Total pages in book: 266
Estimated words: 250787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1254(@200wpm)___ 1003(@250wpm)___ 836(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 250787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1254(@200wpm)___ 1003(@250wpm)___ 836(@300wpm)
It’s always you or them. I refuse to let it be me.
I rub my hands down my jeans and grab the knife. Even though it’s small, it feels heavy in my hand. She’s screaming and shaking the chair, but it’s bolted down so she can’t tip it over.
Grabbing the back of her hood, I shove her head forward, and she fights me, trying to straighten it, knowing what I’m about to do.
Without another thought, I press the tip of the knife to her skin and begin to cut through the brand, ignoring the way she sobs as her blood covers my hands.
It’s harder than it looks. Or they made sure the blade was dull for this very reason. I feel bone as I dig too deep, and once I can grab the skin, I cut the rest off as fast as I can.
I walk over to the edge of the balcony and toss the blood-covered skin down to the first floor. It lands at the Lords feet, and his mask looks down at it before it looks back up at me. “Now kill her.”
My stomach drops at his words. Why didn’t they let me kill her first? Why make her suffer? It’s me they want to make suffer. She’s the one who’s bleeding, but they want me to live with the knowledge I’ve killed someone.
They set you up. It’s how they own you. She fucked up and must pay for her sins. On the other hand, I will have to live with her blood on my hands until they order someone else to kill me someday.
I turn to face the hooded woman once more, and I can hear her gasping for breath around her gag. She’s sweating profusely and shaking. Blood runs down her bony shoulders, small breasts, and anorexic stomach. Even in our world, we’re always told to look their version of perfect.
We’re groomed to be whores but never give it up willingly. Men give us crumbs, and we’re expected to survive off that. They prepare us to be thankful for the bare minimum.
How does a woman thrive when she’s kept in the dark and never watered? What these Ladies don’t understand is that we only have ourselves. I can only rely on myself.
Walking back over to her, I drop my eyes to the cart once more, and I see a gun lying in the lower basket.
I pick it up. It’ll be quick. I go to pull back the slide, but it’s harder than I thought it’d be. My father had guns. Hell, he was always packing. I grew up around them, and he took me to shoot. But I’ve never just picked up a gun and pointed it at a person before. Taking in a deep breath, I yank it back and see there’s a bullet chambered. I walk behind her and face my audience below. Pressing the end of the barrel to the back of her head, I keep my eyes open and on her trembling body as I pull the trigger, knowing they’re watching me.
The gunshot echoes through the large cathedral as her head hangs forward, and I feel my soul leave my body. She’s dead, and so is a part of myself. I no longer have one. I just sold it in exchange for I don’t know what. And deep down, I know it wasn’t worth it.
Trying to catch my breath, I make my way over to the stairs to leave, but I pause when I watch as the Lord who gave me the orders stands and so does the one sitting next to him, and then the one next to him.
I take a step back, my legs now shaking for another reason. My eyes go to the dead woman in the chair—it wasn’t messy. She’s covered in blood, but it’s more from removing her brand than shooting her in the head. It was straight through. An extra thin line of blood drips from the hood and onto the floor now that she’s hunched over.
I tell myself that they’re just coming to get her. To dispose of her body in the cemetery behind the cathedral—where all members who betray their oath are buried. But that voice in the back of my mind says I messed up, and they’re coming up here for me.
The three Lords split up. The first takes the stairs to the right, and the other two take the staircase to the left. Slowly, they make their way up to the balcony, and I place the gun on the cart so they don’t think I’m going to shoot them.
The two on the left make it to the balcony first. They both come to stand behind me. “On your knees,” one of them orders.
I want to run, but my legs give out at the order, and I do exactly as they say, kneeling in front of the baptism pool.