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Nigel shakes his head, but doesn’t say a word, choosing instead to keep sobbing loudly as blood, snot, and saliva cover his face. Lawson shakes his head dramatically, as if he disapproves of his lack of response, but his gaze flickers with excitement when he places the knife at the top of Nigel’s chest, in the opposite corner to the mark he just made.

Lawson then proceeds to drag the blade over his skin, not stopping until a giant X sits across Nigel’s body, blood oozing from the large wound as Nigel trembles in the chair. Sobs wrack his body, but he lacks the energy for more, as he has clearly endured significant torture prior to this.

“Maybe we should talk about the other crime you committed then?” Lawson states loudly, and even though he’s addressing Nigel, he looks out over the crowd, who all cheer him on, baying for the Pledge’s blood.

“In addition to treason, a heinous charge on its own, you are also accused of drugging and kidnapping another Pledge’s Prize. And not just any Pledge, the High Crow—me.”

The crowd begin to boo and hiss as if this is a pantomime, and I freeze at the mention of what Nigel did to me, trying my best to keep the memories at bay. Nigel also freezes, looking shocked by that piece of information.

“What? I…she…what? I didn’t know,” he stutters, before trailing off into a loud wail, his body once again trembling with fear.

Lawson leans down so he’s at the same height as Nigel, letting him see the fury in his gaze. “Harper, the girl you drugged, after telling her Obsidian Order secrets, is my Prize. Not only were you stupid enough to spill secrets to someone who is part of the Order, you were a fucking idiot for daring to touch what is mine,” he growls, before slamming the blade into Nigel’s thigh.

Nigel screams loudly, thrashing as much as his binds will allow, before his noises turn to whimpers when Lawson pulls the blade from his flesh, the blood glistening under the stained-glass.

“I-I didn’t…know,” Nigel stutters, his voice barely above a whisper. I doubt any of the rows further back will be able to hear him at all, though that’s probably a good thing as his sobs are giving me a headache.

“So you admit you drugged and kidnapped my Prize?” Lawson asks, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Nigel shakes his head, his eyes widening when he realises the mistake he’s made. “No,” he whispers, dropping his head as much as the belt allows, casting his eyes away from Lawson’s penetrating gaze.

Lawson steps between Nigel’s legs and grabs hold of his greasy hair, pulling his head even further back, before addressing the silver-masked man standing behind Nigel. “Hold his head back and make sure he doesn’t move.”

The man steps forward and takes his own fistful of Nigel’s hair once Lawson lets go, and the stranger then places his other hand on Nigel’s chin, gripping him in place.

It briefly registers that Lawson is giving instructions to a full Order member who is ranked higher than him, and he’s listening to him without question, which shows just how powerful Lawson really is, but a pain-filled groan from Nigel quickly pushes that thought away.

The last bit of colour drains from Nigel’s face when Lawson moves the knife to his forehead, and he blinks rapidly as he tries to speak, but the masked man slams his chin upwards, closing his mouth for him.

Nigel’s sobs echo around the room as Lawson takes his time carving the word RAPIST into his forehead, blood dripping all over his face when Lawson takes a step back to admire his handiwork. With a nod from Lawson, the man releases Nigel, who sags in the seat as silent sobs overtake him.

But Lawson doesn’t stop there. He takes his knife and peels the skin from Nigel’s hands, making it clear this is his punishment for daring to touch me. And I have to hold back vomit when Lawson throws the flesh from Nigel’s hands onto the floor beside him, leaving a mess of visible tendons and bone.

If I thought that was bad, it’s got nothing on what he does next. Using the tip of his knife, Lawson slides it into Nigel’s eye-socket, working slowly as he scoops the eyeball all the way out, before letting it drop onto the floor with a sickening thud. He reminds Nigel that this is the punishment for looking at me when he shouldn’t have.

I’m almost a little relieved when he leaves Nigel’s left eye intact, because he wants Nigel to watch as they pass judgement on him. Honestly, I don’t think I could watch another eyeball rolling across the floor like a forgotten marble. I’d be sick onto the duct tape, that’s for sure.

Almost as if he’s remembered why he’s here—not just to torture and maim the man before him—he turns to Nigel and asks, “One last chance…do you want to confess your crimes?”

Nigel shakes his head, not bothering to say a word as he sniffles, blood and snot flying everywhere, including from inside his empty eye-socket. Lawson slams his knife down into the other thigh, giving him a matching wound to the one he created earlier, as Nigel’s weak screams bounce around the room.

All the blood and violence is making my stomach twist, nausea rippling through me as the food I ate earlier threatens to make a reappearance. I concentrate on breathing through my nose, trying to drown out the sobs of the man who more than deserves everything he’s getting.

Lawson rips the knife out of his thigh, wipes it clean on Nigel’s boxers, before placing it back in the pocket of his robes. He then turns to address the room. “Obviously, this pathetic excuse for a Pledge isn’t even man enough to own up to his crimes, but that doesn’t matter, as I have more than enough evidence to prove he is guilty.”

As soon as Lawson finishes speaking, my voice echoes around the room, coming from speakers that appear to be dotted all around. It’s the recording Wren made that night, when Nigel first approached me.

I close my eyes, unable to stop the memories from hitting me once the audio plays, and the fear I felt when I realised Nigel had drugged me comes flooding back. Bile rises in my throat, and I once again feel Bram’s hand on my thigh, only this time it’s more of a comforting gesture than a warning.

I try to pull strength from his touch, the way I would do Lawson’s, and though it doesn’t work as well, I’m able to push my fear aside just enough to get myself under control. I keep reminding myself I’m safe, that Lawson won’t let anything bad happen to me—unless he’s the one doing it.

Once the recording ends, more than proving Nigel is guilty of all the charges he’s facing, Lawson then turns to the far side of the room, to the left of where we’re sitting. There’s a raised platform that’s cordoned off from the rest of the members, and the grandeur of the seats is enough to suggest the men residing there are not ordinary Obsidian members.

Their ornate gold masks make it clear the seats belong to the Obsidian Council, and that sets me further on edge. I’m glad I didn’t see them before, as I’d have been even more worried about the risk Lawson and Bram have taken to bring me here. But I’m grateful they’ve done it.

Even though I’m not a fan of the violence and torture, seeing Nigel get the punishment he’s owed repairs a part of me that still hasn’t dealt with the trauma of that night. Knowing he’s paying for what he did to me is like a balm to my soul, healing me in a way I never expected.

When Lawson told me I was not the first girl he’d drugged, and that he had raped other less fortunate women, I knew his punishment would never be adequate, but this comes close.