Page 57 of Depravity

I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away from the figure beneath me.

“He broke the rules. He betrayed the Brethren. Now, he will be punished.”

I frown in confusion, because my understanding was everyone who committed a sin went to Oblivion. Evidently that’s not the case.

Perhaps Conrad realises where my head is at, perhaps he’s just looking to taunt me more.

His lips curl and he tilts his head, murmuring into my ear. “Some crimes are too big to be ignored. Some crimes demand a greater sentence.”

A greater sentence than being a life-long sex slave? I shudder, shutting my eyes, wondering what this man could have possibly done to be so publicly humiliated.

One of the red cloaks starts chanting, a Gregorian chant that echoes around off the cold carved stone.

Then another steps forward, throwing his hood back.

I let out a gasp as I realise who it is; Magnus, Conrad’s older brother.

As the other men start joining in the chanting, Magnus leans down to whisper into the condemned man’s ear. Clearly, whatever he says is not meant for us, but the man starts jerking against his bindings, fighting harder.

Is he playing this role because he’s a Reaper, or is this because he’s running for Chapter Lord?

I don’t know enough about our traditions to understand what this is. My grandfather kept me ignorant, just as most Brethren Lords keep their children ignorant. Until we are married and blessed, we aren’t permitted to know any of the finer details.

“It’s a lie.” The man starts yelling. “I didn’t do it. This is a conspiracy, they’re trying to silence us…” Before he can finish that sentence one of the apostles moves, quick as a flash, and rams something into the man’s mouth, silencing those words or at least, turning them into inconsequential sounds.

I want to ask what he’s done. What crime was so great that he ended up here.

Of course, the tape over my mouth doesn’t allow that but then, I’m not sure I would want to know. Part of the safety of theBrethren is not knowing. Knowledge is a crime; knowledge gets you condemned. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance keeps you alive.

It’s how it’s always been. How they’ve ruled. The Chapter Lords keep their power by ensuring the rest of us don’t get any silly ideas, don’t have any temptation.

The eleven other red robes circle the man while Magnus stays perfectly still, only now he’s holding a gold dagger in his hand. Even from this distance it looks sharp as hell.

“We, the twelve, will give you absolution. We, the twelve, will save your immortal soul.” The others chant.

I draw in a sharp breath as Magnus starts slicing away. Tiny pieces. Small cuts. Taking his time to really carve him up.

The scene is horrific. All of us watching on sit silently.

It takes me a second to register where Conrad’s hand is, that it’s moved. My head turns sharply, and I stare at him in horror. My robes shift as he moves closer and closer to my core.

“Spread your legs.” He says, loud enough that I can hear.

I shake my head. Not a fucking chance.

His snarl sets my heart racing and within seconds, his other hand is wrapped around my throat.

“Do you not get it?” He hisses. “Do you not see? I have total power here, total control. You’re my puppet, my plaything. All I have to do is raise my voice, let them know of your presence and they’ll have you strapped to that crucifix and be fucking the living daylights out of you.”

He won’t do that, I know he won’t. I’m worth too much to him. He’s too obsessed to ever let another man near me, and yet as he yanks me around, I’m petrified all the same. How well do I truly know him? How well do I understand my monster? If I were pregnant, I’d be of more value, but he could just as easily cast me aside and marry another. I’m only worth something while he decides I have value.

“Spread your fucking legs.” He snarls.

My body shakes, and my stomach turns but I do it, I give in. I give my abuser what he wants, playing once more into his hands.

His fingers probe my entrance, and he lets out a deep groan against my throat. “You’re dripping, Doll.” He says. “I think you get off on the violence, don’t you? I think you’re enjoying yourself after all.”

I’m not. I’m not wet, I can feel I’m not. And I’m certainly not aroused.

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