Page 150 of Depravity

“My family is elite.” I snarl. We’re fucking Blakes for god sake. We’ve been Brethren for nigh on five hundred years or more.

Antonio lets out a bitter laugh. “You’re scum compared to the real elite Conrad, and you know it.”

“And Xavier?”

“He was going to replace Titus once Titus was made Chapter Lord. There was no way the rest of us would ever have considered Xavier for the role but once Titus was in, once a year or so had passed, then they’d change everything. They’d pull the rug out right from under us…”

“How do you know all this?” I ask. He’s so damned knowledgeable on everything the Esau do. Who’s to say he isn’t playing us? Planning the exact same thing, planning on putting Magnus in charge and then taking over afterwards.

“Now, that would be telling,” Antonio snorts.

“We had a deal,” I state.

“We do. And I got you your wife back. Don’t forget your part, Conrad.”

“Grace?” I mutter.

“That’s right. As soon as she’s at Oblivion, you’ll hold the auction. And no one is touching her, you hear me?”

“You want her that badly? One fucking girl?”

“Didn’t you all but sell your soul to me for Brynn?” He laughs.

Yeah, I did. And I’d do it again. Even knowing everything I do now, knowing what she went through, knowing that she’s damaged goods.

“So, what about her father, what about Lucas Asher?”

“Leave Lucas to me,” Antonio snaps. “He might be on the run now, but he’ll rear his ugly head sooner or later, he always does.”

“I want in,” I reply.

“Give me Grace first, and I’ll consider it.”

He doesn’t wait for the reply. He hangs up, like the arrogant fuck that he is. I narrow my eyes, scrolling through my phone to find the picture of her.

Grace Ratcliffe. She’s a pretty thing. Not as pretty as my Brynn, granted. But I bet those long golden locks would lookreally good wrapped around your fist as you shoved your cock down her throat.

He’s not here, I can feel it. I can feel how empty the bed is, how empty the room is.

I try to roll over, to see through the darkness if the door is open, and then I realise that it has to be shut because otherwise the light from the hallway would be too bright.

My bladder feels full. Too full.

I try to move, to alleviate the pressure, and then bile rushes to my throat.

I practically fall out of the bed, slamming into the carpet. Vomit fills my mouth, and I don’t want to puke. Not here, not in this room.

My legs lay like lead weights, holding my back and I drag myself, an inch at a time until I finally reach the toilet.

It feels like half my guts come up. It burns my throat, and it stings that awful wound in my mouth.

Sting.

Sting like a jellyfish. Sharp and nasty.

My hair is still stuck to my forehead from how hot and sweaty I got from having to drag myself. I want to rinse my mouth with water to get rid of the foul taste, but I don’t have the energy to even try to do it.

I feel exhausted, defeated. And the fact that I’m alone makes my heart thump louder and louder.

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