Before Raphael can object, I also rub the medication along her engorged nipples, jerking my hand away when she stirs. Must be very sensitive up here.
Much of her sweat has caused the blood, Rory’s blood, to drip down her chest. But there will be more blood to come. Except, this time… it won’t be hers.
I lower my head and kiss her softly, but I still open her lips and wonder if she will wake like a sleeping princess. It’s only when I cup her breast and thumb her nipple that she flutters her eyes open. Her first instinct is to lock up, eyes widening. I don’t blame her.
I’m shocked when she tilts her head and melts into my mouth, accepting the kiss. I peel strands of her hair away from her face and comb my fingers into her dirty locks. “You’re almost there, Darling.” I encourage her.
She narrows her eyes, knitting her brows into a frown. “It’s worse, you know?” she rasps, her voice hoarse from all her screaming. I stare at her blankly until she continues, “At least big Red over there is a shameless asshole without a heart. You? You just pretend to be.”
Guess I deserve that. Not totally untrue. Maybe she will change her mind one day. But I don’t deny it. I don’t try to play hero. Because I’m not a hero. None of us is. We’re monsters. Hell made us, shaped us, branded us.
It’s just the first time we’ve had a girl, a woman survive this long in our hell. She’s different. Not a way to cheapen the sacrifices of the others. Just a statement of fact.
I stand up, leave her lying there on the floor, waiting for the sedative to work. She curls up, tucking her knees to her chest, rocking herself, soothing herself.
“I’m thirsty,” she whimpers.
When I glance at Raphael, he’s already holding a whip. Two whips. My brothers hold their own. He hands me the second whip.
With one nod from our alpha leader, we grip our whip handles with a hell-bound determination, steel our jaws and muscles, and together… we crack the whips, flagellating our already scarred backs.
15
Briella
“HERE THERE BE GODS. YOU HAVE BECOME DIVINE.”
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Isolate”
“Hope It Haunts You”
Ilift my head, more confused than ever at the sight of them whipping themselves.
They don’t hold back. They beat themselves with a vengeance, like they’re punishing themselves or something. Punishing themselves for what? What they’ve done to me? No, that can’t be it.
They’ve all gathered around me in a circle, towering over me. Whatever this is, it’s a sick and twisted ritual, one they’ve practiced. All their muscles bulge, but their dicks are still hard. Like the pain gets them off, cleanses them somehow.
I wince when I see the blood dripping onto the floor behind them. I curl myself tighter as the blood spreads, pooling around me, spilling closer and closer. I hold back the acid in my throat, hating this side of me. I can deal with the sight of my blood…but not others. It makes no sense. No, it makes perfect sense after all the shit I witnessed growing up.
But this? It’s not the same as Easthaven. They’re not bound to religious rules established by patriarchs through the centuries.
The five men before me are shameless, damned bastards. But they have their own code. Their own law. And they’ve been initiating me into that law. Level 3 now. But what does that mean? What happens after they’re done beating themselves bloody?
When they start on their fronts, lashing their smooth, slabbed chests, I jerk my head up and whimper, “Stop…please.”
Raphael pauses. The others freeze. Their chests heave with pained breath, their eyes betraying that pain. But the socio looks down at me with intrigue even as blood gushes from his back.
“What a sweet little Lass.”
I look back at Rory and hiss, “I just want to get on with it. Level 3, right?” I turn back to Raphael. “Finish it. Finish it so I can be done. Please!” I plead with him, desperation squeezing my lungs.
He tosses his whip to the side. It lands with a wet thwack, followed by the others. And then…Raphael squats before me, dripping blood on the side of my body as he sharpens his gaze and commands, “Spread yourself. Back to the floor. Arms and legs wide.”
Nohonohno, God, please!He wants me to practically make a snow angel in the blood. A blood-red angel.
I blink back tears.
