30. Liliana
H e comes again two days later. He hasn’t fed or given me anything to drink, and I guess in his mind that’s meant to be a punishment, but I’m used to the feeling of hunger now. If anything, it’s helping me to focus on the reality of this, that I am a prisoner here, I’m a thing he’s going to use and discard.
I cannot blur those lines. I cannot allow my own head to become confused, and decide that any form of survival is okay, because it’s not.
I would rather die than submit.
I would rather die than give in.
I would rather die than lose all the parts of me that are real, and instead, become some vapid, empty vessel, some toy for his amusement.
His eyes stare at the words on the walls. The words written in my blood.
I can see his lips quirk; apparently, this too is funny to him.
“Get up,” he says as he fixes me with those piercing black eyes.
I grit my teeth, force my body to work, but my legs shake worse than ever. Maybe if he gave me a decent meal for once, I’d actually have some strength.
He doesn’t give me a moment to even get my bearings before he’s yanking me out, hauling me along and back into that same room I washed in before.
My eyes meet those two women, and a whimper escapes my lips before I can do anything.
Magnus steps back, folding his arms across his chest, but this time he doesn’t go, he stays, watching as they bathe me, as they shave me, as they force me to bend over and shove water up my arsehole and inside me again.
When they’re finally done, he stands in front of me, appraising me. He pinches my nipples, slaps my breasts lightly, and then fixes a different kind of collar around my neck. A thicker one. One that feels even less forgiving than the previous.
As he steps back, he meets my eyes, holds out a tiny remote and pushes it.
Pain surges through my body. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. I’m on my knees, doubled up in shock, but a second later the feeling ceases. My hands grab at the thing around my neck and my heart slams into my chest, beating far too fast. But I realise what it is, what he’s put on me. He really is treating me like a disobedient dog.
He lets out a chuckle before clicking his fingers for me to get up and follow him.
I glance back at the two women. Neither of them meet my gaze but in my head, I curse them all the same, I scream at them, I damn them for their part in this, and I make a promise that if I ever get out, I’ll get my revenge on them, too .
I’ll make them pay.
I can barely get out of the car.
Magnus has to drag me out and my legs refuse to work.
All I can do is stare up at those same awful blood red walls as my head repeats that I’m here again. That whatever horrific things he did to me last time, he’s going to do it again.
How many more people will die tonight? What disgusting, unimaginable horrors will he make me do, will he force me to endure?
When we finally get inside, he doesn’t take me down, instead he hauls me up. My feet slam into the stairs as he all but drags me up one flight and then another. I guess I should count myself lucky that he’s not turned the collar on yet as a punishment. Silver linings and all that.
Around, I can hear those same awful sounds. That heavy, heady, constant beat, and those same moans and groans.
My eyes dart about as we make our way through a large hall. The room is filled with people. Half are wearing masks, and half are clearly not hiding themselves at all, as if they have no shame.
It’s like an orgy, though from what I can see not all the participants want to be there.
I shudder, I shut my eyes, and I pray to whatever God might listen that I will give them my soul, I will give them whatever they want if they just let me die right here, right now. If they just grant me this mercy, I will do anything. Absolutely anything.
Enough of the room stills, enough of them turn their heads and they stare at Magnus, at me, at my body. Revulsion creeps up my spine, settles into my stomach and as I try to hide my body, Magnus forces my arms down to show me off like a trophy.
“Keep fucking moving,” he says, his voice piercing through my desperate pleas to just make this all stop .
As we make it to a door, I don’t know whether to be relieved or not. Too many faces were watching me, too many people were clearly enjoying my shame as I was paraded through. But beyond this space, behind this door, is whatever Magnus has planned.
Would I rather be stood naked in front of a thousand strangers than be forced to endure his sole attention? Yes. Yes, I would. If that was the price, if that’s what it took, I would stand here, and I would endure that, rather than face whatever the hell is coming next.
But of course, I’m not granted such a reprieve. Such a mercy.
I’m pushed inside and my feet meet the confusing softness of a plush, luxurious rug.
I glance down, feeling like this luxury is so out of place and my mind can’t reconcile it. Ahead, I can see figures, people. The room looks like a lounge. Two couches face one another. The rug spans most of the room. There’s a drinks cabinet on one wall and a fire is burning enough to take away the chill.
“You took your time,” someone says.
I look up, meeting the gaze of a bearded man, dressed in that all too familiar robe. He folds his arms, tilts his head, and stares at me.
“Did you not request entertainment?” Magnus says, dropping his grip and striding in past me, just as I hear the door close.
“You needed to see to it personally?” Another man laughs. “Like we couldn’t have just plucked any whore from the hall?”
“This one does not belong to Oblivion.” Magnus states, taking the glass being offered to him and for a second, he clearly relishes the tastes before he adds, “This one belongs only to me.”
More eyebrows raise. Someone lets out a laugh that sends a shiver right down my spine.
“Surely not?” the first man says, stepping up to me and I immediately take a step back, putting as much distance as I possibly can in the circumstances. “Is this her, the journalist, what’s her name…”
“Liliana Edwards.” Magnus says, as if he’s laying claim to my name as well as my body.
I glare back at him and he responds immediately by putting the drink down, grabbing hold of me, and throwing me to my knees right in the centre of them all.
“She’s still learning to be obedient.” Magnus says over me. “But even in her resistance, there is a lot of fun to be had.”
I can’t look up. I can’t do anything beyond clutch at the rug as if I could dissolve into it. I can already see what’s coming. I can see how this is going to play out. Clearly, these men are Brethren Lords too.
Is he going to let them all fuck me?
Is he going to have them line up one by one, or will one rape my arse, while another rapes me vaginally?
Some tiny voice in my head whispers that maybe if I beg, maybe if I plead, Magnus might just step in. That’s what he wants, isn’t it? He wants me to play his obedient little pet, maybe if I do that, if I play along, he’ll change his mind and I’ll only have to endure his savagery instead of the entire hoard of them.
I open my mouth, I try to force the words out, but nothing comes.
A hand lands on my shoulder, I scramble to get away but another wraps around my wrist, twisting it behind my back so that I’m spun around. My other hand lashes out, my fingers curl into a fist and I slam it into the man’s face.
He lets go, blinking back in shock, while he rubs the mark that’s already appearing along his jaw.
“She’s a feisty bitch.” the man behind him comments, and there’s no amusement to his voice at all .
“That she is,” Magnus says, closing the distance, grabbing my hands, yanking them behind my back, where he ties them off so I now have no real form of defence at all.
He then pushes me, watching as I stumble back and lose my balance before landing awkwardly on my arse.
The older man, the grey-haired one leans over me, grabbing my ankles and forces my legs apart so that I’m entirely on show for them all, and, from how my hands are bound, there’s little I can do to stop it.
“Who gets first dibs?” he asks, not looking at me, not looking at my face, just staring at my pussy like he’s never seen one before.
I try to kick out, to aim for his face, but a bolt of electricity bursts from the collar and I scream out, arching my back, paralysed by the sudden pain. All those cuts along my back, all those welts where Magnus whipped me seem to reopen and it feels like me entire skin is aflame.
“No kicking.” Magnus says almost lazily. “I may enjoy your protests, but my friends here prefer a more compliant whore.”
I stare back at him completely dumbfounded. Does he really expect me to just give in, to what, become some sort of robot, to lay here, and allow them to use me and not even respond?
“That may normally be the case,” the grey-haired man says, digging his nails into my skin. “But who doesn’t like a little fight, every now and then? If we wanted consensual, we could just fuck our wives.”
The other men murmur their agreement, a few laugh too.
Grey hair yanks my legs, dragging me closer and then he swaps his hands so that both my ankles are now trapped in his one hold. How the fuck does he have this much strength? It’s a sign of how weak I’ve become that he’s able to overpower me like this.
With his free hand, he spears two fingers into me, exploring, examining. I yelp at the brutality of it but then bite my tongue, reminding myself that every protest, every cry, gives them something and I refuse to do it.
He starts widening his fingers, widening me, before he forces another one in, and then another. It’s impossibly tight. There’s no lube and I’m not in the slightest bit wet so every movement tears my insides more.
The other men, all six of them stand there, watching silently as though they’re taking notes.
I force back the tears just as he forces in his entire fist, but it’s too much. Too much pain, too much pressure, too much everything. I let out a scream, I jerk so hard that my ankle slips free, and I slam my foot into his face.
He groans, falling back, with his hand now out of me. I scoot away as fast as I can, but another hand falls on me and though I don’t look, I know exactly who it belongs to. I’d know his touch anywhere.
“Fucking bitch,” grey hair curses.
One of the other men laughs. “I thought you said you liked the fight?” He teases.
Grey hair gets to his feet, shaking his head, before examining his hand. “Her cunt is tight, I’ll give her that,” he comments and though I know I shouldn’t look, I know I shouldn’t, I do it, and I can see it, the streaks of my blood, the evidence of what he’s already done.
I don’t want to think about how much this night is going to hurt, how much pain and how much they’re going to make me bleed. My body starts shaking violently and Magnus’s fingers dig a little deeper into my shoulder as if he’s trying to comfort me in some silent, unspoken way.
“I want her mouth,” the larger man with the beard says.
“I’m having her arse,” the man with the tattoos adds.
“You take her arse, I want her cunt,” grey hair states, staring once more between my legs .
My breath starts to pick up even more, I gulp down, I try to breathe but nothing can calm the fear, nothing can help, because nothing will stop this.
“Before we do anything,” Magnus says, “I’m going to bind her.”
Bind me? What the fuck does that mean? Aren’t my hands already fucking useless? Hasn’t he already seen to it that I’m pretty much defenceless?
“Antonio,” Magnus says, holding his hand to gesture to the one man who’s been stood apart from everyone else. “Would you do the honours of holding her still? I imagine she’s not going to be docile for this.”
My head spins, I look from Magnus to this new man, desperately trying to figure out what the fuck is about to happen.
He inclines his head, stepping into the space and grabs my arm, hauling me to my feet. With one arm, he wraps it around my neck, holding me in a headlock, and the other he presses against my hips, keeping my pelvis flat against his body. I can feel how hard he is. I can feel his cock pushing into my back.
I curl my face up in revulsion but what difference does it really make? He’s going to rape me. Every man here is going to rape and sodomise me. It doesn’t matter how I feel about it, it doesn’t matter what I do. The only thing I can try to do is survive, is to get through it.
Magnus steps up, grabbing my jaw, running his thumb along my lips the way a lover would. In any other place that gesture would feel so entirely different to what it does right now. It would feel caring, considerate and not one of ownership.
He forces a gag into my mouth. I’m almost relieved as he does it because if that’s all the binding is, then fine, I’ll put up with that. It’s not like the one he used before, this one keeps my mouth open, it sits behind my teeth so that my lips make a perfect ‘o’ and I guess what its intention is. The larger man groans, rubbing his hand across his groin like he can’t wait to force his cock down my throat .
Magnus looks up, meeting the eyes of the man holding me and he gives him a nod. Just a tiny one. It’s subtle. But it’s enough.
My heartrate spikes. My adrenaline skyrockets. I jerk, suddenly aware that he’s about to do something unspeakable.
The man holding me, tightens his grip just enough to tell me that that’s what’s happening.
Magnus grabs my breasts, he kneads them, pushing them both together, and I hate that my nipples harden. I hate that my body gives such a response.
He slaps one, then the other, but he’s not his usual aggressive self. It’s like he’s building to something. Taunting me. When he holds up a strip of leather, I frown. My mind can’t put it together, but then he wraps it around my left breast and I seize up, I panic, I kick my feet out, I fight in every damned way I can.
That arm around my throat suddenly constricts and my airway closes up. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. My body shuts down, giving in, exactly as they intend. My eyes bulge out their sockets, I can hear the blood rushing to my ears, to my brain. Something high-pitched, something loud screams in my head.
And all the while Magnus is wrapping that strip tighter and tighter around my breast. When he finishes with the left, he does the right, repeating the exact same routine. My breasts are forced out, sticking straight ahead, with the banding so tight that I can already feel my nipples throbbing in protest and my pain radiating from the very middle. Antonio releases his grip just enough that I can finally get some air in and I slump against him.
But when I look down, I gasp in horror through the gag and the sound is so distorted. My breasts are already so swollen, already bright red. If he leaves them like this surely the flesh will die for lack of blood supply?
Magnus tilts his head, grabs my jaw and Antonio removes his hold so that he can do what he likes. I tremble, unsure how I’m even standing now .
“Magnificent.” Magnus murmurs, staring down at me. His thumb brushes my nipple and I whimper at the feel of it, at the pain. He isn’t even doing anything right now, but just his touch is enough.
He then pinches one nipple, twisting so that I scream. Tears stream down my eyes, I all but collapse onto my knees, burying my face into the rug. My arms are still as good as useless though and it makes me so much more vulnerable in the position I’m in right now.
“Now she’s ready.” Magnus says.
Fear erupts in me. Abject terror takes hold.
I can’t do this. I can’t just take this.
I try to scramble away. I don’t care what they think of me. I don’t care how pathetic I look now. My pride counts for nothing in this moment. All I can think about is survival. Escape.
But it’s like a pack of wolves descends on me.
Someone grabs my right leg, hauling me back, and I land with a thump on my front. I scream out as more pain radiates from my chest and I have to roll over immediately to get my weight off.
Another hand wraps around my waist, forcing me once more back onto my knees. A hand yanks my arms up, which in turn slams my face into the rug and another forces my arse cheeks apart.
I brace myself, I mentally try to calm but nothing can prepare me for that brutal, searing pain as the tattooed man forces his cock into me.
“Fuck,” he groans, slapping my arse to force my body to accept him.
As if that’s not enough, grey-haired man pushes his way through, manoeuvring himself so that he’s under me. The man holding my arms raises them enough so that my body is taut, held at an angle above him. My breasts push against his body and I cry out, hating the feel of it, hating that his skin is touching mine and most especially that his mouth is inches away from my nipples .
“You’re right, Magnus.” he says as he grabs hold of my chest with both hands. “These are magnificent like this.”
I scream out as he sucks one nipple into his mouth. The pain is unimaginable. He isn’t even being gentle, he’s sucking on it like his life depends upon it. He pulls off with a pop, then does the same to my left, only this time he bites down, and I know from the way his teeth cut into my flesh that he’s made me bleed.
“Please,” I sob. “Please.”
I can’t take this. I can’t take any of this.
Magnus tuts, sipping at the damned drink in his hand. “Too late for that now, pet.” he says. “You had your chance, you’ve had more than enough chances. You want mercy, then behave yourself now and maybe I’ll consider it.”
Mercy? Fucking mercy? I want more than that. I want this over with. I want this done. I need it to end. I need everything to end. I can’t do another day of this. I can’t do another moment.
I try to jerk my arms, try so desperately to get them free and tattooed man grabs hold of the rope pulling them up so they’re as far up as they’ll go without dislocating.
“Dance for me, bitch.” he says as my body jolts and tries to do everything it can to relieve the horrific pressure he’s created.
“Get your cock out of her ass.” Grey hair growls. “I can’t get in her cunt while you’re taking all the space.”
Tattoo man laughs back, saying something I can’t make out.
And then grey hair grabs my hips, lines himself up and rams himself into me anyway.
I scream. I scream so loudly.
I don’t know how on earth my body can even fit them both inside me, but within seconds something inside tears. I can feel the way my insides rip apart and give way.
“She’s so fucking tight.” Grey hair groans.
“On three.” Tattoo man says like this is a team sport .
I can’t think, I can’t move. Every breath hurts too much. Every second is absolute agony.
Only, it gets worse, so much worse.
They start thrusting, they start fucking me and every jolt sends a blaze of agony inside me. Whatever they’ve torn, rips further and my blood starts dripping out.
“Filthy, fucking slut,” tattoo man says, running his hand down to feel it as it pools between us. “She’s dripping wet.”
I sob harder at his words, because we all know that’s not my arousal.
“Fucking whore obviously needs more than one cock to satisfy her,” grey hair says, slapping my right breast and making me scream once more.
A hand grabs my jaw, raises my face and I look up to see beard man holding his erect cock right before my mouth, clearly wanting to get in on the action. There’s a bead of precum already starting to drip down the head of it.
“Think another dick will make her come?” He taunts before ramming himself in through the gag and down my throat.
I choke almost instantly. His dick isn’t particularly big, but with everything else, it’s still too much. And what’s worse is I can taste that he hasn’t washed. I can taste his sweat, and the remnants of his last piss still there.
“Suck on it, you whore.” He groans, sliding out, slapping my cheeks, before slamming back in. “Fucking choke on it,” he says like he’s giving me any other options.
I start retching, my throat catching and closing every time he rams himself down.
But he barely lasts a few minutes before he’s coming, and I don’t know if I should be grateful for that fact or not. He groans, gripping my head, forcing my face against his pelvis and the overwhelming scent of body odour makes me almost pass out .
When he releases me, grey hair grabs my face, forcing me to look at him, while he and tattoo man continue to rape me.
“You liked that, whore? You liked his come down your throat, filling your belly?”
I spit at him. I may still have the gag on, but with everything now in my mouth a damned good amount of it lands on his face.
“You filthy fucking bitch.” He snarls, punching me hard enough that my body collapses.
Tattoo man groans and starts protesting that I’m fighting too much for him to enjoy it.
“We’ve got hours yet.” Grey hair laughs. “You don’t have to blow all your load at once.”
I shut my eyes, I force myself to pretend, to breathe and it’s like my mind does that shift again. Everything flickers as if this were a movie screen and not reality.
I blink rapidly trying to figure it out, but it’s like my mind withdraws, retreats.
Oh, I’m still here, still enduring this. Still being raped.
But I’m floating, too. I’m above it. Witnessing it. Watching the horror play out as if I were some sort of ghost and not part of this at all.
I can still feel the pain, I can still feel every awful thrust, but it’s different now.
I gasp, blinking, as my eyes seem to lose focus. My body slumps, my heart seems to slow just a little. I can still feel the panic and the fear but it’s also almost calm now. It’s as though my mind has wrapped me up, taken me away and is protecting me the only way I know how.
Tattoo man comes, filling my arse and when he pulls out, it drips down onto my thighs.
Grey hair keeps going longer, clearly enjoying the moment now that he’s got me all to myself. He manoeuvres my body around, pushes me onto my back, and starts calling me more names, spouting more degrading insults about what a whore I am while the others cheer and join in.
He pushes my legs apart, and then forces his entire fist into my arse.
“Fucking slut. Not so tight now, are you?” he states as he starts penetrating me over and over and over.
Tears stream down my face. My body rocks back and forth, and with every brutal thrust, my breasts protest so excruciatingly. When I glance down, I can see they’re no longer red. They’re blue now, almost black. Will they fall off? Will my nipples shrivel up and die? Is it even possible to survive such a thing?
Just as my panic starts to soar again, my mind steps in and that haze takes me.
I stare up, unblinking at the ceiling. It’s so much higher than it should be. These rooms must be twice the height of a normal one. I don’t even understand what this place truly is. What its purpose is, why would the Brethren need such a hell as this anyway?
“Make her come.”
The words linger, hang about me. Every time Magnus tried before I would fight, I would do everything to stop it, but this time I’m not worried. I know my body is too damaged and too broken for there to even be a chance of it.
“Come, you whore.” Grey hair’s fingers pinch my clit, I can feel him trying to get me off, but it does nothing.
I stare on. My body takes the pain and the abuse, but I don’t respond. I just lay there. After all, isn’t that what Magnus wanted? Isn’t that what he ordered after he shocked me? That I wasn’t allowed to fight, that I wasn’t meant to retaliate in any way.
I guess he got his wish. I guess this is his victory.
Right now, I don’t care. Right now, on some level I feel almost at peace. My mind is free, my mind is saving me.
A slap to the face jolts me just for a second and then I slip back under .
Grey hair starts picking up pace. It’s clear the man is finally there. When he comes, he pulls out, covering me in his semen, smearing it over my body and then he pulls his hand out of my arse, wiping my blood all over my skin too.
I don’t move. I just lie there, with all my bodyweight now pushing down on my arms cutting off even more of the blood supply.
Three of them have had some fun. There are three left. Will they do the same? Will they tag team it? What if they want something else? What more could I possible endure?
Magnus bends down beside me, grabbing my jaw. As he moves my head to look me in the eyes, I still don’t react. I still give him nothing.
He mutters something. I don’t know if it’s meant for me or for them, but no one replies.
He says something else and Antonio answers. Magnus smirks, his eyes illuminating like he’s just had an idea.
He steps back, Antonio reaches down, hauling me up and I slump against him, hoping that at least my blood will ruin his fancy suit, if nothing else.
Magnus strides away, picks something up and puts it into the fireplace.
When he comes back, he grabs my face again.
“You think I’ll let you pull that trick?” he murmurs, like I have any idea what that means, like I’m in any state to even respond.
“Hold her.” he orders.
Antonio’s arms wrap around me again, in that same headlock. For a second, I pray that he’s going to remove the bindings, that he’s going to take them off and though I’m fearful about how much it’s going to hurt I want it so much I almost thank him.
But then he comes back, and I see what’s in his hands and reality comes back with a vengeance. I scream out, fighting harder than I ever have. Fear rips through me .
In my head all I can hear is the same word over and over, run—as if I can. As if I can simply walk out and escape.
He holds the brand up, right in front of my face. I can feel the heat of it, I can see the way the metal is glowing bright red.
He straightens the angle, moving it right to the soft skin on my breastbone and pushes it there in one firm, confident, movement.
I scream, I scream so loud I swear my voice box shatters.
Antonio holds me perfectly still.
It burns into my chest, it sears my skin, and the pain is even worse than everything else they’ve done to me, everything else I’ve endured.
When he pulls it away, I stare in horror at where my flesh is melted and marred. It’s Magnus’s crest, his insignia. He’s branded me with it.
“Now you won’t forget your place and what’s expected of you,” he says.
Antonio lets me go. I collapse onto the floor, barely feeling the pain in my breasts, or the agony between my thighs, because this new injury overrides absolutely everything else.
Blood is still dripping out from me, I know I can’t physically take anymore.
The others laugh and shout. A few kick at me, calling me a whore.
One produces a knife, asking if he can carve his name into me next.
My body won’t stop shaking. My mind fractures entirely and all I can think is that this has to be over. I can’t wake another day like this. I can’t take another second.
I don’t care what happens, I don’t care what I have to do. I can’t take any more pain. I just can’t.
Beard man hands out drinks, starts describing in detail what he wants to do to me next, how he wants to clamp my clit and pierce my nipples too. Apparently, there are some nails on the side that he’s going to use, driving them in slowly, one by one like little daggers.
Grey hair states that he’s going to fist me again, that clearly, I need the girth to get off on and that’ll make me come harder, as if I did the first time.
But Antonio stands there, watching me silently, like he’s got a plan so fucked up even he’s afraid of following through.
My eyes dart to the others, to Magnus, and tattoo man, and the two men yet to rape me. If I don’t do something, I won’t survive this. But then, that was always the plan, wasn’t it? That was the deal Magnus made all those months ago, back in the cathedral. I have a death sentence, it’s just a question of when Magnus decides to carry it out.
Is that how this night will end? Them fucking me over and over, hurting me, beating me, raping me until I’m so broken that my body actually does give out. The thought of my ending being so near doesn’t feel me with any relief because I know every second will feel like an eternity between now and then. Magnus will make sure of it.
No, I need to end this my way.
The thought hits me like a tidal wave.
I’m done trying to fight, I’m done trying to prove that I’m better than him. He broke me, he’s won. The only thing I can control is this moment here, is my death.
I stare rapidly around the room, trying to find something, anything, a knife or a gun, or something that I can use, something that will be quick, decisive.
But there’s nothing here. Nothing except the thing Magnus used to brand me with and that won’t do.
And then my eyes land on the windows. They’re huge, ornate, so out of place with the rest of this space. When we came in, we must have climbed at least two flights of stairs. That puts us on the second floor by my reckoning. Would a fall from this height be enough? Maybe if I jumped with enough force?
I glance to the men, none of them are watching me now, not even Antonio. They’re too busy having their refreshment break.
The windows are a good few metres from where I’m lying. I’m not sure I have the strength for this, but I have to take the chance because any minute, they’re going to put those fancy glasses down and start abusing me again.
I force my body up, moving slowly at first. Still no one takes any notice.
It’s hard to get to my feet, my body protests so much that I have to swallow the cries because I know if they hear it, they’ll look my way and it’ll all be over.
I take one small tentative step, then another.
And then I turn, racing with every last bit of energy I have left. I spring from the floor, throwing all my weight into the jump and I crash into the glass, feeling it tear into my skin as I fall through and down.
I land in a broken heap of limbs. My shoulder is wrong. My legs feel like they’re not angled right. But I’m alive. How the fuck am I still alive? I wanted to snap my neck, break my back. I wanted to be dead already.
I squirm, feeling a jolt of searing pain from my shoulder. My arms are still tied, but there’s enough glass here to do something about that. I snatch at a long-jagged piece, cutting into my palm as I hack as quickly as I can.
And then I realise what else I have to do. What has to be done. With a deep breath, I drag it up from my wrist the whole way to my elbow, cutting deep enough to ensure I sever the artery.
It takes almost all my strength to do it. I know I need to cut my other wrist too to be sure, but with my shoulder as it is I can’t move my arm around enough to get the angle right .
The glass slips from my hand, it chatters almost merrily as it drops beside me.
And as my blood starts to spurt out, I pray that it is enough. It has to be enough. Please, God, just let it end.
Exhaustion overwhelms me. I lay back, I shut my eyes, and I give in with a small smile on my face because it is over. Despite everything that bastard has done to me, I have beaten him in my own way.
I can feel my life ebbing away. I can feel my body getting colder and colder. I don’t even care if there is nothing beyond this. If death is all that awaits me, I’m okay with that. Content with that.
I would welcome that nothingness with open arms.
Because I can be at peace now. I can be free.
And Magnus Blake will never be able to hurt me again.