24. Magnus
A nthony Wallis may come from a legacy family, his ancestors were, like mine, amongst the first Brethren but his wealth, his status, even his home reflects the truth, that he is a subordinate. A wannabee. A pretender at best.
It takes relatively little effort to get past his security and into his grounds, into his house.
Either he’s so arrogant he believes no one would dare challenge him, or he’s too stupid to realise that he’s in danger in the first place.
My money’s on the latter. The man’s a fool. He has to be to have even contemplated coming to my home, taking what legally belongs to me, as if I wouldn’t strike back. As if I wouldn’ t retaliate.
Inside, his house is quiet. It’s not nearly as big as mine, not nearly as grand but it’s still littered in history all the same. Opulent rugs cover almost every bit of floor. Painted faces leer down at you from where they hang in gilded frames from the walls. There’s enough in the way of antiques and historical memorabilia to fill an auction house and though it all looks old money, I know a lot of it is bought. Old Anthony’s grandfather sold the family jewels before he was even born. He gambled it away and it was only the hard work and efforts of his father that restored the Wallis name back to respectability.
Too bad Anthony didn’t take after him. After all, he had all the opportunities life could offer. They’re a family of reapers. They’re Brethren. He could have worked his way up, achieved far more than the mediocrity that he appears to have settled for.
I’ve got a handful of trusted men with me. I didn’t want to take an entire army’s worth, partly because I know it’s not necessary, and partly because it’s far harder to sneak around when there’s a swarm of you.
The house is on four levels, five if you include the servants’ quarters, but I’m not interested in them. Every step we take is silent. Every move we make goes unnoticed. We’ve already seen to all their security cameras, put them on a loop, so anyone monitoring them will not see a thing.
When we get to the third floor, we pause, listening out for any signs that we’ve been rumbled. We were lucky enough to come across two of his servants out for a romantic midnight bonk. After a little persuasion, they were more than happy to tell us exactly where Anthony’s bedroom is. They’re lying dead in a ditch now just like their master will be before the night is out.
At his door, I can hear the sound of something. It’s muted, pained.
With a nod to my men, I take hold of the handle and we burst in, all of us, opting for a blitz attack .
My eyes dart around the room, taking in the four-poster bed, the chinoiserie furniture that clearly was not picked by this man, and then the girl, gagged and lying beneath our quarry.
Anthony freezes, his mouth wide, his cock half hanging out from where he’s obviously been poking it. He hasn’t even taken his trousers off. He was clearly so eager to be in her, that he just yanked them down enough to get the job done.
For a second, we stare at one another, like two predators finally coming face to face. Only I’m the fucking king here, and this man, he’s going to learn what it means to come up against a Blake.
His lips curl, he moves quickly, grabbing the girl beneath him and he all but launches her like a damned torpedo at us. She screams from behind the gag, slamming into one of my men who do their best to catch her, but her body crumples and she becomes little more than a dead weight, lying in an unconscious heap.
Anthony uses the fleeting seconds of distraction to try to get away, but one of my men are quick enough to block the only exit and it’s almost comical to see that he thought he’d get away with it. That his escape would be so easy.
“Where are you going?” I taunt, as he’s dragged back and thrown onto the rug at the end of his fancy bed.
He snarls, turning his face up. “You have no right to be in my house. I’m a fucking Brethren Lord.”
“As am I.” I reply, as if that alone could save him. “And I recall you made yourself more than a little at home in mine. I thought I’d return the favour.”
His eyes spin rapidly, he looks from me to each of my men like he’s trying to figure out how much of a fight he really has here.
“Fine,” he says quickly. “You can have her. Take her, fuck her, kill her for all I care.”
For a second, I think he’s talking about Liliana, as if she’s his to give away, and then I realise he’s talking about the girl in this room, the one lying unconscious. Does he really think I’d trade so easily? Does he really think she’s enough to pay for the insult?
“I don’t want your leftovers.” I snarl before I slam one fist into his face, then the other. It’s delightful to hear the way his bones crunch, the way his teeth pop out. He spits blood, spews it all over the rug, and I haul him up, throwing him face first onto the bed.
Two of my guards grab his arms, holding him in position while I rip his trousers right off. His arse is hairy, it’s clear the man doesn’t work out nearly enough considering what his status is.
I draw the knife, dragging the dull end along his flesh as he starts to whimper like an animal caught in a trap.
“You enjoyed fucking my whore.” I murmur, leaning down enough so that I speak the words right into his ear.
I can see the fear in the whites of his eyes now. The way he’s struggling more and more. He probably thinks I’m going to sodomise him, but I wouldn’t put my own cock anywhere near him, even for all the money in the world.
With a good thrust, I shove the blade right into his arsehole and he squeals like a pig, his buttocks tightening, his head lashing back and forth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries.
“That’s what I’m doing, Anthony.” I retort, dragging the blade back out, twisting it just a little before driving it back inside. “I’m fucking you, making you bleed, just as you made my pet bleed.”
He sobs, his hands clenched into fists as he tries to get himself free. But he’s not escaping this. He’s not going anywhere.
“You fucked my whore.” I state. “You took without permission. Did you really think I wouldn’t retaliate? Did you really think I’d just let it go?”
“I, I, I paid…” he stammers.
“I don’t give a fuck what you paid.” I snap, slamming the blade in harder, carving up him up good and proper, ensuring that I really am butchering his insides. “She is mine. My whore, my pet, my plaything.” I punctuate each statement with a thrust. “You do not take what is mine. Nobody takes what is mine, what is given by God. Do you understand me?”
He splutters, he sobs, his words are an incoherent mess.
“I said, do you understand me?”
I’m blind with rage now, fucking furious. All I can see is those marks on her flesh, those bruises, the way she screamed, cried, and bled for him.
He had no right to touch her. No right to claim her. No right to make her bleed.
I tighten my grip, forcing that blade deeper and deeper, and as his blood makes the handle too slick to hold, his body slumps, his pathetic cries turn to silence and I know my job is done.
I let out a sigh, leaving the blade where it is, deep in his arse.
My men let him go and he lays still, the mix of blood and shit starting to stink the room out.
I wipe my hands on the covers then get to my feet, savouring the view before me, committing it to memory, and allowing it to replace the memory of offence, the memory where he’s raping my hard-earned prize.
“Let’s go.” I say calmly.
The girl is still passed out. I know I could take her to Oblivion, sell her for a fine price, but she knows it was me here, it was me who broke in. I don’t care what her opinion of Anthony is, she’s a risk. A liability. One I’m not stupid enough to leave alive.
I lean down, snapping her neck easily and then leave her where she is.
But as I stand back up, and scan the room one last time, I see the papers on the desk and an emblem that catches my eye.
Surely not? Surely this is a mistake?
I reach over, picking it up, scanning the contents and suddenly, this all becomes clear. All Anthony Wallis’s good fortune to up to now. He’s far too incompetent to have lived as long as he has without being excommunicated.
No, he had to have friends in very high places.
But can he really be part of the Esau Faction? I thought those fuckers were over. I thought those fuckers were done for back when the Inquisition was raging through Spain.
It’s a risk to take the letter, a risk to keep anything that links me to this place, and yet I need to be certain this isn’t a hoax. If the Esau Faction is alive and well, and if they’re going for Chapter as this all suggests, then we have a far bigger fight on our hands.
This isn’t just a case of who’ll be in power.
This is a case of who’ll live to see another day.
The last time they ruled, they culled our numbers, saw any dissenters burnt on actual stakes. They’re the reason everyone believes Friday the 13 th is unlucky. They burnt their way through Europe, leaving nothing but scorched earth behind. And though I’d relish the chaos that would come with their potential uprising, it’d also change everything.
Does Antonio know about this? Is that why he decided to back me for new Chapter Lord?
I’m not afraid. A lesser man would be, a lesser man would quake in their boots at such an opposition but if anything this spurs me on. This gives meaning to it all. I wanted to be Chapter Lord for the power, yes, but for our family’s sake, too.
If the Esau are back, then it’s even more imperative that I achieve that goal.