19. Magnus
I pull the trigger before we even come to a stop. I don’t give a fuck if it’s my guard or an outsider. Either way, they shouldn’t be where they are, so that makes them a dead man.
We bundle out. My men immediately moving to secure the house. But it’s a bloody big house to do so and frankly, right now, I don’t give a fuck about my valuables, my antiques, any of it.
Someone is in my basement, taking what is my most treasured possession.
I storm down, my feet slamming onto the limestone flagstones as I push past every servant, every person.
When I get down the stairs, I can hear it. I can hear her screams. That bitch has never once screamed for me, and yet she does so easily for him? I feel a streak of jealousy at that.
And then I get to her cell and he’s there, his body engulfing hers, just as I saw in the footage.
He groans, thrusting away, forcing himself inside her as her legs jerk and kick out.
For a second I just stand there, watching, almost intrigued. Is this how I look when I fuck her? Is this how she cries and whimpers?
No, when I fuck her it’s more majestic, more devastating too.
When I fuck her it’s not just for dominance, it’s not just for my pleasure, it’s so much more than that. It’s about the shame, the degradation, I need her to feel every bit of my hate, I need her to endure it, to drown in it. To truly suffocate.
What Anthony is doing right now is a piss poor attempt. It’s pathetic. Amateur, just like he is.
I snarl, stepping forward, and I haul him off while he’s still mid-rut. Stupid fuck looks around half confused and then his eyes land on me and that only too familiar grin spreads, morphing those features into a clownlike image.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask.
He tilts his head, his cock starting to go flaccid already and, as my eyes glance down, I can see the few streaks of blood there. So he made her bleed, too? More jealousy unfolds. I swear I’m so close to cutting his dick off for the insult.
She whimpers, scooting away, only he’s still got one hand on her and he’s apparently refusing to admit defeat.
“I deserved a go.” he says, yanking hard enough that she almost falls face first on his cock. “This bitch cost me enough…”
“We made a bet. Just because you ended up on the poor side of it…” I grind out.
“Poor side?” He spits, “Poor fucking side? This bitch cost me ten million. The least I deserve is a good fuck.”
I can’t hold in the snigger. He thinks that was a good fuck? No wonder he is the way he is. Clearly, he doesn’t even know how to satisfy himself properly.
“Get out of my house.” I retort. He’s lucky the rules are what they are. If I had my way, he wouldn’t be leaving at all, but I’m not so stupid as to do something right now. I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is, but he won’t get away with waltzing in here, messing with my things like there won’t be repercussions.
“I want more,” he practically pleads. “You’ve clearly had some fun already, I want in.”
My hand wraps around his throat, I haul him out, tossing him onto the unforgiving flagstones and with one hard slam of my foot, I give my reply.
It’s not that I’m adverse to sharing, but why would I even consider with someone as disrespectful as him? And besides, the guy can barely fuck, what would be the point in bringing him along for the ride? I’d die of boredom before he even got himself off.
“I said get the fuck out.” I bellow, just as the guards come racing down the steps.
One grabs hold of him, pulling him away and his bare arse drags along the floor. I’ll have to get the maids to clean that. I don’t want his disgusting remnants left anywhere on my property.
When I walk back into the cell, I can see she’s curled up in the corner, her face screwed up like she’s doing everything possible not to cry.
I crouch down, grabbing her chin and see the obvious signs of bruising along her cheek.
So he beat her, too. That pisses me off more. Now, I’ll have to look at those marks, knowing he put them there. My eyes drop, examining her body, seeing more evidence on her breasts, her hips, the smear of blood on her thighs, all of it screams at what happened.
I tut, a part of me blaming her for this. She’s a fighter, we both know that, if she’d been better, then maybe we both wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that Anthony fucking Wallis was inside her .
Her eyes seek out mine. I don’t know what she’s expecting to see. Guilt? Sympathy? She’ll find none of that here.
“He, he…” she stammers as if I’m some sort of knight in fucking armour.
“He raped you.” I state, and she nods, as if I’ve not done the same. “He took what wasn’t his.”
Her face turns into even more of a scowl. “Are you actually serious?” she hisses back.
God, I want to hurt her so badly. To erase every bruise, every mark, to replace it all with my own.
Before I can think not to, that urge overtakes everything, drives everything. She cries out as I pin her down and she realises what I’m up to. What I need. Her fists slam into my back, pound into it, and I revel in the fight, in the way she too is hurting me, marking me, making this even more brutal than I’d planned.
I get my trousers undone, forcing her legs apart, she might have bled a little for him, but she’ll bleed a hell of a lot more for me.
As I slam into her, all I can focus on is punishing her cunt with everything I have. She screams enough that goosebumps sprout along my arms and I need that sound, I need it to ring out, to continue again and again.
“This is mine.” I growl out. “My whore, my toy, my cunt.”
She shudders, those cries turning to furious silence as she once more becomes that stubborn bitch we both know she is.
With every thrust, I erase the traces of him. I replace them with deeper wounds, deeper marks, practically ripping her apart as she claws and scratches and desperately tries to stop me.
My tongue delves into her mouth, devouring the taste of her, claiming the very air from her lungs.
It feels too good, it feels like we’re both paying for our sins. Drowning in our damnation. My body draws closer and closer to my climax and, as I drive myself inside her, I want what I always want: to feel her body giving in, to feel her shame and submission as she loses a tiny bit more of her dignity.
Only, as usual, the bitch refuses to cooperate.
I reach down, pinching her clit as tightly as I can, abusing it. Who the fuck does she think she is? Who the fuck does she think she’s messing with? I snarl out, slamming her head back, seeing with delight as her eyes roll back for a second with the impact.
“Submit.” I command.
She glares back so I do it again, slamming her head harder. If I have to crush her damn skull in, then I’ll do it.
“Submit.”
She gives me no response. Nothing. It’s like she refuses to register the pain I’m inflicting on her.
I lower my mouth, baring my teeth and I tear out a chunk of her flesh. She screams then, she slams her fist into my face and I love the feel of her knuckles crunching against my cheek.
“Hurt me, you little bitch. Hit me like you mean it.” I curse.
And she does, she curls her fist, striking me once more, and my face erupts into a delicious bruise that I’ll wear with pride.
I groan, picking up pace. I’m so close now, I’m almost delirious. I dig my nails into that delicate skin around her throat and I give one last brutal thrust.
When I pull out, I can see all the livid blood, I can see the way it mingles with my come.
I dip my finger into the mess, swirling up the pretty marbling and then I grab her jaw, forcing her mouth open, before I make her choke on it.
“Mine.” I declare, scooping more up, shoving it down her throat until she actually does gag.
I get to my feet, towering over her. “All fucking mine, and don’t you forget it. ”
My foot jabs at her side, she lays there, not quite broken but clearly far from alright, and as I turn to leave, she moves, scrambling to her knees.
“I’m not yours.” She screeches. Her blood and my come is dripping from her lips like she’s half spat it back out already. “I’ll never be yours. You’re a fucking monster. The day you die will be the best day this world has ever seen.”
“Is that right?” I sneer. God, how I love the way she goads me, is she after another round? Is she wanting further punishment? I could do with a moment’s rest, but for her I’d dive right in, prove once more who has the power here.
“You’re like a disease. All you do is create death and destruction. You think you’ll break me but you won’t. I’m better than that, better than you.”
Better than you.
Those words echo in my head. Repeat in them. Who does this bitch think she is? Does she not realise that God is on my side, that God favours me, rewards me, protects me. I tilt my head, seeing all the cuts, all the marks, all the grime too and the dirt.
She’s filthy, disgusting, I should have her scrubbed clean. I should have her skin rubbed raw. She’s only alive because I’m choosing to keep her that way.
But better than me? I let out a laugh, I’ll show her who’s in charge. I’ll show her in the most humiliating ways exactly why I’m the victor in all of this.
I grab her throat, hauling her up the wall, and with my other hand I reach down and pinch her clit so tightly I know it’ll hurt like hell.
“Listen very carefully, pet.” I say. “You have one role, one purpose. You’re here to serve me, to entertain me. You still breathe because I allow it. You think you can fight me, but you’re already giving in. Bit by bit, you’re going to break, you’re going to submit. It’s inevitable. You’re going to become a desperate little whore for me, and you’re going to enjoy it.”
She spits something back. In truth, I don’t give a fuck what she has to say, but I twist my fingers, the ones holding her clit and she screams out in pure agony.
When I release my grip, I let her fall and she crumples, her legs moving quickly to try to get away, but I still see that glare, that defiance.
God, it’s addictive. She’s so fucking angry and stubborn. I can feel myself growing hard again, I can feel my cock already begging to fuck her again. She thinks she can fight me, she thinks she can refuse me? I’ll force that bitch to submit in a manner that makes it more than clear who has the power here.
I take a step towards her, and her body stills.
“Get some rest.” I snap. Because God knows, she’s going to need it by the time I’m done with her.
When I get upstairs, Conrad is there, waiting, and he tells me that everything is sorted. Paitlyn is secure and Anthony has been removed from the premises.
I know we should have sorted him, rid ourselves of him permanently, but a man like him, he wouldn’t have come here without covering himself. No, if we’d killed him, it would have come back on us and I’m not so stupid as to make a mistake like that. I’ll deal with him on my terms. When there will be no repercussions. No evidence.
Conrad has rounded up all the guards, every single one that should have prevented Anthony’s entry in the first place. I don’t know who took the bribe, I don’t know which one of them turned a blind eye, but I don’t need to know.
Dissension in the ranks is like rot, it seeps in, it spreads. They’ll all pay the price for this fuck up .
“Get them out.” I order.
Conrad is quick to follow, his own personal guard herding them out like sheep to the slaughter, and slaughter it will be.
They’re thrown onto their hands and knees, left to huddle in the dirt. And then one by one they get a bullet to the back of their head.
It’s a simple death.
An easy one.
The kind we all dream of. Pain-free. Quick. Uncomplicated.
They’ll be taken away. Their bodies cremated and the ashes used to fertilise the roses. Waste not want not, right?
“There’s something bigger in play here.” Conrad says.
I turn my eyes on him and nod. Perhaps it’s about time he’s fully brought up to speed. Maybe then he’ll stop rebelling and accept his duty if he knows the full story.
He stares at me wide-eyed, almost innocent, as I quietly recall my meeting with Antonio, and what we’re planning.
“Are you serious?” he says, as if I’d ever make such a joke as that.
“We have to be ready.” I reply, not bothering to actually acknowledge his question.
“But Chapter Lord?”
“You’ll have to step up.” I say. “As will Devin.”
“That’s why you got Paitlyn,” he says as if it suddenly all makes sense.
“Yes.” I say.
“I’m ready,” he states like he has a clue what he’s talking about. As if he even understands what’s involved with achieving such a goal.
“No, you’re not.” I murmur. But he will be. I’ll make sure of that. It’s family first. It always has been. And becoming Chapter Lord will ensure our family will triumph over every other family here.