Page 50 of Deviant

My arsehole hurts so badly from where Magnus raped me. Gingerly, I run my hands over it, checking for damage and I’m not surprised when I recognise that all too familiar stickiness of blood on my fingers.

Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t even try to stop it, I just give in, sobbing, curling up, wrapping my arms around myself in some pathetic form of comfort and self-soothing.

I knew this was going to get worse.

I knew Magnus was going to hurt me but what he did, killing those people, forcing me to—no, I can’t think about it, I can’t go there.

I rub my eyes, trying to rid myself of the memories. Ronin’s face flashes before me and more shame hits me at the thought of what I did. What Magnus made me do. Will he do something similar when I am dead? Will he degrade my body even further, taxidermy my pussy and use it as some sort of flesh toy?

God, I wish whatever drug they’d given me had made me forget but then, would that be worse? To wake up, alone, confused, in pain, and bleeding from every orifice with no understanding of what shit went down? No, better I do remember, as horrific and disgusting as every second of it was.

Anthony Wallis may come from a legacy family, his ancestors were, like mine, amongst the first Brethren but his wealth, his status, even his home reflects the truth, that he is a subordinate. A wannabee. A pretender at best.

It takes relatively little effort to get past his security and into his grounds, into his house.

Either he’s so arrogant he believes no one would dare challenge him, or he’s too stupid to realise that he’s in danger in the first place.

My money’s on the latter. The man’s a fool. He has to be to have even contemplated coming to my home, taking what legally belongs to me, as if I wouldn’t strike back. As if I wouldn’t retaliate.

Inside, his house is quiet. It’s not nearly as big as mine, not nearly as grand but it’s still littered in history all the same. Opulent rugs cover almost every bit of floor. Painted faces leer down at you from where they hang in gilded frames from the walls. There’s enough in the way of antiques and historical memorabilia to fill an auction house and though it all looks old money, I know a lot of it is bought. Old Anthony’s grandfather sold the family jewels before he was even born. He gambled it away and it was only the hard work and efforts of his father that restored the Wallis name back to respectability.

Too bad Anthony didn’t take after him. After all, he had all the opportunities life could offer. They’re a family of reapers. They’re Brethren. He could have worked his way up, achieved far more than the mediocrity that he appears to have settled for.

I’ve got a handful of trusted men with me. I didn’t want to take an entire army’s worth, partly because I know it’s not necessary, and partly because it’s far harder to sneak around when there’s a swarm of you.

The house is on four levels, five if you include the servants’ quarters, but I’m not interested in them. Every step we take is silent. Every move we make goes unnoticed. We’ve already seen to all their security cameras, put them on a loop, so anyone monitoring them will not see a thing.

When we get to the third floor, we pause, listening out for any signs that we’ve been rumbled. We were lucky enough to come across two of his servants out for a romantic midnight bonk. After a little persuasion, they were more than happy to tell us exactly where Anthony’s bedroom is. They’re lying dead in a ditch now just like their master will be before the night is out.

At his door, I can hear the sound of something. It’s muted, pained.

With a nod to my men, I take hold of the handle and we burst in, all of us, opting for a blitz attack.

My eyes dart around the room, taking in the four-poster bed, the chinoiserie furniture that clearly was not picked by this man, and then the girl, gagged and lying beneath our quarry.

Anthony freezes, his mouth wide, his cock half hanging out from where he’s obviously been poking it. He hasn’t even taken his trousers off. He was clearly so eager to be in her, that he just yanked them down enough to get the job done.

For a second, we stare at one another, like two predators finally coming face to face. Only I’m the fucking king here, and this man, he’s going to learn what it means to come up against a Blake.

His lips curl, he moves quickly, grabbing the girl beneath him and he all but launches her like a damned torpedo at us. She screams from behind the gag, slamming into one of my men who do their best to catch her, but her body crumples and she becomes little more than a dead weight, lying in an unconscious heap.

Anthony uses the fleeting seconds of distraction to try to get away, but one of my men are quick enough to block the only exit and it’s almost comical to see that he thought he’d get away with it. That his escape would be so easy.

“Where are you going?” I taunt, as he’s dragged back and thrown onto the rug at the end of his fancy bed.

He snarls, turning his face up. “You have no right to be in my house. I’m a fucking Brethren Lord.”

“As am I.” I reply, as if that alone could save him. “And I recall you made yourself more than a little at home in mine. I thought I’d return the favour.”

His eyes spin rapidly, he looks from me to each of my men like he’s trying to figure out how much of a fight he really has here.

“Fine,” he says quickly. “You can have her. Take her, fuck her, kill her for all I care.”

For a second, I think he’s talking about Liliana, as if she’s his to give away, and then I realise he’s talking about the girl in thisroom, the one lying unconscious. Does he really think I’d trade so easily? Does he really think she’s enough to pay for the insult?

“I don’t want your leftovers.” I snarl before I slam one fist into his face, then the other. It’s delightful to hear the way his bones crunch, the way his teeth pop out. He spits blood, spews it all over the rug, and I haul him up, throwing him face first onto the bed.

Two of my guards grab his arms, holding him in position while I rip his trousers right off. His arse is hairy, it’s clear the man doesn’t work out nearly enough considering what his status is.

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