71. Leandra
Ican’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.
He is standing inches from me, and every cell in my body is screaming loudly.
Does Lazarus know who he is? Of course he does, that’s why we’re here. Reality hits me like a ten-ton truck, and I’m shaking so badly I can barely hold it together.
“Leandra,” Lazarus says so softly, as if he only wants me to hear him speaking.
I let him guide me on, guide me further into this new form of hell.
All around us are men and women, and the things they are doing… I shut it down, I have to. I have to shut those thoughts out and shut up that voice in my head, because I’m going to lose control, and then what will Lazarus do this time? How will he cover for me out in public?
I glance at our bodyguards. I know they are here to protect our Grand Master and not me, but for one fleeting moment I convince myself that maybe, just maybe they might protect me from him.
Only, no one protects me from him.
Ezekiel says something, and the sound of his voice sends another wave of panic through me.
I loved him. No, I thought I loved him, but what I felt was not love. It was not. He took me, he broke me, and he groomed me. What I did, how I acted, all of it was justifiable, it was logical because of the horror he put me through.
Oh god, I’m spiralling.
I can feel it. I can feel how close to the edge I am, and I swear my eyes have darted to the gun at the nearest bodyguard’s hip too many times not to be noticed.
Lazarus takes a seat, pulling me in beside him, and mercifully Ezekiel is the other side.
“There’s a good show tonight.” Ezekiel says, gesturing to the stage.
I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see what he deems as ‘good’, but my eyes are there, taking the woman in. Seeing how she is already being tied up, manhandled, forced into position.
She’s curvy, plus sized, her body accentuated by the tight ropes that bind around her. She’s either drunk or drugged, or both, and the man in the suit circling her like a predator doesn’t seem to care.
As he turns to face the crowd I realise who he is, I realise I know that face. Antonio. One of the Brethren Guardians, the only one I haven’t met. The one who hunted half my family, the one who was missing from that ritual.
Is this where they all come to play then? Is this where they let their baser selves out?
I watch with horror as he invites select men onto the stage and they begin to take turns with her, their movements rough, their faces twisted as they use her body and from what I can see, she doesn’t seem to even feel it. God what did he give her to cause her to have zero reaction whatsoever?
I feel sick, and my stomach churns as I watch the scene unfold. How much of this does she want? How much of this is truly forced?
I tear my gaze away, my hands trembling as I grip the edge of the table. I can’t watch this. I can’t be here. But then Lazarus gets up, excusing himself for a moment, and I’m left alone with Ezekiel.
My eyes dart about, looking for an escape, but there is none.
The air between us is thick with tension, and I can feel his gaze on me, like he’s ready to devour my very soul. I feel like that eighteen-year-old once more, thrown back, taken back to the night he first took me, the night he ruined me and called it ‘God’s plan’.
“How are you, my sweet Leandra?” he asks, his tone polite but obviously laced with something darker. “You’ve done remarkably well, considering the circumstances.”
I glare at him, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. “What I have is no concern of yours.”
He laughs, and that sound makes me feel every bit that na?ve stupid girl once more. “You know that’s not true. You’re my wife, not his. Whatever he thinks of the matter I married you first, so his is invalid.”
“Ours was no marriage.” I hiss. “No ceremony, no witnesses, no priest…”
“Who needs a priest when I am a prophet sent from God.”
“I am not your wife.” I snap back through gritted teeth.
His hand moves, lingering so close to touching me that I physically flinch. Some of Lazarus’s guards are still here, a few feet away, though I hope they cannot hear what we are saying above the sound of the music blaring through the speakers.
“Deny it all you want.” He replies. “But you are, and it is clear God has put you back before me, God has given you a specific task to complete for me…”
“I’m not your puppet,” I snap. Not anymore. I might have been stupid once, stupid and na?ve and so fucking gullible but I see what he is now, and I will never, never let myself fall for his lies again. “I’ll do nothing for you.”
“You will.” He barks back. “You will keep your pretend husband sweet, you will report back to me everything he does, every little thing, and when the time is right, I will take my rightful place as Grand Master.”
What the fuck? Is he mad? More mad than even Konstantine was? “I will do no such thing.” I hiss.
“What choice do you think you have here?” he asks.
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and I’m itching to just bury my hand right into his smug fucking face. “I’ll tell Lazarus who you really are,” I state. “That you lead the Esau...”
Ezekiel’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with amusement at me. “Stupid girl, Lazarus already knows all of that,” he says, his tone casual. “Why do you think we’re meeting here? He worked with me to remove Konstantine. Are you really so simple that you haven’t connected all the dots?”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel the ground shift beneath me. Lazarus knew? He worked with Ezekiel?
I open my mouth to reply but then Lazarus returns, apologising for leaving me, placing his hand on my thigh, and it’s all I can do not to explode.
If Lazarus knew about Ezekiel, did he know what Ezekiel did to me?
Does he know all of my past, and if he does, then what the fuck was this evening about – was he bringing me here to test me, to mock me, to rub in my face how truly fucked my circumstances now are?
“Do you have any other business to discuss?” Lazarus asks.
Ezekiel smirks, leaning back in his seat. “I think I’m done here,” he says, his tone so fucking smug.
He rises from the table, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he turns and walks away. I watch him go, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with questions and doubts.
Lazarus sits back down, sipping his whiskey slowly, his expression now completely locked down and unreadable. He gets to his feet, holding his hand out for me to take.
“It’s time to go,” he says, his tone firm but gentle.
I take his hand because I know I have no choice, but inside there’s a rage that’s boiling, a fire that threatens to consume me. I feel betrayed, used, and I don’t know if I can trust him anymore.
As we walk out of the club, the cool night air hits me like a slap, and I take a deep breath. Trying to steady myself but the anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and I don’t know how much longer I can contain it.
Because if Lazarus has been working with Ezekiel all this time, if he’s been lying to me then I’m nothing more than a pawn in his game, just as I was before. And if that’s the case, then I’ll find a way to kill him, to kill all of them. I will make the entire world run red with their blood.
Because I’m not his puppet, and I’ll never be anyone’s puppet again.