Chapter 173
Adrian Kael
I carefully turn him onto his side to settle him better. I pick up the
uniform scattered on the floor, and in the pocket, I find the cold cold
metal of the key. I fit it into the lock and turn it; the dry click echoes
in the cell. The handcuffs release and fall into a corner. His arms drop
heavily onto the mattress. My eyes travel over his marked wrists, the
wounded skin, and the raw flesh.
I smile. I don’t see wounds; I see proof, marks of our connection. I
hold his hand, bring it to my lips, and kiss the injury like a reliquary.
Beautiful even in pain. My masterpiece. Magnus.
I stand up slowly, put on my uniform, adjust the collar, and fasten the
buttons. I take the keys to the bars, walk to the exit, and unlock it.
The sound echoes through the hallway; I’m certain everyone heard it.
I turn on my heels and return to my god.
I won’t let him remain exposed on that filthy mattress like any
common prisoner. I pull an old, grimy sheet, stained by time. Nausea
overcomes me at the thought of him being touched by something so
undignified, but it’s all I have. I wrap it around him slowly, covering
every line of his marked body, even as I hate seeing him shrouded in
- it.
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He doesn’t deserve this. Even if, to him, it is already better than the
fate of the other prisoners, it is still undignified. Magnus shouldn’t be
treated like a man behind bars butrevered, elevated, andelevated, and
served like a king.
My king.
Because that is what he is: the royalty of my world, the center of my
devotion, the only one who makes everything around him lose its
meaning.
I lift him in my arms as if he were a bride on her wedding day: His
body weighs against mine, but it’s a weight I carry with pleasure. A
smile emerges, soft, almost affectionate. I finally have my love in my
arms.
I exit the cell and head down the hallway. Gazes appear. Prisoners
peer from behind the bars; some stand up, others widen their eyes,
unable to believe it. The shock spreads like a trail of gunpowder.
Magnus Hale. The Enforcer. The undisputed leader of Blackthorn. The
man everyone feared is now in my arms. Not in a glorious way, but
exposed.
Weak.
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Exhausted.
Battered.
Marked.
His weakness is laid bare before everyone who once trembled in his
shadow. Now they see that the untouchable can bleed. I hide my
satisfied smile while my chest burns with pleasure at the sound of the
whispers spreading.
The first step has been taken.
Everyone here is going to talk.
They will repeat this image in every corner of the fortress.
I walk slowly, on purpose. I want every gaze to absorb the details: the
purple marks on his face, his swollen and wounded lips, andlips, and
his neck covered in hickeys and bite marks. It is the signature of my
possession. Let everyone see. Let them understand.
The Enforcer believed he was dealing with someone weak… ButBut it
was this “weakling” who defeated him.
The muffled comments echo through the hallways, the shock
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plastered on every face behind the bars. The respect he built with blood and fear is now crumbling into fissures.
I savor every instant, every incredulous look, like a rare wine.
Some tremble. Others look away, unable to believe what they are
seeing.
تا
I advance through the hallways, triumphant, until I reach the
reserved wing. It’s not a common cell. It is the space my father
bought by bribing the warden, architecting every detail. He paid to
give me luxury in the middle of hell.
I remember the day in the office: the warden acting in front of David,
pretending he didn’t know me or my father. He faked it so well I
almost believed it myself. But he was already bought, along with
several guards, all under my father’s thumb, preparing this place for
- me.
I didn’t come sooner because I wasn’t ready, I needed to reveal myself
to my god first. I needed to show Magnus who I truly am. Now that I
have shown him, there is no reason to remain in that filthy cell
The space I enter is spacious, unlike any other cubicle in this prison.
A wide bed, a firm mattress, and and dark silk sheets reflecting the
dim light. Shelves lined with items forbidden to any prisoner: first-
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aid kits, folded uniforms, clean towels, bottles of cologne,
toothbrushes, and medicines organized like in a doctor’s office.
Even condoms and lubricants were left there, as if they knew in
advance how much use I would make of them. This draws a crooked
smile from me, a delicious reminder of everything to come.
And, crowning this privilege, an improvised bathroom: a functional
shower and its own toilet–a luxury impossible for any other.
All a gift from my father.
All so that his offspring wouldn’t go mad.
Irony.
Because I’ve already gone mad of my own volition.
He knows it. He just pretends to believe that I can still ‘improve.‘
Blind idiot.
But useful.
I can use him to get everything I desire.
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My father still believes that one day I will be cured. But if
psychologists, therapists, and doctors weren’t able, who could? No
one. And do you know why? Because my madness isn’t a disease.
It’s strength.
It’s a pleasure.
It’s a path.
He knows. He doesn’t need an explanation. He looks at me with that
horrible mixture of fear and devotion: fear of what I am capable of
doing and devotion for the son he still carries in his lap in his mind.
It is this fear that makes him run when I ask him to open wallets, sign
checks, and bend the world to my favor.
He loves me in a sick, grotesque way, and because of that pathetic
love, I have turned him into an instrument. It’s not cruelty; it’s logic. He gives me resources, contacts, and favors. In exchange, I let him
believe there is a remnant of humanity in me that needs to be saved.
He fakes hope.
I fake regret.
Two very good actors on the stage of our life.
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He fears my rage. And it is this fear that protects me better than walls
and bars. He who fears buys loyalty, and my father, out of love, pays
with the eagerness of a subject in prayer.
Comments
R Visitor
1 Comments >
the strange twist in this story is off putting.
and how is he so strong?
7 days ago
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
