Deviant (The Brethren Lords #1)

1. Liliana

M y knees slam into the hard floor. I don’t want to cry out, but I can’t keep the sound in either, and it comes out like a strangled noise from behind the gag that was stuffed into my mouth.

My wrists are tied behind my back so tightly that I swear my fingers are going to drop off from lack of blood. I try desperately to move them, to ease the pressure, but it makes no difference. It’s too tight a knot for me to have any effect.

Something beats into me. It might be a stick, it could be something metal, whatever it is has no give whatsoever and I double over in pain.

Then a boot slams into my side, forcing out the final bit of air from my lungs .

My top is pulled back from behind and something sharp drags down my skin as I realise they’re cutting my clothes off.

I jerk out, I try to fight, but what can I actually do when I’m practically hog tied? Within seconds, I’m stripped naked and I shudder, trying to curl up, trying to do anything I can to hide myself from their gaze.

A hand gropes my breast. I scream out, ramming my head back into whoever is stood behind me, but they obviously see it coming so it has no effect.

“Stupid fucking bitch.” I hear the curse above the rough fabric sack they’ve wrapped around my head.

I don’t know where I am but I can make a damned good guess and it’s hard to contain the fear I feel.

As if answering that thought, the sack is ripped off. My eyes dart about, I desperately try to adapt to the sudden brightness.

I’m in the hall. Their hall.

I knew it and yet my heart sinks all the same. It’s so much worse seeing it in real life and not just from the few stolen images Ronin gave me.

I am so fucked.

Maybe if I’d left sooner, maybe if I’d been better… no, they would have found me anyway. There’s no escaping this. No escaping them.

They’re the Brethren, after all, they run the entire world, control all of us, we’re just too dumb to realise it.

This hall is normally filled to the rafters. It looks like a church, with a high vaulted ceiling and ornate, gothic carvings. It must be sixteenth century, but I know it was never used for worship, at least, not worship of anything beyond their own greed and power.

My mind flickers to the photos, the ones Ronin managed to take during one of their ceremonies, and a chill runs up my spine. I don’t know what they have instore for me, but I know it’s going to be horrific .

There’s ten of them, ten men, all masked, all robed, surrounding me like I really am some sort of sacrifice to their cursed altar.

“Someone’s been sniffing around where they don’t belong,” one of them says, nudging by me.

I glare back, unable to hide my derision. It feels reckless, but then, what does it matter? They’re going to kill me. I know that much. I know I’m not making it out of here alive.

From above, something drops.

It’s been dropping, no, dripping, for a while but up until now, I’ve ignored it.

I glance up and pure, unadulterated fear grips me.

I fall back, shaking my head, losing all sense of reason, but I can’t tear my eyes from the horror suspended above me.

It’s Ronin. So they got him first.

He’s strung up, dangling between ropes that span the width of the roof. His skin has been flailed. He’s been tortured for what must have been hours.

And it’s his blood that keeps dripping down onto the flagstone beneath us.

He doesn’t even have any legs left, Christ, what have they done to him?

“Please…” the word escapes my lips, but it comes out as a desperate, pathetic wail beneath the fabric.

One of the men starts laughing. Another tilts his head, takes a step forward, and grabs my face, digging his nails into my cheeks.

“What other end did you expect? You think you can poke the dragon and not get burnt?”

I gulp forcing the bile back down my throat. I knew what I was doing was risky, I understood that, but it wasn’t about me, was it?

One of them yanks the gag from my mouth as if he really does want an answer. As if he’s expecting me to beg for mercy.

“Fuck you.” I spit as soon as I can get my tongue to work .

All my fear is still there, but I refuse to let them see it, refuse to give in. They want to kill me, fine, but my pride won’t let me die a coward. No, I’m going to go down fighting, prove that even if they have won, I’m not giving in entirely. I refuse to give them that power. I refuse to give them that satisfaction.

Cold metal presses against the back of my neck. I still, recognising instantly that it’s the barrel of a gun. Could I be this lucky to simply meet my end by a bullet? Have a quick, painless death? I don’t want to die but considering the alternatives, considering what they could do, I’d take this any day of the week.

“The Brethren do not forget. The Brethren do not forgive.” Those words are stated like it’s a mantra, a vow they’ve all taken.

“Blow her fucking head off,” someone else orders, but another steps forward, into the streaming, stained glass light.

“Wait,” he says.

And I know that voice, I know it was well as my own. I can’t keep the tremble as it sinks in exactly who he is—Magnus Blake.

So he’s here, too.

The others turn to look at him. With all their masks on, I can’t see their expressions, but I know he holds enough sway to get whatever he wants.

“The crime was against me, was it not?” Magnus states.

“It was against all of the Brethren,” the main man replies.

Magnus shakes his head, producing papers, my papers, and he flicks through them. “Most of this is about me, about my activities. If this were actually published, I would be the one most damaged by it.”

“What does it matter?” someone else asks.

“It matters,” Magnus says, staring right back at me now. “Because I want my own justice.”

“Justice?” I splutter. What justice does he think he deserves? He’s got more blood on his hands than the entire population of Rikers .

He closes the distance, grabbing my face in a vice-like grip. “This woman insulted me, I demand recompense.”

“Fuck you,” I snarl, but no one else is paying attention to me, not when Magnus is commanding all of it.

The others are all mumbling, discussing between themselves. There’s no way they can agree to this. No way at all. He might be powerful, but he doesn’t control all the Brethren. I draw in a ragged breath, reminding myself of that fact. They won’t agree, there’s no way they can.

“Her sentence still stands,” the main man says.

“Of course.” Magnus replies, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on me through that golden mask, watching my reaction as he speaks, “I’m just going to take my time before I carry it out.”

No.

No.

This can’t be happening.

I flail, I jerk my head back and smash it into his stupid mask, but someone grabs me and holds me tight.

“The more you fight, the worse it will be,” they taunt, whispering into my ear.

Worse? It can’t get any worse.

I’m dragged out, hauled out and tossed into the back of a van. My face slams once more into a hard surface, and for a second I lay there, dazed, immobile, while pain explodes behind my eyes.

My arms are pinned under me by my own weight, my legs feel like they’re refusing to cooperate.

In my head, all I can hear is the same word screaming over and over, ‘run’ but it’s not like I can.

And then I realise that he’s here, watching me from the still open door.

“I wonder how long you’ll last.” Magnus murmurs.

He’s ditched the mask now, and as we stare at one another I can see all the ruthless, arrogant, perfect features that make up his face. He’s neatly shaven, enough to show stubble but like everything else, it’s organised, precise. His eyebrows are thick, shaping his sculpted face, and highlighting those deadly eyes that are so black you wonder if you really are staring into the abyss.

I don’t reply to his jibe. I just glare back. If he thinks I’ll break down and start crying, if he thinks I’ll beg for my life, he’s got another thing coming. He may be able to bully this entire world, but he won’t bully me, he won’t.

He grabs my hair, wrenches my neck so that I’m forced to face him full on, while he drops his gaze to take in my naked, exposed body. From the angle he’s at, I don’t doubt he’s got a perfect view of everything I have.

I shift, shutting my legs as best I can, and he tuts with annoyance.

With one hand, he leans down and pinches my nipple and I whimper with the sharp hit of pain.

“Not bad.” he says, like he’s sizing up a cut of meat.

“Get your fucking hands off me.” I hiss.

Only that just makes him smirk and I realise that this is a joke to him, isn’t it? He’s so fucking used to doing whatever he wants that even now, even my kidnapping and potential murder is just another day at the office. But then, what can you expect from a man who apparently murdered his own wife on their wedding night?

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” he asks, finally taking his disgusting hands away.

I frown in confusion. What the fuck is he talking about? I know the Brethren has only just found out about me, there’s no way they would have let me continue, no way they would have risked it.

“I’m going to break you…” he says so calmly, it makes the words coming out of his mouth even worse. “I’m going to carve away every little piece of what makes you, you, I’ll destroy every tiny bit of hope you have, and only when I decide you’ve suffered enough, will I grant you your death...”