him, the way he smiled, the way he savoured every horrific moment as he butchered me.

I know it’s the last thing I will ever see, the last thing I will remember.

And I also know that that too is what he wanted.

When I hear footsteps, I freeze, but the scream of horror tells me that it’s Ada.

What will Gunther do? What will he say? Am I na?ve to think that he might punish Devin for this insult? Afterall, I’m his wife. I’m his property, not Devin’s.

Gunther may like to share me, may like to abuse me in all the worst ways imaginable but I wonder how he will feel when every time he looks at me from now on, my skin will scream the fact that another man has touched me, has hurt me, has owned me.

And the fact that he took my sight…

No, Devin hasn’t owned me. None of them have. None of those bastards will ever get to make that claim about me, no matter what they do to my body.

“Jesus Christ.” Ada says, rushing to me.

I tremble, flinching at her touch, even though I know she’s trying to help.

She pulls the covers off, and as I try to sit up, a wave of dizziness hits me so hard.

It feels disorientating. It feels wrong.

I can’t stop the panic attack that takes over.

Everything is black, no, not black, it’s worse than that, different than that. When I shut my eyes before, I could see the light in the room beyond, I could make out things, make out movement.

Now, there is nothing. Not darkness, just the absence of everything.

I know I’m in my bed, I know the rough parameters of this space, but I’m blind. Completely and utterly I’m blind.

My tears start to fall but because my eye sockets are essentially wounds it hurts so much.

I hear Ada gasp as the true extent of what that monster did is revealed, and in my shame, I drop my head, crying out more as the cuts on my arms give way.

Everything hurts. Every muscle, every nerve, every single part of my body.

“It’s okay.” Ada says gently. “Perhaps it’s best if you just stay here in bed and…” Her voice trails off and I know who’s there, who’s suddenly appeared.

“Like a whore.” Gunther snarls from what sounds like so far away.

Dear God, please don’t let him want me right now. I can’t take it. I can’t even contemplate it. Every part of me, every cell in my body is in agony from what I endured last night. I know I can’t take anymore, I know it.

Gunther stalks over to me. I hear the thump as Ada is pushed out of the way and then he’s gripping my face, no doubt examining my mutilated body.

“Blake.” He hollers, making me jump more.

I think a part of me dies, I think a part of me truly, finally, shatters entirely as I hear that man strut in. I can feel his presence, even if I can’t see it. I feel him standing there, towering over us all.

“You did all this?” Gunther says, like he thinks I just woke up and did it myself.

“I did.” Devin replies, his voice completely devoid of anything.

“You cut her skin?” He drags a finger across one of the deeper slices and searing hot pain explodes at the contact. “Why?” Gunther asks, ignoring my whimpers like he can’t hear them.

I hear the rustle of fabric as someone shrugs. “Why not?” Devin says.

It’s a lie. I know it is. I remember every word he said, every bit of it. That these are a form of ownership, that this bastard did this on purpose, not on a whim.

I open my mouth to say so, but my husband’s laughter cuts through everything “God, I thought Magnus was the fucked up one of you Blakes, turns out you’re even worse.”

Devin doesn’t reply. He just stands there, mute and yet just as deadly as ever.

I thought I hated him before, but what I feel now, it’s not hate, it’s something far, far deeper than that.

I don’t leave this room for days. I feel like I’m trapped in a crime scene. Trapped in my own body in a way I can now never escape.

The doctor has to come to sort out the mess that is my eyes. He cleans the wounds, confirms what I already know, that my nerves have been severed, that there’s no chance, even if I had a transplant, that I’d get my sight back.

Every day, Ada rubs something into those nasty wounds all over my skin. It stings but it also soothes. She tells me that it will help it to heal, that it will reduce the scarring, but I know that won’t happen.

Devin didn’t just carve willy nilly. He cut with intention. He cut me in a way to ensure it would last on my body until I was a rotting corpse.

When I’m finally able to move without ripping the scabs open, I’m escorted back through the Palace and back to Gunther’s suite.

Every step I take feels impossible. I clutch Ada’s hand, needing her support for guidance. She does her best to tell me where to step, when to raise my feet, when to turn, but I still stub my toes so many times.

And all this does is cement the new horror of my situation; that even if all the doors where open and every guard was gone, I’d never be able to run now.

I’ll never be able to escape.

And with every step, I feel like I’m being watched. My skin itches, it prickles, and I know it has nothing to do with the new adornment.

When we slide the doors shut, it’s almost a relief.

Ada helps me to where the couch is and I sink into it, my panic still causing me to tremble violently.

I just need this to end. I need everything to end.

Something moves in my periphery, fingers brush against my shoulder, and I scream out, feeling like I’ve hit the roof with the amount I’ve jumped.

Hot, stinking breath hits my face. A heavy breathing that I’d know anywhere accompanies the similar body odour to the one my husband has.

Whatever his facial expression is, I don’t know, but I know who’s there, who was probably waiting for me this entire time. Guthrie.

“Get out.” I scream.

What the fuck is he doing here anyway? My head darts wildly around, expecting Gunther to be here, expecting to hear him declare that I have to fuck his brother now.

But my dear husband is notably absent, and that tells me everything I need to know.

“I’m trying to help you.” Guthrie says, cupping my cheek. “I know what’s going on, what this is…”

“What, what are you talking about?” I reply. I’m too exhausted and too broken for this, and my nerves are too close to shreds. My heart is still racing, still going a million miles from how he scared me.

“Gunther is losing control.” Guthrie says, his voice shifting like he’s glancing over his shoulder, but I know Ada is right beside me, does he not care for her witnessing this? “He was always on the cusp, but something has pushed him over the edge.”

“So?” I snap back. It’s more than evident what my husband is. My body bears the scars, my mind bears the haunting memories that I know will never fade, will never ever leave me.

“I can help you, I can help with all of this…”

“For what price?” Oh, I know there’s a price. There always is.

His fingers trace my cheek, “You look so innocent Paitlyn, so young, and yet, I think you’re just as shrewd as the rest of us. If you have half your mother’s wits, then I know you’ve got your own plans in place.”

I gulp, feeling like those words are a threat, not a compliment. What does Guthrie know of my mother?

My stomach twists with bile, my heart seems to beat faster, as though it’s preparing for another fight.

No. I won’t do that. I won’t be that. My husband might force me, but I will not willingly turn myself into this .

I doubt he even knows a thing anyway. I bet he looks at me and see some silly little bitch he can manipulate, some silly little girl he can control.

Well, I’m not that, not anymore. I might be all but powerless, I might be almost completely helpless, but I am not yet that weak.

“Get out.” I hiss, my fear turning to a raging anger that for once, I can’t contain.

Guthrie says something but I don’t catch the words. I don’t wait to listen.

I slam my fist into where I think his jaw is, beating him back, turning into some feral beast. And I can’t stop, I don’t want to. I rip open all those wounds again, feeling my skin turn to agony.

The strong arms that I know are the guards pull me off him, pull Guthrie away. He’s shouting, hollering, calling me a good for nothing, ungrateful whore.

“You come near me again and I’ll gut you.” I spit. I have no means to back that statement up, I’m can’t even see, and I have no weapon either, but I want him to fear me, I want him to know that I’m not the weak broken little thing his brother is determined to make of me.

Guthrie stops at what I guess is the door, “Soon, Paitlyn, really soon, I’m going to make you regret those words.”