Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Dennis dropped to the ground, the pole clattering off the floor. I inhaled on my cig and blew out the smoke. “Get to your fucking feet,” I demanded as he rolled around on the floor. Dennis groaned and ignored my command. “I said get to your bloody traitorous feet!” The sound of my raised voice had Dennis scrambling to stand.
I stood stock-still, dropping my arms so the chain hung low. After picking the pole off the floor, he whirled around. I stood completely fucking still as he charged. I didn’t even move as he ploughed the pole against my stomach. Dennis blew out a breath as he stumbled across the pit. I turned, the throbbing in my stomach only stoking my flames higher.
“You’re insane.” He looked around the room at the spectators all getting off on his slow and drawn-out death.
“My turn,” I said and, hoisting the chain, slammed the thick links across his face. I heard another crack and knew his jaw had been broken. Dennis screamed and tried to come at me again. But the fucker had lost what little composure he had. He charged, trying to lift the pole to my face, but my chain got to him first, slamming into his stomach, and the pole clattered to the ground. The blow brought him to his knees, saliva and blood mixing as he spat it out on the sand.
My cig was still resting on my lip, so I took a much-needed drag, exhaling the smoke through my nose. Dennis had blood on his face; the chain had bust his lip wide open. “Please,” he begged, and his pissant weakness made my skin crawl with disgust.
I swung the chain around in wide circles and walked around him. Dennis shot his hand out, trying to grab the pole and hit me with it. But I was done with his rat face and lying mouth. It was time for the twat to fuck off and die.
Standing right in front of his face, I waited until he met my eyes. I changed the angle of the chain, released it, and watched it wrap around his neck like an iron boa constrictor. Dennis clawed at the chain as it began to choke him, his pale face swelling with red as he fought for breath. As his weak arms were unable to pull the heavy chain away from his throat.
I never turned my gaze away, watching and smoking as the turncoat prick fought to stay alive. He didn’t fight long. He reached out toward me, one final move for mercy.
I kicked his fucking hand away, snapping his wrist, and the arsehole toppled over, his eyes retreating behind the glaze only death could bring. I lifted my hand to my mouth, pulled one last drag from my cig, and flicked the ash on his still-warm corpse.
In that moment, I thought of Cheska’s ivory queen and the ash stain that had smudged across her pristine chest. I looked up at my family and sought out the only one I needed to see. She was already watching me. She’d lost some colour in her face, but her shoulders were still high, that regal fucking toffee nose still in the air, daring me to bring on more darkness.
I smirked at her challenge. She didn’t know fuck all. Because the twat dead at my feet was just the starter course.
I clicked my fingers at one of my soldiers. Still holding Cheska’s confused gaze, I moved to the table, picked up a medieval cat o’ nine tails and said, “Bring me the next.”
Chapter Eleven
CHESKA
This is Arthur Adley, I silently said to myself as I watched yet another man die at his hands. His very fucked-up and sadistic hands. The sand he stood on was no longer beige but a crimson carpet. Arthur’s skin was no longer lightly tanned; no natural colour could be seen under the evidence of his insatiable appetite for death. His tattoo of the Victorian London skyline was now sullied with bits of flesh and bone that he had torn from his victims. Victims who had screamed and cried and pleaded for mercy.
No mercy was ever given. In fact, if they begged to be spared, their death and the pain Arthur inflicted was only drawn out more.
This was him pushing me.
Ronnie, Vera and Betsy had told me it would be the case. Arthur had brought me here to see the very darkest side of him. He wanted me here so I would run away, leave him to his festering wickedness and the evil that had become his safety. Leave him in the sinful cage he locked himself inside.
I kept my eyes on the pit as he struck his fourth “traitor” with a sword to the top of his skull. I forced back the nausea creeping up my throat as the man fell backwards to the ground. Arthur turned, sword in hand. King Arthur. I couldn’t help but make that comparison as my fucked-up king’s blue gaze bored into mine. As he stood, torso exposed, but wearing armour of his victims’ lifeblood and lies over his bloodthirsty heart.