33. Brynn
M y head spins.
As I lay here staring back up at him I can feel whatever that disgusting tasting liquid was, working through my body. I gulp, then gulp again.
I feel like I’m floating, and yet my body is so heavy.
I look down, checking that I’ve not suddenly grown wings, and my eyes widen as I realise how naked I am. How exposed I am.
My breasts are just there, on display, and so is my pussy.
I move my hand to cover myself and Conrad tuts.
“Don’t.” He says. “You’re beautiful, Brynn, don’t hide yourself when I’m enjoying the view so much.”
He’s enjoying it? I shouldn’t blush, I shouldn’t . This man is a monster. He’s the worst kind of human alive.
And yet I shift my leg, exposing myself more. God, what the fuck is wrong with me?
He tilts his head, staring where he has no right to look and then he tells me to get up, that we have training.
Training? I blink, glancing around and then it hits me where I am, where we are.
There’s a naked man barely two metres from where I’m standing. He’s bowed over like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Conrad takes my arm, pulling me up. My legs are so shaky, so horribly unstable.
“I, I don’t feel well,” I stammer.
“You’re doing fine.” Conrad says dismissively and then he puts something heavy into my hand, something solid. Something sharp.
I stare at it, at the beauty, at the horror. It’s a dagger, with an intricate handle that looks like someone spent far too much time making this object of death pretty.
Conrad places his hands on my shoulders, turning me around and I’m staring at that man, at that slave. He’s older than me, but not so old. He must be in his late twenties, or early thirties.
“Where do you want to cut him?” Conrad whispers into my ear.
Cut? I blink back, wondering if I’ve misheard him?
“He’s offended you wife, he’s broken the rules. He has to be punished.”
“Punished,” I whisper. Conrad punished me, Conrad has hurt me, he has kicked and slapped and hit.
I tighten my grip around the dagger, and I wonder for the briefest of seconds if I had the time to drive it into his throat, to spill his blood the way he’s spilled mine.
He glances down, his lips curling, “You want to try?” He asks mockingly, like he knows I’m just some silly little girl, and I don’t stand a chance.
My anger flares. My pride does too, as much as that’s worth.
I make a split decision, a reckless one. I swing my arm around, aiming for that vein that’s pumping too prominently in his neck. He barely moves in response, but he blocks me so easily that it’s a joke.
His hand snatches my wrist, and he holds it so tightly I think it might snap.
Snap.
I let out a laugh, a bitter one that turns manic. And then my husband is joining in, laughing with me as if I hadn’t just tried to murder him.
God, did I really think I could do it? That I could kill him?
Tears stream down my face, and my head spins more and more.
Conrad turns me around again, roughly this time. “Imagine he is me,” He whispers into my ear. “Imagine this man is your husband, that he’s the one who took you, that he’s the one who raped you…”
But he isn’t. He doesn’t even look like Conrad.
He shoves me forward, and I take one step before I almost fall over.
The slave looks at me, he lifts his head and those big brown eyes stare back at me, but they’re expressionless, emotionless, just as my husband described. This man doesn’t look human, he looks like a robot. A machine.
“He’s not real,” I murmur. “None of this is real.”
“Go on,” Conrad orders behind me.
I don’t want to do it, I don’t want to know what it feels like. I look down at the blade, and it’s so sharp. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to have someone slicing your skin up, to just carve away chunks while you’re sitting there all obedient like it’s nothing.
My mind flashes back to that man, the one Magnus killed in the Cathedral. He didn’t lie there obediently; he didn’t take it. He screamed and he fought, but it did no good.
“Brynn,” My husband growls, clearly growing frustrated.
I shake my head. No, I don’t want to. I don’t want…
Something hits me, something awful. It makes me crash to my knees, it makes my eyes stream, it makes my entire body lock up. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I feel like every cell in my body has been set on fire.
It’s something around my neck, something horrific. I claw at it, no longer holding that knife. My nails dig into my skin, I scratch and rip and I scream too. I scream so loud.
And then it stops. Everything goes silent for a second.
“The more you disobey me, the higher the shock.” My husband states.
He holds out the remote, showing me where the slider is, how it’s not even halfway. If he keeps going, surely he’ll fry my insides?
I let out a whimper, feeling more helpless than ever.
“It’s you or them, Doll.” He says, “Either you get hurt, or they do.”
Why? Why does it have to be like this?
My head spins again and I swear I almost vomit. I feel so drunk, so horribly drunk.
He bends down, picking the dagger up and he places it into my hand, then he’s pushing me, forcing my body to move. With one quick slice, he slashes down the man’s arm.
Blood beads, it pulls along the wound as the man bites his lip to hide any sound.
“There,” Conrad says, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I narrow my eyes, staring at the trail of blood trickling down his bicep. I don’t see the point to this, I don’t even understand why we’re here.
“Now you do it,” Conrad orders, “Repeat what I did.”
I open my mouth to argue and he holds the remote up, silently threatening me with it.
I don’t have any choice. I don’t…
I shut my eyes, lift my arm and move quickly, hoping that at least it will be over in one nasty, sharp action.
“And again,” Conrad barks, barely giving me a second to collect myself.
I hate him, I hate that he’s doing this. I hate that he’s forcing this. I don’t want to be whatever it is he’s turning me into.
My lip trembles. I whisper how sorry I am, and I slice again. A small slice, one that’s meant to appease.
“Deeper,” Conrad snaps.
Like fuck I will. I don’t look back, I just take the blade and make a snick, a tiny little cut on his thigh.
Conrad snarls, grabbing hold of me, grabbing my wrist while his other hand wraps around my throat, pinning my head back against his chest. “When I tell you to do something you will do it, do you hear me?” He growls into my ear.
“I can’t,” I sob. I can’t do this. He can hurt me all he wants, but I can’t be this person.
He snarls again, taking my hand and he starts cutting, slicing, hacking at the man who’s now no longer hiding his pain. A man who’s howling, who’s holding his hands up like he’s begging for mercy.
It’s like Conrad turns into a monster, more of a monster as he shoves me aside. He shoves me hard and then he’s pinning the man down as he unleashes all of his fury, his anger, every piece of his blackened soul. Blood sprays out, bits of flesh land on me and I scream, trying to move away. Only he grabs me, he shoves my face right into the mess.
“You will stay.” He spits. “You will stay right there.”
The fury in his eyes, the hate, fills me with more fear than I thought possible. I’m paralysed, petrified.
He turns back, hacking, cutting off one nipple and then the other.
His one hand holds the man down and he carves a great chasm through his abdomen, before he reaches further and hacks his dick off.
When he holds it up in front of my face, I freak out. I start screaming more, scrambling away.
“Where the fuck are you going?” He snarls, dragging me back by my ankle and forcing me to look at it. At him, at the man now bleeding profusely from so many wounds that I know he won’t survive.
“Please,” I gasp, “I don’t want to, I don’t want what this is…”
“You just don’t listen, do you?” Conrad says. “You just don’t get it. I’m making you stronger, wife, far stronger than you’ve ever been.”
I don’t want to be stronger. At least not like this, not the way he thinks.
I clench my fists, staring down as the man starts to jerk, as his body starts to move like he’s having a fit. He’s gasping, spluttering blood, and then he just stops. He stills. He stares out, stares right at me but I can see he’s gone. That he’s dead.
My heart thumps in my chest, and my tears stream down my face. He’s dead. He’s gone. Conrad killed him, and for what?
My husband lets go of me and I fall, landing on his body, landing in the blood and the horror. I scream, trying to get up. Conrad grabs hold of the awful leather thing strapped around me and he pulls me up by it, giving me a painful wedgie before he dumps me on the floor.
Right in front of Clara.
No.
No.
No, I won’t do it. I WON’T DO IT.
Clara stares back at me, her eyes just as wide, just as afraid as mine are.
Her mouth has been taped so she can’t speak. She’s being held in place by one of the guards because clearly, she won’t be obedient enough to take this abuse.
As I hear footsteps behind me, I know Conrad is there.
“We tried to train her,” Conrad states. “Your little friend here didn’t respond well to it. Usually, we can either break someone in within a few weeks or we change tactics, we send them somewhere else, to someone else. Do you know where that is, Brynn?”
Like I could. I know nothing about this place except that it’s straight out of a nightmare. Straight out of hell.
“We send them to the levels where they don’t want sex, where they’re not so vanilla in taste. Where they like other forms of entertainment, other forms of amusement.”
I blink back, refusing to look at him, but I can’t shut those words out. I can’t shut out the taunt.
“She hasn’t done anything to deserve this.” I reply. “She’s my age, she was in school with me…”
“She’s a traitor, her family are traitors. And unfortunately for her, she’s not high enough on the pecking order to warrant the effort of keeping her as a sex slave.”
What does that mean? What the fuck is he even talking about?
“You’re going to beat her, you’re going to cut her, you’re going to hurt her, Brynn. Do you understand? Because if you don’t then I’ll leave you here, leave you in this hell…”
I won’t. I refuse. He can hurt me all he fucking wants, but I won’t do that.
He drops a bat by my knees, and it makes such a thud as it bounces on the floor before it rolls into my leg, like it too is urging me on.
I reach down, picking it up and he must think that I’ve given in because he looks so triumphant. So fucking smug.
With all my strength I hurl it across the room, hurl it as the furthest wall.
Clara is my friend. I won’t hurt her. I won’t.
Pain rips through my body. I scream, hitting the floor but I don’t feel it because I’m too overwhelmed by the sheer level of electricity pouring into me. It feels like my blood boils. Like someone has picked me up and thrown me onto a fire and I’m burning, I’m frying, I’m turning into ash.
When it stops this time, I’m physically wheezing. I have no idea how my heart doesn’t give out, how I can take that much pain without passing out.
Conrad gets right into my face. “Are you going to behave now, wife?” He asks.
I’m a fool to do it. A complete fool.
But I spit back, I spit right in his face.
More electricity shocks me, and I swear I can smell the stench of my own flesh burning. That I’m cooking in my skin.
“I can do this all day,” Conrad remarks, “But we both know you can’t. Give in, Brynn, give in before you really hurt yourself.”
I shake my head. I refuse again.
It hurts. It hurts too much.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I try to crawl, and another wave hits my body, making me spasm uncontrollably.
There’s an awful whimpering, and I realise it’s me making that sound.
“It’s very fucking simple, Brynn.” Conrad growls. “It’s you or them. Either you hurt, or they do.”
I hate him. I hate him.
And I hate myself for what I’m about to do.
My hand wavers, it shakes so violently as I pick up the blade he’s laid right in front of me.
Clara makes a noise. She’s clearly screaming behind that gag but I block out her words, block out her pleas.
We’re all dead anyway, aren’t we? We’re all in hell already, so what difference does it make?
My tears stream as I realise this action condemns us both. But I shift forward, shift closer.
Behind me, I can feel the anticipation. I can feel how Conrad is already reacting, getting excited. He knows he’s won, he knows he’s beaten me in this.
Her screams hit my ears, making my skin erupt into goosebumps. I drive that knife into her throat, hoping that it’s quick, that it’s merciful. It’s all we can wish for in this life, so in a way it feels like a blessing.
Her blood sprays out. It hits my face, hits my mouth. It’s hot. It’s like a rainfall, a shower, pouring over me. I clearly hit her main artery so I’m at least happy that I made it as fast of an ending as I could.
Clara sags, slumping onto the floor.
Beside me Conrad grasps my shoulders, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“There’s my girl.” He says, as if I should be proud of what I’ve done.
I can’t look at Clara, I can’t bear to see it. To see her blood. To see that wound. To see that vacant look in her eyes as she slowly dies.
I stare at my hands, I stare at my fingers, wondering if I hacked them off, would that be a fit atonement for my crimes?