Depravity (The Brethren Lords #2)

1. Brynn

W e’re outside a chapel. It’s old. Creepy. The kind of building you’d imagine would be the perfect setting for a horror movie. All those beautiful sparkling lights of the city are long since gone and there’s nothing here but an eerie looking gardens and trees that look so mangled with time that they could have been turned to stone.

“Where... where are we?” I whisper, not that I’ll have any clue if he does say. It’s not like geography was high on my list of studies.

Conrad doesn’t reply beyond hauling me forward and because I’m not wearing any shoes, my feet are instantly met with sharp, nasty little stones that force me to walk on tiptoes to try to limit the pain.

Ahead, there’s two arched, solid oak doors and they creak open as we approach.

A man in robes stands watching us in silence, and in both fear and stupidity I cling to Conrad while my head tells me that this man, this priest is from the Brethren. Are they going to condemn me? Is that what this is, is this my judgement? Will I be shipped off to Oblivion now because I wouldn’t shut up and be a good girl for my captor?

Conrad pulls me in closer. His arm wraps around my body, and it’s a stark reminder that I have no good options here. No good choices.

Inside, the flagstone floor is freezing. And dirty. It’s like the place has never been swept. Crispy old leaves are scattered across the floor, and all over are what look like markers for people buried beneath.

This place can’t be a chapel, it’s more of a crypt. Somewhere you bury nasty little secrets you don’t want to ever get out.

Candles flicker in the windows, providing the only form of lighting.

The altar is the one thing that looks maintained, and laid across it is a thick black velvet fabric adorned with the Brethren crest, stitched in a bright gold thread.

But that’s not what gets my attention. It’s the red ribbon, the knife, and the two rings that make my heart literally stop.

My tormentor fixed a veil onto my head, smiling at me like this moment is the best damn one of his life.

“Noooo,” I gasp, stepping back and trying to pull myself free from Conrad’s grip.

The Priest frowns, glancing at him, but he doesn’t make any attempts to do anything as Conrad grabs me by the throat and all but throws me down the last part of the aisle where I land in a heap, giving them both an eyeful.

“You have a choice.” Conrad says, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Marry me, or go to Oblivion and be fucked every which way until your body gives out, and you’re used up entirely.”

I try to argue, to fight, but my words get lost in my mouth. My fear overrides everything, and all that comes out is a pathetic wail. I hate him. I hate that there is no choice. No reprieve. No escape.

If I were braver, I’d say screw him and take my chances, but I know if I go to Oblivion, he can find me there. All my aunt’s hateful friends will also find me there. And what they will do, how they will make me suffer…

No, I don’t have a choice. I don’t have anything now. I am lost. Ruined.

This man ruined me the night he raped me, and he’s destroyed every last piece of my liberty since then.

“I will be a good husband.” He says, as if I believe a word of it. “I will treat you well. I will take care of you.”

“Like you have up until now?” I snarl. He’s not shown any care whatsoever, he’s manipulated me, coerced me, manoeuvred me into this position where I’m staring down the barrel of a gun, and he wants to pretend that he’s done that from a place of consideration? What a hypocrite.

His eyes flash and his hand tightens around my arm, but he already knows that he’s won.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” He states, “but either way, you are becoming my wife. Tonight.”

I shake my head, even as the blow of his hand hits me and my face falls back, slamming into the marble altar.

“I don’t want, I don’t want…” My words are silenced by another blow to the mouth that splits my lip.

Clearly, Conrad thinks that’s enough, that he’s won, because he waves his hand for the Priest to start the ritual. If he thinks I’ll just give in, if he thinks a few smacks are enough to subdue me then he clearly hasn’t been paying attention.

“Please,” I say, turning my eyes to the man standing watching us both. He’s a Brethren Priest. Surely, he won’t allow this? Conrad might be a Blake, but I’m not a nobody. “I don’t want to marry him. I don’t…”

“That’s enough of that.” Conrad says cutting across me.

“I’m a Mon, Mon, Monclere.” I say as forcefully as I can. “My grandfa-father is Lord…”

“Your grandfather doesn’t give a fuck about you.” Conrad retorts, and I hate how true those words are. “He thinks you ran away, just like your whore of a mother did. When he realises that that’s not the case, he’ll be relieved that you haven’t tarnished the family name further.”

I shake my head even though I know he’s right.

“I’m still a Breth-ren Lady…” I gasp and Conrad reaches down, gripping my arm so punishingly I think he might just snap the bone in half.

“This priest doesn’t give a fuck who you are or what you want.” He states, hauling me to my feet.

I shouldn’t cry. It’s useless to cry, but those tears fall anyway, and all I can do is let my helplessness consume me.

The Priest steps up to me, his eyes finding mine, but there’s no compassion there. No empathy.

“Lay her on the altar.” He orders. “So she can be examined.”

More fear strikes me because I don’t know what those words mean exactly, but I can certainly imagine. There’s only one expectation for a Brethren Bride. One test we must all pass. And I know I’ve already failed it.

“No need.” Conrad replies. “I’ve claimed her already.”

The Priest pauses, and for one pitiful moment I pray that statement might be enough to halt this entire nightmare. But then he just grunts, as if he’s disappointed that he won’t be able to do whatever he had planned.

“This is most untoward.” He murmurs. “A Lady cannot be married unless she is proven to be pure.”

“And she was. She bled all over my cock.” Conrad says, obviously more than proud of that fact.

I screw my face up and shut my eyes, but my cheeks still burn with the shame of that admission.

“As you wish.” The Priest replies, moving to pick up the red ribbon and as he starts chanting, he begins wrapping my left wrist up, binding it with Conrad’s.

With horror, I watch as he ties the knot and then reaches for the knife.

“No,” I whisper as he wrenches my fingers back, forces my hand open, and as he drags that blade right down the centre of my palm. Bright red, livid blood bubbles up while I hiss at the pain.

He drags that same knife over Conrad’s hand and then he clasps our hands together, entwining our fingers so our palms and blood mingle.

“Ashes to Ashes. Blood to Blood.” The Priest says loudly. “This ribbon represents the tie your souls now have to one another. The wound on your palm is a reminder of what sacrifices Christ made for you and in turn, what you will make for one another. The mingling of your blood means you are now one person in the eyes of God.

The ring is pushed onto my finger. It’s tight, enough so that I can feel the pressure, and it makes me wonder if that too was intentional. Did Conrad ensure mine was a size too small so that it would be a constant reminder, a form of slow torture for me?

“What God has put together, no man can put aside.”

Those words echo in my head, and I hear the lie in them. That I am bound to my now husband, that we are united under God’s gaze. But overstep, piss him off, push too hard and I know, as a Brethren Lord, he can toss me aside. He can break this marriage and have me condemned.

A crucifix is held in front of my face. It’s solid gold, covered in what must be priceless jewels and all those years of training, of conditioning, of brainwashing make me act on instinct. I shut my eyes, and let my lips find the cold surface, planting a chaste kiss right in the middle.

Conrad follows, his lips landing right where mine had left a mark.

“And now the consummation.” The Priest says, announcing it as if a whole congregation were here, sat in the pews, and ordinarily they would be. I guess I should count myself lucky that only he is here to witness this further degradation.

Conrad steps behind me. Our hands are still bound, so my left arm is pulled to an angle and in one foul motion, one far too quick motion, he rips the dress off me, shredding it right down the back.

I scream, even though I don’t want to. Even though I told myself I wouldn’t, that I’d be brave, that I’d make a point of showing him that I’m not as weak and pathetic as he clearly thinks I am.

My free hand clutches at the ruined fabric like it might grant me some dignity.

He shoves me down onto the altar face first. Evidently while I was being stripped naked the priest laid a white sheet, and though its purpose has already been rendered redundant by my now husband’s earlier abuses, I guess there must still be some ritual significance to it.

Conrad doesn’t strip, he doesn’t even undo his shirt. While I practically freeze from the chilled air, he simply undoes his belt and loosens his trousers enough to pull his dick out.

I know there’s no way out of this. I know he’s already overpowered me, outplayed me, beaten me in every conceivable way and yet it still feels like I’m the one to blame, I’m the one that failed. That I should have done something, should have been smarter, tougher, braver.

He holds my left arm far above my head, moving my right to join it and I’m pinned down, held in place while he yanks my leg wide enough that he can angle himself.

And, as he forces himself into me, I shatter completely.

Because it’s over. All of it.

My futile attempt to fight, my dreams of freedom, my life too. It’s all gone now. Everything is gone. Stolen by the man I’m now bound to as my husband.

He’s not gentle, not even in this moment when he’s getting everything he apparently wanted. He takes me like I’m a piece of meat, like I really am just a thing for him to fuck. I’m bent over, sprawled over the altar and he starts picking up speed, fucking me harder, causing the knife that was barely centimetres from us to crash to the floor.

I turn my face, wishing there was something, anything that could distract me from the agony of what’s happening to my body, from my complete and utter violation. Only I see the Priest, standing, staring, clearly watching every brutal second of this play out like he can’t get enough.

He holds my gaze and doesn’t even blink as Conrad slams into me over and over, making my body physically jolt forward a few inches while I cry out in agony. It feels like he’s tearing up my insides. I’m not even sure how much pain I can take, considering he’s already brutally raped me God knows how many times in the last twenty-four hours.

His shirt presses into my back, and his weight overwhelms me. I can hear every breath he takes, every groan, every gasp as he brings himself closer and closer to his climax. Even in this moment, he’s obviously taking pleasure from this.

Can he not feel how much he’s damaging me, or does he not care?

“As your bodies unite, as your husband claims you on this holy altar, remember your duty, remember your place. You are a Brethren Lady, and your only salvation is through your husband. His will is God’s will. His wishes are God’s wishes. You live to serve him. You live to obey.”

Serve. Obey. All things I now have to do. All things I must do if I wish to see heaven one day.

But how can I do such a thing? How can God allow such a thing?

I don’t realise I’m sobbing until my vision blurs.

Only, my dear husband is too busy chasing his end to give a shit what my reaction is, and as his thrusts become more merciless, I know he’s close. I know he’s there.

He groans out, collapsing on top of me and those last awful breaths in my lungs seem to escape.

The Priest bends down, untying our hands and as if I would treasure it, he twirls the ribbon up and places it in my still bleeding palm.

Conrad pulls out of me and does his trousers up. Only, I don’t move. I just lay there as if I’m already defeated.

He takes his jacket off, wraps it around me and picks me up as if he’s suddenly the hero in this story and not the villain.

But as he goes to carry me out, the Priest calls him back, holding up that awful white sheet he’d laid beneath me where my virtue would be stained if I’d had any left.

“You forgot this.” He says.

Conrad pauses, glancing down at the now stained sheet.

“I thought you said you’d already claimed her.” The Priest murmurs.

We can all see the blood. My blood. I know it’s not my virginity, I know he’s already stolen that, but it still makes me feel physically sick to see that he’s spilt more. That he’s hurt me that badly.

Conrad’s eyes seem to illuminate as if this is a new prize, a second prize, another trophy for his damned cabinet. He takes the sheet before planting a kiss on my forehead and he whispers in my ear what a good girl I’ve been.