AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Anton had never seen anything like it before while he had watched from the safety of one of the guarded cars.
Their father, who had sat beside him in the car, had been fascinated by such displays of violence.
It had thrilled Fabio.
It had disturbed Anton profoundly.
Jethro, his youngest brother, sobbed quietly into his hand, drawing his attention back to the present.
Jethro was soft like their mother and Anton worried about his mental state often.
Jet wasn't cut out for this world.
He was too emotional.
Too human.
Anton presumed that the only reason the youngest Crellid had survived as long as he had was because of his conception.
He was a rarity.
Apparently, so was the bastard strapped to the chair.
A baby conceived through the initiation of a high-born whore was a wonderful omen. According to the code of The Order, a baby boy conceived by a virgin whore on the night of her initiation would take precedent over all other heirs.
It meant Jethro could rule before him.
It meant the bastard could rule before them all.
Another loud sniffle tore from Jethro's chest and Anton stiffened.
Smothering his frustration, Anton discreetly tucked his youngest brother behind his broad back, blocking his view of the violence.
He would have to get much tougher if he was to survive this world.
Right now, he was showing weakness.
Their father's fondness of Jethro wouldn't keep him alive if he didn’t get a handle on his feelings.
Anton had witnessed first-hand what happened to Fabio's other children, his weaker siblings, and had grown too fond of guileless Jethro to watch him suffer the same fate.
Sniffling quietly, Jethro pressed his face into Anton's back, slobbering his clean shirt with snot and tears, causing Anton to roll his eyes.
It was a lost cause.
The boy would die and he needed to make peace with it.
He would never make it to adulthood.
Folding his arms across his chest, Anton leaned his shoulder against the wall and kept his face void of emotion, not daring to take his eyes off the birth whore. He knew his father well, knew what was expected of him, and what would happen if he showed the slightest hint of discomfort.
"Mirame, Salvatore," the nun strangled out, gasping for air, as the men took her from both holes, beating her with their fists while they pumped into her.
"Do not call him that," Fabio snarled, slapping her across the face, so hard that blood trickled from the woman's mouth.
She was already marked up so badly that Anton could hardly recognize her face.
The blood on her lips only made the situation more desolate.
