14. Brynn
H e leaves me locked in his room. I have no clothes, no belongings, nothing but the skin I was born in and I feel disgusting, completely and utterly repulsive.
My body is covered in bruises. Some I know are from today and some - no, I can’t think about that. About what he did, what they did.
My aunt literally gift-wrapped me and handed me over. Oh I knew she hated me, I knew she wanted me gone, but this? I can’t believe she did this.
More tears stream down my face. At least now that I’m alone I won’t get beaten for crying, but as I sob harder and harder, I know they won’t make a difference. Nothing makes a difference.
After he left, I flung myself at the door. I tried with all my might to open it but it’s too heavy, and it didn’t even budge an inch despite my ministrations. The window is similarly locked. But then, what would I do if it did open? Conrad’s place is at the very top of a skyrise. Beyond flinging myself over the balcony to my death, there is no escape route that way.
And I’m naked.
If I did get out, I could hardly get far unnoticed. I don’t doubt he has an army of men on the other side, ready to bundle me up and return me.
I’m trapped here, just like he wants.
In the bathroom, there’s a stack of toiletries. I so badly want to take a shower, to scrub my skin and remove every last trace of him. A voice in my head says that I’ll only be making myself nice and clean for when he returns, and the thought of that actually makes me vomit.
I don’t want to get back in the bed, I don’t want to be anywhere near anything he’s touched. But I’m exhausted already, or perhaps it’s the last side effects of the drugs they gave me, and it’s not like I can just stand here all day, naked and absolutely freezing.
And that’s how he finds me, curled up in his bed. Fast asleep. Like I was just waiting for him to come back like a good little girl.
I jerk awake at the feel of his touch, and he’s smiling down at me like I’m giving him everything he ever dreamed of.
What the fuck is wrong with this man? He must be deluded, or insane, or something, but none of those thoughts give me any comfort. Even if he is as mad as a hatter, that only puts me in more danger because you can’t rationalise with crazy. You can’t reason with it.
“You looked so peaceful.” He says, as if he isn’t the cause of all my nightmares.
I don’t know how to respond. I don’t want to piss him off, but I also refuse to give in. He may hold all the cards right now but if I’m clever, if I’m careful, there has to be a chance of me getting away.
He holds his hand out for me to take, and despite the voice screaming in my head I do it, allowing him to pull me up. With my other hand I keep the duvet wrapped around my body, not that he hasn’t seen me enough for it not to matter.
“You didn’t wash.” He says after studying me for a moment.
I shake my head.
He tuts, yanking the cover away, and then all but frog marches me into the bathroom.
“I have something special planned for us tonight. But first, you need to clean yourself up.”
He’s right behind me, towering over me as I face the oversized shower. He honestly thinks I’m just going to jump right in there? With a huff that tells me he has lost all patience, he shoves me in, turning the tap on, and freezing cold water suddenly rushes down onto me as I scream.
“It’ll warm up in a second.” He says as he grabs a bottle and a loofah.
Before I can protest further he’s covering me in suds, scrubbing at my body, and focusing far too much on my breasts for my liking. I step back, glowering at him and in retaliation he tosses the loofah, grabs my throat in one hand and proceeds to haphazardly clean me with the other.
The way he’s holding me forces the water right down onto my face, and it feels like I’m being waterboarded. I don’t know if it’s intentional. I don’t know if it’s just a fluke, but the last of my resistance dies as I struggle with the very real prospect of drowning.
Then as quickly as it began, he turns the tap off, grabs an overly fluffy white towel and wraps me up in it as though I’m a child.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I bite my tongue painfully hard to stop the retort, because I’m meant to be playing nice. Being smart, though it feels near impossible right this second.
He yanks me back out into the bedroom, leaving me there while muttering under his breath about how his suit is now ruined.
When he comes back in, he tosses something at me, and I only just catch it as he tells me to put it on.
It’s slinky, delicate, and from the feel of the fabric, more expensive than my entire wardrobe combined. I hold it up, noting the silvery pearl colour. It’s a shift dress; long, strappy, backless. I’ve never worn anything even half as revealing as this.
“I, I don’t have any underwear.” I say, hating the way my cheeks flush. I shouldn’t be the one ashamed, he should be.
He runs his eyes over me, and then that smug smirk takes over his face. “You don’t need any.”
Excuse me? I blink back in shock.
“I want you easily accessible. Ready for whenever I have the need to take you.”
Dear god. He’s not serious, he can’t be.
I shake my head, trying to form any sort of argument. “But, what, what if I’m on my per-per-period? I’ll need underwear then.”
He tuts back. “With any luck, you’re already pregnant.”
No, no, no fucking way. That’s the last thing I want. The last thing I could handle. I’m twenty-one. I don’t want to have a child, I’m barely an adult myself, why the fuck would I want to be a parent already? I want to live. I want to travel. I want to…my legs start to tremble, my breath catches, and I fight desperately to keep the panic inside me.
“Put it on.” He says more forcefully.
I focus on those words, on that voice as much as I hate it, using it to ground me as I unwrap the towel and do as I’m told. The fabric is even more incredible against my skin. It clings to me, highlighting every damn inch and I know my nipples are poking through, Worse, I know he’s more than aware of it too.
He watches me for a moment more before he starts stripping off his now ruined suit. I try to avert my eyes; I hate the way my cheeks flush even more, and I feel like a child compared to the sheer brute of this man before me.
He’s chiselled, toned, devastatingly beautiful and I hate him even more for that. I don’t want to be attracted to him, I want to be repulsed by everything he is. But he’s all muscles, all strength. He must spend days in the gym, and it doesn’t escape me how futile it is to fight this man. He could crush me in an instant. He could shatter my bones with very little effort on his part.
But what makes me frown is the tattoos. His entire torso is covered in them. They wrap around his chest, his arms, and he looks more like a criminal than a Brethren Lord.
“Like what you see?” He asks in a voice that makes me whimper in fear.
“I, thor, thor, thought tattoos weren’t permitted.” I whisper, hating how much I’m always stammering around this monster. He’ll never take me seriously while I act like I’m petrified. But then, why would he take me seriously in any circumstance? I’m all but his prisoner, his sex slave, despite his words to the contrary.
He gives a little chuckle. “You’ll learn soon enough that rules can be bent.”
“What rules?”
He tilts his head, closing the distance between us and I stumble backwards before he snatches me up. “I’m a Blake.” He says in that arrogant tone. “My brother is about to become Chapter Lord. Very soon, we’ll be untouchable.”
Is that what he thinks, is that what he believes, that he’ll be above the rules? As if any of us are. As if we can’t be brought down, knocked from our ivory towers. But then again, I guess that’s just us, us Ladies. No, the Lords are playing by different rules. Their rules. It’s their game, and we’re all just marionettes helplessly being strung along.
“I’m a Monclere,” I state. “My family won’t just sit by…”
His grip tightens, and I fall quickly to silence as the anger seems to flash in his eyes.
“Not for much longer.” He says just loud enough for me to hear.
My head drops. I stare down at the fancy dress he’s put me in, and he must think that’s some sort of show of submission because he lets me go, leaving me alone while he dresses himself in a suit that seems almost identical to the one he had on before.
Once he’s fixed his tie, he turns to face me, brushing my still wet hair back before he towel dries enough of it to stop the dripping.
“You look beautiful.” He says. “Absolutely stunning.”
I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know where he could possibly be taking me but surely we can’t be going out anywhere public, everyone knows he’s set to marry Giselle. If I’m seen with him, if I’m seen alone with any man that isn’t my grandfather, I’ll be ruined.
I gulp, biting my tongue even harder, afraid of every step I take as he guides me out of the sprawling penthouse and into an immaculately polished hall beyond.
There’s a lift ahead, he motions for me to get in and I realise it must be private, for his use only. Neither of us speak as it descends but I take note of how much time passes, how high we truly are. Good thing I don’t have vertigo, or I’d be so dizzy right now.
The chime dings merrily when we come to a stop and as the doors open there’s a man standing waiting for us. He inclines his head to Conrad, but makes a point of not looking at me once. Behind him a shiny SUV is waiting. The man struts over, holding the door for us, and Conrad ensures I get in first.
Perhaps it’s na?ve, perhaps it’s stupid but I try the other door, praying that it might open, but what would I even do if it does? I can hardly jump out and skip my way to freedom, can I?
Conrad gets in beside me and gives me a look that stops me dead in my tracks and for a second, I think he’s going to beat me.
Without a word he reaches over, and I flinch as he takes the seat belt and straps it into place, all but locking me in. Once he’s clicked his in, he jerks his head for the driver to go. We’re in an underground carpark. Again, I think it’s private, just for Conrad’s cars and I count at least three supercars as we pull away, all neatly polished and ready for when he wants them.
Outside, it’s dark so I guess I did sleep the entire day away. The city is lit up with fancy neon lights, and I stare out watching as one street after another passes by. It’s so weird to think that the real world is out here, within touching distance, that all these people are living their lives and they have no clue what’s really going on. No clue that we, the Brethren, control every aspect of it.
Our windows are blacked out so I know it’s useless to even try to wave for help, but I’ll admit I do feel a thrill at finally being out, at finally seeing this tiny bit of the city. My family always kept me locked away, out of sight. Sure I went to school, but I was chauffeured there and chauffeured back, I wasn’t allowed any autonomy.
I turn my body, giving my back to Conrad and I stare out, open mouthed, eager for every glimpse I can get.
And then his hand trails down my back, down my spine, moving my hair out of the way and exposing more of me.
I freeze. I gulp down the fear and pray that he might just leave it at that, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He starts tracing my skin, making patterns across it with his fingertips. Is this why he put me in a backless dress? So he could assault every inch of me?
His lips brush against the softness of my neck, and it’s too much. Far too much.
“Don’t.” I say before I can stop myself.
His breath hits my skin as he exhales with what sounds like a snarl. “Fight me and I will hurt you.”
Like he hasn’t already. Like he hasn’t done the absolute worst.
His hand reaches around to grip my jaw, and he pulls my head around to face him. “Is that what you want? You want pain? Maybe that’s your thing, you get off on it?”
I shake my head as much as he will allow, not even understanding what the hell he’s talking about. Get off on what? What does that even mean?
His thumb forces its way into my mouth and as he starts pushing further back, I choke. My eyes stream as I gag but he doesn’t relent, he just takes more and more, not caring that I can’t even breathe.
A vision of Clara, at the front of the class and the professor forcing her to perform flashes before my eyes.
“I could have you on your knees, suffocating on my cock. Would that make you obedient? Would that make you understand?”
I can’t reply even if I wanted to, and it’s only the car coming to a halt that stops this.
He drags his thumb out, leaving a string of saliva to drip down my chin and then he unclips, gets out and all but storms around the car to open my door for me, pushing the driver aside.
His hand hovers in front of my face. I stare at it and for a millisecond as I think about refusing. About fighting. But he will hurt me. He has proven that fact. I need to pick my battles, and this is just not one of them.
With trembling fingers, I undo the seatbelt and I take his outstretched hand which locks around my wrist, as though it will never open.