Page 52 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Devin

H e’s twitching. Fidgeting. Giving every sign that he’s about to do something outrageous again.

I can see the looks Curtis and Mace are giving and I brace myself for whatever shit is about to happen.

We’re in the Senate. Around us, all the members are sat, sullen faced, clearly pissed off at being forcibly summoned here. For hours Gunther has been blustering off about the fact that he is God’s chosen, he is our sanctified leader, and as such, every word he utters is holy.

His spit covers the polished table in front of us as he gets louder and louder.

But enough of the Senate are arguing back. Enough are clearly sick of his shit.

“It cannot be done.” Aldric says, folding his arms. “It will cause outrage.”

“Bullshit.” Gunther replies. “What man would turn down the option of having multiple wives? Hell, we’ll even hold ceremonies, I’ll be the first, I’ll lead by example, there were what, six other girls, other Founders, I’ll marry them all.

One of those bitches will give me an heir if this one fails to…

” He points across at Paitlyn, at where she’s stood, still as a statue, her face a perfect mask of obedience.

I tilt my head slightly, studying her.

The doctors clearly cleaned her up after my little amendments. Her eyelids are sewn shut, but you have to really squint to realise it.

All those beautiful cuts are healing to the point that they’re now fresh scars. Livid red marks across her body. She looks magnificent. She looks more majestic than ever.

I have her eyes. I have them.

I kept them safe, kept them clean. Every night I pull the jar out and stare at my new blue diamonds.

It’s a wonder her husband never asked where they went. Stupid bastard, he cares so little for her, notices so little.

He doesn’t see what she is, he doesn’t see her for anything beyond what he can have.

I draw in a breath that feels constricted, that feels so heavy. Who the fuck am I right now? What the fuck is this?

The girl is nothing to me. She is nothing. She’s a whore, a worthless bitch just like every other woman, and yet, no, I won’t say it, I won’t think it, I refuse to damn well admit it.

I narrow my eyes, clench my fists, telling myself that I must be tired, that’s all.

I haven’t left this bloody Palace in weeks.

Since the assassination attempt, no one has been allowed to leave with Gunther’s direct say so.

And with me being the biggest, meanest of all the guards, he seems determined to keep me close.

Perhaps he’s convinced I’m the only one who would save him. Would bother to. I guess that little punch up didn’t exactly instil any confidence in the rest of us, did it?

“It will be done.” Gunther bellows, slamming his fist onto the table. “I want it, I demand it.”

Aldric lets out a low sigh, and he looks like he’s trying to reason with a toddler.

“Why don’t you take more wives?” He suggests. “No one needs to know. Marry all those other girls, then you can breed them all…”

“And have all the Brethren turn on me as a result?” Gunther snarls back. “Do I look stupid? Do I look like a fool? No, we must all be culpable, we must all embark down this road together, that way no one can challenge it, no one can question it. All the pigs have to eat from the same trough…”

It feels like he reveals some sort of secret with those words. As though he’s shown his hand.

He jolts, blinking rapidly, staring from face to face, while he mutters something incomprehensible under his breath. Yeah, the bastard knows he’s fucked up. He knows he’s said too much.

It’s moments like this when I wonder if he’s actually mad at all, if this isn’t just an act, a way to test us, to provoke us, to see how far he can push us.

His head snaps to the right, his eyes clamp on the only woman in the room.

He grabs her, slamming her back onto the table, repeating the same exercise he’s done so many times before. She’s a distraction, I realise, a way to change the subject, to shut everyone up.

He rips at her dress, tears the fabric right off her, letting us all see those beautiful lines I etched into her skin. They’ve healed so so well. Even in this moment, I can’t help but lick my lips as I see the damage.

She doesn’t scream, she doesn’t fight, she just lies there, silently letting the tears fall.

Gunther forces her legs open, propping them up against the backs of two chairs.

“Whore.” He groans as he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of her. “Little whore.”

“Chapter Lord…” Aldric says, sternly, like he’s done with this shit.

Gunther shakes his head, screws his face up, but he continues the assault.

“Chapter Lord.” Someone else says louder.

Again, Gunther doesn’t do anything but continue on as if we’re all as enthralled by this display as he is.

“Little whore, you think you’re so much better than me. You think you’re so superior. I’m chosen by God. Me, not you.”

What he’s saying makes no sense. The girl hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t done anything.

Gunther looks about, stares from face to face as if he’s just remembered everyone else is in the room.

“Well?” He splutters, “Will no one get this bitch to come?”

Enough of them react, enough of them decide to get in on the act. They surround her, obstruct my view of her pretty skin.

She cries out, like she’s finally putting up a fight.

“Come, bitch.” One of them spits, and I can tell he’s doing something, touching her, assaulting her.

“Fucking come.” Another mutters, “then we can all get on with more important things.”

“We’re not going anywhere.” Gunther shouts. “No one is leaving this room. Not until this bitch comes.”

I don’t know what makes me do it. I don’t know what stupidity takes over me, but I’m moving, snarling, pushing the bodies out the way.

She’s laying there on her back, her hands splayed like she been trying to fight them all off.

The minute I touch her, I know she knows it’s me. I can feel the way she reacts, the way her body trembles.

I grab her throat, forcing her flat onto the wood and I put my other hand where I have no right to touch. Where none of these bastards have any right to be.

“No…” She cries, as though I’d listen to her. As if I’d give a damn what she wants.

She arches her back, trying desperately to get away but there’s nowhere for her to go.

I tighten my grip around her throat, I increase the pressure of my thumb, circling, teasing, touching her in a manner none of these men would ever know how to.

Her legs kick out, her face starts to flush. I can feel it, I can hear it, her pitiful moans that she’s trying so hard to hide.

That’s it, Malktā . Let them know. Let them all see. Let them realise what you are, what this is, that only I know how to truly manipulate you, how to twist you, how to ruin you.

She shakes her head, like she’s going to refuse me. As if I’d let her.

I narrow my eyes, lowering my face, tormenting her even though I know she can’t see my face, and, as she shatters entirely, I know it’s me causing it, it’s me that did this. Me.

Her screams ring out. They echo around the chamber. No one else moves. No one seems to dare too.

As I let her go, as I step back, I realise suddenly what I’ve done. What complete and utter madness that was.

Gunther stares at me like he’s seeing me afresh.

There’s a voice in my head telling me to do it, to kill him, to kill them all. To cover this place in their blood, to paint the walls red, before I carry her out, full caveman style.

But that too is madness.

I step back, retreat, return to my place along the back edge, wondering if this act will be the final straw, if this moment will be my downfall. I can’t look at the other guards, but I can feel their piercing gaze on me. None of them have moved from their posts. None of them have taken one step.

The room collectively holds its breath. Gunther shifts, staring from me to his wife, who is still sprawled out.

“Get up.” He spits, reaching down, wrenching her up by her hair because he clearly doesn’t have the patience to wait.

He drags her to the door then shoves her out. “Fucking whore.” He mutters. “We have things to do. You think we want to be distracted by you?”