Page 96 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

T he wind is absolutely freezing. I huddle into Devin, using his body warmth to try to stop me from shivering, not that it does any good.

We didn’t go back to the bedsit, we’re somewhere else entirely.

I can hear the sounds of twigs snapping, I can feel them under the soles of my boots as I take each step. All around are the sounds of rustling leaves. It feels like we’re in a forest, in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but Devin seems nervous, excited even. He feels like a psycho puppy about to go off on a rampage.

My boots find the flat, hardness of a flagstone, I realise I’m now on a path.

“Small step up.” Devin murmurs.

I raise my foot, cautiously bringing it down a few inches higher than where I thought the ground was. As my second foot follows, I realise we’re in a building now. Somewhere spacious, somewhere hollow, almost devoid of life.

“Where are we?” I murmur.

It feels haunting, creepy even.

“A church.” Devin replies.

A church? I raise an eyebrow, what the fuck are we doing in a church?

“A Brethren church.” He adds, and that puts the fear of God into me.

I swear I can hear them, the rustle of robes, the heavy breathing, all of it. I could be surrounded right now, trapped by a dozen masked men, all determined to bring me down, to make me pay.

I can’t hide the whimper, I can’t keep the panic inside, and I stumble back, though Devin is quick to catch me before I can go anywhere. Before I can escape.

“Did you think I was lying when I said I wanted to make you my wife?” He asks.

I freeze, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. Surely not? “I thought…” My cheeks burn with shame as I speak the last of what feels like a confession. “I thought you were handing me over to them.”

His whole body seems to shift. “You thought I was giving you up?” He snarls. “You thought I’d betray you so easily?”

“Everyone else has.” I state.

His hand cups my cheek, his touch is so soft, so gentle. “They’d have to prise you out of my dead rotting hands.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. It comes out like a half-choked sob. “That is not romantic.” I murmur.

“It’s as romantic as I get.”

I don’t know what to say to that, how to reply. He clearly takes that as some form of invitation to continue because he tucks my hand into his arm, and he leads me down what I assume to be the aisle.

I can hear the faint sound of someone breathing, I can hear the slight crackle of candles. This place feels old, disused. I don’t know how Devin managed to bribe a priest but then, I’m not surprised. He seems to have the ability to get whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.

As we come to a stop, it hits me that I’m still wearing the jumper dress and knee-high boots I put on this morning. I glance down, even though I can’t see, and I wince at what I must look like. It’s hardly the outfit someone wants to wear on their wedding day.

“What is it?” Devin asks, clearly seeing I’m uncomfortable.

“I’m not wearing a wedding dress.” I reply.

“You could be wearing a sack for all I care.” He states. “It’s not about the dress, it’s about us, tying ourselves together, binding ourselves for life.”

I gulp at those words. At the tone. He’s right. That’s exactly what this will do. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, ready for this step, but Devin isn’t giving me much of a choice, is he?

I don’t hear the words the Priest says. I zone out, disassociate, as the vows are spoken, and if I say my own, it’s not done consciously on my part. I feel like I’m suddenly drowning, that I’m lost, spiralling into a memory so dark and horrific that I can’t claw my way out.

I can see all those masked faces, I can smell that incense, and I’m back on that stone crucifix, laid out like a literal sacrifice.

Devin takes my hand, I know it’s him who makes the cut, who drags the knife across my palm, right next to that old scar, before he does the same to his own and he clasps it so tightly, combining our blood, mixing it together. Silk is then wrapped around us both, entwining our hands.

Blake and Heseltine. Now bound for life.

There’s no escaping this, no denying it. It can’t be undone. Only death can separate us now.

Death… that word lingers in my head, it taunts me.

He murmurs something into my ear, something I’m sure he thinks is reassuring, but it does nothing to help me.

All I can see is that moment, so long ago.

I can see me, that innocent, helpless, na?ve idiot that I was.

And I can see him too, my husband, my dead husband.

I can feel his hands over me, I can feel his body in me, I can taste his foul breath on my tongue, and it feels like all the air is being forced from my lungs, that I’m choking again.

That I’m once more caught in his grasp and all this history is repeating itself.

I hear a swish of fabric, the sound of something being placed down on top of something else and I know what it means, what it is. A pretty white silk sheet, even though I’m not a virgin anymore. I guess the symbolism remains then, the ritual must be completed, right?

There may not be a crucifix in front of me, but the expectation is the same. Any minute now I’m going to be pinned down, I’m going to be stripped, and fucked, and used, just like last time.

Only, Devin must realise that I’m falling apart, that all of this is too much. Our hands are still joined, but with he quickly gets his free and then he scoops me up and begins to carry me out.

“Wait, you need to consummate the marriage.” The Priest calls from behind us.

And that sends another wave of something awful through me. I screw my face up, trying desperately not to crumble entirely and I hear what sounds like a scuffle.

Devin moves, he jerks, and it feels like his shoulder becomes a battering ram. Something falls back; a piece of furniture scrapes across the floor, and I hear the clatter of the candlesticks toppling over.

“The fuck I will.” Devin growls. “I’ll fuck my wife however I choose, and I won’t have a damned priest have any say in it.”

I don’t say a word; I don’t dare even breathe as he carries me out into that freezing cold night.

We’re back in the bedsit.

I can hear the sound of a shitty TV downstairs. I can hear the sounds of Mace laughing at whatever he and Malik are watching.

I don’t know if they know what we did. If they realise that we’re now husband and wife.

Fuck, husband and wife. Devin is my husband.

I shake my head, trying to understand why I was so messed up back in the church, and yet now, the concept doesn’t faze me.

We stopped at a fast-food restaurant on the way back. A hamburger and chips was my wedding feast. The old me, the young me, would have turned her nose up at such food. But as we sat in the van, I devoured it like it was the finest thing I’d ever eaten.

My fingers fiddle with my wedding band. My wedding mark still stings a little under the bandage, but it feels like Devin only cut as deeply as he had to and no further.

I can hear him moving about, rifling through things while I’m sat here, waiting.

But as the springs dip, as I hear the soft sound of his knees shuffling along the mattress towards me, my heart skips a beat.

“Husband,” I say, practising the term, trying to get myself used to saying that word without flinching or feeling utterly repulsed.

His hand cups my cheek, he gives me what feels like a chaste kiss and then he’s pulling the woollen dress up over my head, making my hair go static in the process.

I’m not wearing a bra, not wearing any underwear and as I shiver in the cool air, he starts running his hands over my body. He circles my nipples, teases them in a way that feels too delicate, too soft for me.

I whimper, begging for more, begging for the monster I know, not this calm gentle beast.

He lets out a rumble, then moves to grab something and he fixes them to one of my nipples and then the other. I gasp as he does it. I wince, feeling whatever it is tightening and tightening until there’s a searing pain coming from both of them. Jesus it hurts.

“What, what is it?” I breathe.

“Nipple clamps.” Devin replies. “Diamond encrusted nipple clamps. Only the best for my wife.”

I raise my hands, tentatively feeling where they are. My flesh feels so sensitive already, I can feel my heart rate pulsing as my blood is trapped by the pressure.

“How do I look?” I ask. “Am I beautiful?”

His hand yanks my hair back, yanks my head back so that my neck snaps and my face stares up at him. “You look more than that, Paitlyn. You look majestic. You look like a goddess, an angel about to commit her first sin.”

Something inside me coils tighter, I rock my hips before I can stop myself and with my right hand I slap my breasts, slap them hard. The pain makes me hiss, it makes me cry out, but I can tell my husband can’t get enough of it.

“You’re a little masochist.” He comments.

“For you.” I reply. “Only you can make the pain feel this good.”

He kisses me so desperately. His hands dig into my waist and I’m grinding against his cock, silently begging for him to fuck me into oblivion.

He slips something into me, something that feels solid and yet so good. Within in seconds the thing is vibrating enough that if I still had my eyes, I know they’d be rolling back in my head with the ecstasy.

He drops his hold, shifts backs and I know he’s watching me as I arch over, as I ride this thing like my life depends upon it.

“Such a filthy little whore.” He comments, though the words only make me more desperate.

“I need your cock.” I hiss. “I need you, my husband. I need you to consummate our marriage, to properly claim me as your wife.”

He grabs my body, twists me around, and then he slides himself in past my arsehole. With the toy still buried in my pussy it’s a damn tight fit but it feels so so good. His hand reaches up, supporting me by my poor breasts, as he starts driving his cock into me over and over.

It’s too good. It’s too…