Page 82 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

H ave I finally cracked? Has my mind finally given in and started conjuring up the one thing I believe could save me because it knows I’m so far gone now?

That I’m beyond help. So far beyond it.

“Paitlyn.”

He sounds like him. He sounds like my monster.

He smells like him too, moves like him… no. This is a trick. It has to be.

He takes my hand and traces my fingertips over his face.

It is him, it is, only, there are deep scars now where before there were none.

Did Magnus do that? Did he get punished for what he did?

Surely if anyone else knew, he’d have been locked in Oblivion.

He’d have been executed. So what the fuck is he doing here?

I’m still strapped to this table. To this metal grid. And there are still prods attached to me, ready to electrocute the hell out of me and fry my very soul.

I don’t know what I imagined. I don’t know who I thought was doing all of this, but I would never have believed it was him.

“Wha, why are you…?” My voice falters as I realise, he’s the one who’s been torturing me. Hurting me. Inflicting all of this on me.

What the fuck is this?

He moves quickly to undo the bindings and as much as I want to jump off this contraption, as much as I try, my legs give way and I crumple to the floor, landing at his feet.

“No need to worship me so soon.” He murmurs as he bends down to my level.

I raise my hand, slapping at his face so hard it stings my palm.

He doesn’t react, he just stays where he is as though he didn’t even feel it. So, I do it again. I slap him harder. I slap him across one cheek and then the other.

“Paitlyn…” He murmurs, as if he has a right to speak my name, as if he has a right to say anything to me right now.

“Bastard.” I spit. “You absolute piece of shit.”

I curl my fist up, swinging wildly, slamming it into his jaw and that seems to snap him out of whatever stupor he’s in.

He grabs my wrists, hauling me up by them, and then he drops me back onto the table in a sitting position.

“Stop.” He says.

Only, I can’t stop. I can’t. He broke me. Devin fucking Blake. After everything I have been through, everything I have damn well suffered for this man, how is it he was the one inflicting all this pain?

“You bastard.” I scream again.

He grabs my shoulders, shaking me so hard. “Shut up, shut up and listen.” He says quickly.

“To what, to your excuses, to your lies…”

“I thought it was you. I thought you did it. That you orchestrated it.” Devin growls. “You had my blade remember?”

“I thought it was you.” I scream back. “I thought that’s what you meant when you said you were getting me out. That you were ending this.”

He draws in a breath that could almost be described as ragged, only nothing rattles Devin, nothing affects him.

“You had nothing to do with it?” He asks, as if he need me to say those words out loud.

“I hated him, I wanted him dead.” I won’t deny that, why should I? “But I didn’t do it.”

“If you didn’t do it, then who did?” Devin says, only he doesn’t sound accusing now, he sounds puzzled, like he’s balls deep in some fascinating mystery that he needs to solve.

I turn my head, taking in the room, if anyone else is in here, I can’t sense it, I can’t hear it.

“Where the fuck are we?” I ask as I move to stand again.

Before he can speak the door crashes open. Someone comes storming in.

“What the fuck is this?” The stranger spits.

Only, he’s not a stranger because I know him. I know that voice, that tone. Another man comes up behind him, then another.

I shift back, realising exactly who they, who all these men are.

“Jesus.” I whisper under my breath. It’s them. The guards. All the men my husband let abuse me. They’re here, they’ve been witnessing this, watching it, no doubt enjoying every moment of this torture.

My body trembles as one awful memory stirs after another. Of being there, in their guard house, of being thrown about, of being forced to service them all, to suck their cocks, to endure their hands and their mouths and…

“Why is that bitch free?” The man snarls again. “We agreed…”

“It’s not her.” Devin states while I move to stand.

“What?” One of the others splutter.

“It’s not her. She thought it was me, she thought…” He starts rambling, pacing, acting so far removed from the controlled beast I know him to be.

Someone strides towards me, grabbing hold of me and they throw me back onto that metal trolley.

I scream out, throwing a punch but unsurprisingly I miss.

He slams his own fist into my side in response and I double up in pain.

“You said she’d pay.” He hollers. “You said she’d suffer.”

“It wasn’t her.” Devin snarls louder.

I know what he’s going to do, this other guard, I can hear it, the sound of metal, and plastic. As he grabs the prongs, I throw myself at where I’m certain he is, using all my weight to bring him down.

We land in a heap but it’s my hand that somehow wrestles the gun from his, my hand that rams it against whatever part of his body I can find and before he can register what I’m doing, I pull the trigger.

He explodes. His guts are like a tsunami jetsoning out from the hole. His blood splatters my face, bits of his flesh cling to the walls.

I take my hand, wiping the mess from my face, but it only seems to smear it more.

When I get to my feet, I keep my fingers still wrapped around the trigger, and I wonder how many more I need to kill.

Yeah, I know it’ll be tough to do it, but if they come at me, I’ll at least hear their heavy boots.

I know there aren’t that many bullets, but surely, I could take a good few of them out before I ran out?

“She wasn’t involved.” Devin states again.

I hear him move to block them. To block me too. I think he has his back to me, and I wonder how he trusts me enough not to put one in his spine. He bloody well deserves it considering what he’s done.

“This…” Devin says, and I hear the crumple of fabric telling me he’s gesturing in some manner, “this is over. We’re done with her. Now we need to figure out who really did it. Who really is responsible.”