37. Magnus
“ W e need to talk about her.” Antonio says.
I look up from the papers we’ve been going through for the last hour. Every day for the last week we’ve been here, in my office, working through what needs to be done so that when the time is right, I can make my move with everything already in place. With all my allies behind me. With my future as Chapter Lord sealed and approved.
“Her?” I repeat. He didn’t so much as touch my pet, didn’t do anything more than hold her in place, why is he so interested now?
“Your wife.” he states.
I blink, dropping the file in my hand and sit back further into my chair. “That is not necessary. ”
“It is. The Senate will want answers about your wedding night,” he persists.
“They had them.” I reply. “There was a full investigation at the time.”
He raises his eyebrows, leaning over the table to clear the distance between us. “Magnus, to be Chapter Lord, you cannot have any skeletons in your closet.”
“You think I do?” I ask amused. I run Oblivion for fuck’s sake, that’s the very definition of skeletons in my closet.
“She was a Harrison. The very fact that her parents didn’t even raise a fuss…”
“They know exactly why she is dead.” I growl. “They were part of it, part of the conspiracy.”
“From what I read, there was no evidence of that.”
“Ah, so you do know the particulars.” I reply, feeling like I’ve suddenly caught him out in a lie. “And here I was thinking you were ignorant.”
“You need to have a straight story.” Antonio says, ignoring my jibe entirely. “A convincing one. The Senate will need to believe every word of what you say.”
I nod, picking up my glass and take a sip, because it’s not like I haven’t thought about this. It’s not like I haven’t seen this coming. Does he really think I’m so stupid as that?
“And I’m assuming she’s no longer in Oblivion?”
That makes me freeze. I look at him and his lips are curled into a smirk. “Come now, she may have been declared dead, but her body was apparently cremated before anyone could do an autopsy.”
“That was at the request of her parents.” I state. Though it certainly helped me put my own plans into place.
“But she is dead, now, isn’t she? No one is going to suddenly appear with her twenty years after the fact? ”
“She’s dead.” I smile. Dead to the world at least. The person who resides in Oblivion right now is so psychologically fucked she doesn’t even know what the real world is anymore. She can’t even speak, she barely moves. She’s a living corpse, existing only because every time her pathetic body gives out, I ensure she is treated and revived.
He nods, obviously reassured by my words and then his phone buzzes.
He sighs, picking it up, just as my own goes off.
As I read the words, Antonio springs out of his chair.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he all but bellows.
“How very curious.” I murmur, while my mind already whirls on what the possibilities of this could be. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? I mean, I laid the seeds, I started us all down this journey.
“Curious? Curious?” Antonio repeats, losing all show of calmness that I’ve seen to date. “Who the fuck…” He pauses, staring at me. “Tell me you didn’t do this…”
I get to my feet slowly. “Of course I didn’t.” I reply. I wouldn’t be so damned stupid as to kick the hornets’ nest so blatantly. Does he really think I’d have as little imagination as all that?
“But that means war.” I state, meeting his eyes. “If Turner is gone, then all bets are off. The Chapter is wide open, defenceless.”
Antonio shakes his head like he can’t quite believe it. “This can’t be happening. Who the fuck would even dare…?”
“It’s obvious.” I say, drawing myself up, growing bored of his sudden show of dramatics. “The Esau faction is behind this.”
“No.” Antonio says. “They wouldn’t dare, they’re too fractured, too…”
“For fuck’s sake.” I snap, losing my patience, shoving the very evidence I stole from Antony damned Wallis in front of him so that they’ll be no denying it. “Who else could it be?” I continue, “who else would benefit from such a move? ”
He blinks back at me like he’s an idiot. Like his brain can’t compute it. “Do you think they know that Turner was sick, that we were going to replace him?”
“Of course they did.” I mean, I was the one who let it out. I was the one who stirred the pot. Wouldn’t say I’d have predicted this outcome, but now that it’s here, I’ll take open war, I’ll take the carnage. Better that than operating from the shadows like I’m some sort of thief.
“We need to meet with the Senate. We need to move, now.” Antonio says.
“I agree.” I smile, feeling like suddenly all the power is in my hands. “Get my driver to ready the car. I just have one thing I need to see to first.”
“Now?” Antonio splutters.
“Now.” I confirm. “And get Conrad. I want him where I can see him. I won’t have them going after him to get to me.”
I don’t wait for a response, I turn and leave him there, still half speechless.
During the day, Oblivion can be an eery place. Oh, the party never stops, the games always continue, but it never feels the same. Darkness has a way of hiding things, obscuring them. You expect evil at night, you expect horror then.
I make my way silently through the hall, noting the changes we made after the whole bomb incident. The additional security, the fireproofing, all of it.
There’s a few people here and there, but I keep my gaze ahead, ignoring them, and ensuring they get the message that I’m not interested in a conversation right now.
When I make it to the lower levels, you can feel the change in the atmosphere, you can feel the way the air chills .
I walk past what was Paitlyn’s cell, not even glancing in through the bars. We had the entire corridor rebuilt. It’s got a new girl in there now. If I listen carefully enough, I can hear the sound of her sobbing. She’s got a long way to go before she becomes anything close to her predecessor, but I’m sure her owner will get there.
At the very end, I type in a code only I know. The door appears as if from the very walls itself and silently opens. I slip through before making my way past another set of locked doors. This place doesn’t technically exist. It’s not on any blueprints. Nor any plans. No cameras are here either. No one knows about this except me and her.
She looks up as I walk in. Her mouth is open, ajar, just as always from the way it healed badly after I shattered it one too many times.
“Good evening, wife.” I say.
She trembles, whimpering, and, because half her vocal cords are ripped to shreds from all the years of screaming, it comes out more like a strangled gurgle, like she’s choking on her own fear. God, I hope she is.
There’s a great silver scar that slashes down the front of her face. Her right eye is hazy from the damage, and I know she can’t see shit out of it.
Her bones are all gnarled up and twisted, her hands are turned inwards at the wrists like she’s permanently trying to tear her own flesh off. You wouldn’t think she was the same age as me. You wouldn’t think she was mid-forties. Her long hair hangs down, straggly and grey, and there’s clumps missing with glaring bald spots from where she repeatedly rips it out.
I step over the pile of human excrement that she’s currently sitting in and my nose wrinkles at the stench, though she seems to be completely oblivious to it.
Years ago, she was beautiful. Years ago, this woman was all I ever thought I wanted. All I ever thought I would love .
A part of me is sad to be doing this. To be ending this. I’d planned for her to suffer for many more years to come. I’d planned for her to live as long as I did, to die here, in the darkness, long after her mind had been lost.
But I won’t take the risk now. She’s not worth it. Not worth losing everything for.
My hand wraps around her throat in a familiar fashion. She’s so skinny, she’s practically weightless and it takes little effort to haul her up. In many ways she’s the same as Liliana, emaciated, scarred, completely ruined by my hands.
The only difference is Liliana is a thing of beauty while this whore here, she’s nothing but filth.
Her nails dig into my flesh. Her wretched tongue sticks out of her mouth like she’s trying to remember how to form words.
With one firm shove I smash her head against the concrete behind her. Her eyes go wide, her legs jerk. She starts screaming, clawing, as if her pitiful existence is something worth fighting for.
“Die.” I snarl, slamming her harder, hearing her skull begin to crack on the second blow. “Just fucking die already.”
She starts gurgling more, choking on what I can only imagine is her own blood.
I ram her head into the wall, over and over, seeing the remains of her flesh, her hair, chunks of her brain start to leave a greasy trace behind.
It feels like it takes forever and yet some part of me relishes how long it is. How much she suffers as her skull slowly caves in, piece by piece.
When I’m certain she is dead, I toss her body, staring at it as it lays lifeless in that same heap of shit I found her in. I always wondered how I’d feel when she was dead, I thought my heart my react, I thought I might, on some level, grieve. But now I realise that that part of me died long ago .
This woman here no longer holds sway over me. No longer holds any power.
It’s a nice feeling to recognise. A nice thing to know.
I won’t burn this room. I won’t have her removed or cremated. She can stay here, she can rot in her own filth for the rest of time.
And it’s with a sense of satisfaction that I leave Oblivion. That I walk out into the sunshine, and I see my brother waiting for me.
Perhaps I should have done it sooner, perhaps there is something to be had in eliminating your enemies quickly rather than drawing it out.
I pause, my mind casting to the other technical enemy, the one who right now is asleep in my bed.
It would be logical to do the same thing, to kill her now, to wipe the slate clean, and yet I’m so not ready for that. She’s my pet, my plaything. It’s an entirely different circumstance to the woman who swore she’d love me forever and then, less than six hours later, she was trying to shove a dagger into my heart, both metaphorically and literally.
No, Liliana is different. She may be full of hate, she may be a stubborn, defiant, insolent bitch but I’m taming her. Day by day, I am winning. To cut my losses now would be more than premature.
And besides, I’m starting to enjoy my little pet more and more. I’m enjoying the way her body gives in, the way her body submits, the way she herself is yearning for more and more of me.
In truth, I think she really is growing on me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I had a soft spot—and that thought makes me come to a sudden, abrupt stop.
She is a soft spot.
She is a weakness. A liability.
I growl, realising exactly what I’ve created, what I’ve foolishly done these last few months.
I need to deal with this Esau shit, and I can hardly do that while she’s at the forefront of my mind .
I grab my phone, dialling for Gabe and bark out my instructions.
He replies, obviously confused by what I’m telling him and my sudden, apparent change in treatment, but to me it’s clear, logical.
I need her out of the way.
I need her locked down. Protected. Packed away into a nice little box.
Then when I’m ready, I can take her back out again, dust her off, and enjoy all the beautiful distraction that she is, without worrying about the consequences. Without having to concern myself with anything beyond my own pleasure.