Page 51 of Deviant

I draw the knife, dragging the dull end along his flesh as he starts to whimper like an animal caught in a trap.

“You enjoyed fucking my whore.” I murmur, leaning down enough so that I speak the words right into his ear.

I can see the fear in the whites of his eyes now. The way he’s struggling more and more. He probably thinks I’m going to sodomise him, but I wouldn’t put my own cock anywhere near him, even for all the money in the world.

With a good thrust, I shove the blade right into his arsehole and he squeals like a pig, his buttocks tightening, his head lashing back and forth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries.

“That’s what I’m doing, Anthony.” I retort, dragging the blade back out, twisting it just a little before driving it back inside. “I’m fucking you, making you bleed, just as you made my pet bleed.”

He sobs, his hands clenched into fists as he tries to get himself free. But he’s not escaping this. He’s not going anywhere.

“You fucked my whore.” I state. “You took without permission. Did you really think I wouldn’t retaliate? Did you really think I’d just let it go?”

“I, I, I paid…” he stammers.

“I don’t give a fuck what you paid.” I snap, slamming the blade in harder, carving up him up good and proper, ensuring that I really am butchering his insides. “She is mine. My whore, my pet,my plaything.” I punctuate each statement with a thrust. “You do not take what is mine. Nobody takes what is mine, what is given by God. Do you understand me?”

He splutters, he sobs, his words are an incoherent mess.

“I said, do you understand me?”

I’m blind with rage now, fucking furious. All I can see is those marks on her flesh, those bruises, the way she screamed, cried, and bled for him.

He had no right to touch her. No right to claim her. No right to make her bleed.

I tighten my grip, forcing that blade deeper and deeper, and as his blood makes the handle too slick to hold, his body slumps, his pathetic cries turn to silence and I know my job is done.

I let out a sigh, leaving the blade where it is, deep in his arse.

My men let him go and he lays still, the mix of blood and shit starting to stink the room out.

I wipe my hands on the covers then get to my feet, savouring the view before me, committing it to memory, and allowing it to replace the memory of offence, the memory where he’s raping my hard-earned prize.

“Let’s go.” I say calmly.

The girl is still passed out. I know I could take her to Oblivion, sell her for a fine price, but she knows it was me here, it was me who broke in. I don’t care what her opinion of Anthony is, she’s a risk. A liability. One I’m not stupid enough to leave alive.

I lean down, snapping her neck easily and then leave her where she is.

But as I stand back up, and scan the room one last time, I see the papers on the desk and an emblem that catches my eye.

Surely not? Surely this is a mistake?

I reach over, picking it up, scanning the contents and suddenly, this all becomes clear. All Anthony Wallis’s good fortune to upto now. He’s far too incompetent to have lived as long as he has without being excommunicated.

No, he had to have friends in very high places.

But can he really be part of the Esau Faction? I thought those fuckers were over. I thought those fuckers were done for back when the Inquisition was raging through Spain.

It’s a risk to take the letter, a risk to keep anything that links me to this place, and yet I need to be certain this isn’t a hoax. If the Esau Faction is alive and well, and if they’re going for Chapter as this all suggests, then we have a far bigger fight on our hands.

This isn’t just a case of who’ll be in power.

This is a case of who’ll live to see another day.

The last time they ruled, they culled our numbers, saw any dissenters burnt on actual stakes. They’re the reason everyone believes Friday the 13this unlucky. They burnt their way through Europe, leaving nothing but scorched earth behind. And though I’d relish the chaos that would come with their potential uprising, it’d also change everything.

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