Legacy of Succession

by Anna Edwards

I growl my livid response and leap at him just as the gun goes off. Pain rips through my right shoulder, and I slump back against the wall.

  “And this is why I’ve planned your succession the way I have. It’s all been a game from day one. Elizabeth knew she would be Duchess from birth. I only needed you present for the wedding to take place. Thankfully, Elizabeth’s father is a very helpful Bishop.”

  My father looms over me, as I slide down the doorway. I’m trying to focus on him, but the world’s spinning and darkening.

  “You were never destined to become the Duke of Oakfield. I was always going to be the one to take it on for another thirty years.”

  He kicks me in the shoulder, and I grunt in pain.

  “Your destiny was to die.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  VICTORIA

  “Get off me, you bastard,” I scream and thrash out as I’m dragged, unceremoniously, down the hallway by a guard. I don’t want to die at the hands of Laird McGuire, and I’m going to do everything in my power to prevent it. I bite the hand of the guard, and he slaps me. It’s a sad state of affairs — but, I’m so used to being a punching bag that I don’t even react to it. We reach a closed door, and I can hear the Scottish Laird on the phone in his room. Even his voice sends shivers through me. Any pretense I had of trying to escape leaves me, and I sag into the guard’s arms.

  He knocks on the door and opens it when addressed to do so.

  “I’ve got your present from the Duke, Laird McGuire.”

  I shudder when the brutish Scotsman looks me up and down then licks his lips. He’s dressed in a plaid kilt with a white shirt and black waistcoat. He looks every inch the gentleman, but I know better.

  “A very bonny lass indeed, ye must thank His Lordship for me.”

  “Where would you like her?” the guard asks.

  “On the table, please. I’ve got cuffs for her hands 'n' feet. Ensure they're done up tight. Don’t worry about removing her clothes. It's a part o' my fun.” His face lights up in an evil grin, and as I’m taken across the room and laid out on the table, I watch him pull a bag from under his bed. The guard ensures that I’m securely fastened before standing back. He too looks smug and self-assured. At this very moment, I want to wipe the smirk off both their faces, but the fear has taken hold of me. Nicholas has broken me — the Duke has helped him. I thought myself in love. I gave my body to a man who played it like a musical instrument and wrote a symphony with my heart. Like many classical masterpieces, though, it will end in a violent crescendo of haunting melodies. An epitaph to the torture I’m about to experience.

  “Ye can go,” the Laird informs the guard, and the man sullenly leaves. “I’m going to do this in privacy.”

  I know he wants me to fight him, speak back, and enrage him into hurting me further, but I’ve lost my fight. I just want it over with and to be dead, hopefully in heaven.

  “Let's get ye out of those clothes.”

  The ginger-bearded Scotsman pulls a large knife from his bag and comes to the table. I’m still wearing my catsuit. It's easy for him to cut away in seconds, leaving me in only my bra and panties.

  "Such a bonny little thing. What to do first?” He brings the point of the knife down to my belly button and trails it up toward my breasts. A red line of blood follows behind it. He doesn’t cut me open, but he marks the skin enough to cause me to bleed. He tucks the knife under my bra and pulls the blade up. It cuts the flimsy fabric in half and exposes my breasts to him.

  “It's a shame they are na bigger. A like something, I can get my face lost in. A woman's tits are like honey to a man like me.” He bends over and wraps his hair-lined lips around my nipple. I squirm away from his touch. Big mistake.

  “Ye think ye can escape yer fate.” He laughs and punches me straight in the stomach. I want to curl up, but I can’t with my hands and feet tied. “I’m going to suck these tits until they’re raw. Then I'm going to remove yer pants and stick my dick in that tight little cunt off yours for the next few hours. Don't get over excited about it, though, because I want ye dry as a bone. I’ll rip ye apart — much better that way. Ye are going scream my name in so much pain that everyone in the place will know exactly what I'm doing to ye. Once I'm bored of yer pussy, I'll be going for yer asshole. A can be fuckin’ all night, but if my dick gets tired, I have toys. Toys designed to tear ye so wide ye'll be begging for death. Once done with the fucking, the good part starts.” He punches me again in the stomach and steps back toward his bag. He drops the knife into it and pulls a gun out instead. I will him to pull the trigger and end my suffering, but he’s not done tormenting me…yet. No, he comes back over to me and trails the gun through the line of blood that he’s left on my stomach. This time, he heads toward the lower half of my body. My legs are parted by the cuffs, and he places the gun at my entrance. I let out a small whimper...I can’t help it. The smile of satisfaction on his face makes me sick. I shut my eyes. “The only way a whore like ye should die. Shot in the fuckin’ cunt. Enjoy yer last few hours, Victoria Hamilton, because I’m going make them hell.”

  BANG!

  The sound echoes in my head. Pain. I should feel pain. I must be dead. He shot me. A heavyweight lands on me, and a breath is forced out of me. I open my eyes, and the Laird is laying over me with a hole in the back of his head. I panic. I’m pulling the chains but can’t get free.

  “Stay still.” William appears in my line of vision. A still smoking gun in his hand. He places it down and pushes the Laird off me before undoing the cuffs. I scramble up, off the table, and across the room away from the dead body. My stomach heaves, but I haven’t eaten or drunk all day and nothing comes up.

  “I need to get you out of this room.” William comes up to me with a blanket. “Let me put this around you.” I can’t breathe. I should be dead. I don’t want to be rescued. I want to go to heaven and find peace from this constant pain in my chest. I can’t do this anymore. I want the torture to stop.

  “Why did you stop him?” I push William away.

  “It’s ok. Let’s go to a different room, and I’ll explain.”

  I start crying, all the emotions flooding out of me. Over William’s shoulder, I see the gun lying on the table. I can end this myself. I speed past him before he realizes what’s going on. I pick the weapon up and hold it to my head.

  “Goodbye.” He turns to face me, and I pull the trigger, but nothing happens.

  “I only had one bullet.” He looks sheepish. “I didn’t really think about what I’d do if I missed the Laird.”

  My situation is so utterly hopeless that I burst into laughter. Fate’s conspiring against me, I can’t even end my life or the suffering I’m under.

  William dares to come closer to me. He places the blanket around my shoulders and brings me to his chest. He smells like Nicholas.

  “We have to go to Scotland.” He strokes my hair.

  “Why?” I ask — my whole body is feeling weak and deflated.

  “Nicholas was tricked by my father.”

  “I don’t understand.” I suddenly find firm feet and plant them securely enough to allow me to look up at the younger Cavendish brother.

  “Nicholas doesn’t want to marry Elizabeth. He’s in love with you. The baby isn’t his either. He’s never slept with Elizabeth. It’s our father’s.”

  “I don’t understand. Why’s he marrying her then?”

  “The Duke made him watch you, during your trial. When you went wrong, and your father’s security were coming, he agreed to marry Elizabeth, so my father would save you.”

  I gasp and reach behind me to steady myself on the table that I was strapped to, moments ago. “He loves me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your father’s been playing games with us all along.”

  William nods.

  “I think he still is. Nicholas said to me that once he’s done what the Duke wants and married Elizabeth, then our father will allow you and him to disappear.” My friend swipes at his worry s
pot on his face —it’s something I’ve come to recognize as a part of him.

  “But the fact that the Duke handed me to Laird McGuire for sport and execution suggests otherwise. He’s going to kill him.”

  William turns pale, but I spring into action. I push past him again and head for the door.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  I turn back to him.

  “Well, firstly I’m going to get some clothes on. Then secondly, I’m going to Scotland. I’m going to rescue the man I love and, hopefully, kill the bad guy.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  NICHOLAS

  The murmur of voices wakes me, and the memory of being shot by my father floods back. I try to move, but I’m too weak — my shoulder hurts like a mother fucker.

  “He’s waking.” A feminine voice enters my head, and I realize it’s that bitch, Elizabeth Sandford.

  “About fucking time,” my father broods. “You, on your feet and get on with this wedding.”

  That brings me to my senses. Wedding! I open my eyes and see my father standing next to Elizabeth’s father, Hubert Sandford, The Lord Bishop of Monchelsea, and is dressed in his full regalia. Hell no!

  The Bishop starts to speak.

  “In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the marriage of Nicholas Cavendish, Earl Lullington and The Honorable Elizabeth Sandford, to pray for God’s blessing on them, to share their joy, and celebrate their love.”

  “Bullshit!” I interrupt.

  “It’s not. It’s our wedding vows,” Elizabeth counters. “Daddy, tell him.”

  “I…er,” the Bishop stutters.

  “I agree, it’s bullshit,” my father adds. “Just get to the part where he has to sign the register — then, I can end his miserable life.

  “I thought you would at least make this special for me,” Elizabeth whines.

  “I’ll make things special for you later.” My father winks at her.

  “I have to at least make some attempt at the vows,” Hubert Sandford intervenes with a green color flushing around his gills.

  My father snorts.

  “I don’t think you do. I’ve got a present for you outside, which suggests otherwise. One that I know you’ll be very interested in.”

  The Bishop takes the register and signs his name on it. Elizabeth stomps forward and does the same, with a sullen expression on her face.

  “You better do whatever I want tonight, my love.” She kisses my father on the cheek and hands him the pen.

  “You seem to forget who's in charge here, Elizabeth. You do whatever I want, or despite my feelings for you, once that baby is born, you might find yourself the unhappy victim of an accident. I did it to his insane mother. I’ll do it to you as well — if you destroy my love for you with defiance.”

  “I can’t believe you can say such hurtful things,” she whimpers on the verge of tears.

  I laugh.

  “What?” She stamps her foot.

  “My father loves himself, nobody else. I’m his flesh and blood, and he’s going to kill me. You’re nothing but a willing vagina to him. I did try to tell you. Shame you’ll have to learn the hard way.”

  “Shut up, Nicholas,” my father commands.

  “Tell me that isn’t true.” Elizabeth throws herself at my father, and he glares at me over her shoulder.

  “I’m just trying to make a better life for the two of us and our son. You knew I was a bastard when you fell in love with me. Don’t expect me to change. I’ll protect you with everything I have but defy me, in any way, and I’ll cut you down.”

  Elizabeth sniffs back her tears. My head spins, and I’m not sure if it's the excruciating pain in my shoulder, or the sickening display in front of me. Part of me actually feels sorry for Elizabeth, only a tiny portion though. She’s brought this on herself by being a bitch.

  “I only meant that maybe I could go on top tonight. I like the way it feels.”

  My father pulls back and strokes her hair. “As long as I get to see those tits bounce, I don’t care what position you're in, on my dick.”

  I make a gagging noise.

  “Seriously, you’re going to buy that? And you…” I look at Elizabeth’s father. “You’re going to let him speak to your daughter like that in front of us. I mean, have you no shame?”

  “If your father has outside, what I think he does, then no, I have no shame. I’m giving my daughter to your father in exchange for rewards beyond your comprehension. He can have carnal relations with her in whatever way he wants," the Bishop retorts.

  I shake my head.

  “Victoria was right. Everyone in this god damn society is an imbecile.” I’ve been sitting on the floor, against a wall, throughout this entire conversation. No doubt, this was where my father had his guards dump me. I push up to a standing position, but I’m dizzy due to blood loss from the gunshot wound. I rest against the table on which lies the register that requires my signature to seal the fake marriage.

  “Sign the paper, Nicholas. Let’s just get on with the inevitable. I’m bored of the conversations. I’ve got plans for this society, and I’ve had to wait far too long to implement them.”

  I stare him down with utter contempt.

  “You’ve been in charge for almost thirty years. Why didn’t you take on the world during that time? Why do you need my thirty?”

  My father turns to the Bishop.

  “If I just chop his hand off and sign his name with it, does that count? Does he really have to sign the register himself?”

  “For it to be valid, yes. I can’t in all conscience lie to God about marriage.” The Bishop makes the sign of a cross on his chest and bows his head.

  “Yet, you can rape a little boy,” my father angrily replies.

  “Some things can be overlooked.” The Bishop pushes the papers toward me.

  “You're sick.” I snarl at him.

  “Sign the papers, Nicholas.” My father steps up behind me, and the next thing I know, I’m falling to the floor in the throes of torment. My father has his finger stuck into my wound. He’s tearing the flesh farther away from the bone and rupturing more blood vessels to allow claret liquid to seep from the bullet hole. I should be stronger than him — under normal circumstances, I would be, but he’s rendered me into a small boy again, begging at his feet for mercy from punishment. I thought I deserved it, then, but now I know what a demented bully my father is.

  “Go to hell!” I scream.

  He digs deeper, and my head swims with dizziness.

  “You think you’ve got something to live for?” my father asks, and my mind goes to Victoria. No, what has he done to her?

  “Where is she?” I ask.

  “Right now?” he laughs.

  “Probably flat on her back with Laird McGuire’s dick in her cunt or ass.”

  I shriek in anguish and beads of sweat start forming all over my body.

  “Seems I found a use for the Scots in the society, after all. I bet he’s tearing her apart. I almost wish I could’ve stayed in London to hear the bitch scream. I bet it'll be loud. The very foundations of Oakfield Hall will be shaking with what he’s doing to her.”

  “You bastard.”

  My father removes his finger from my wound. I breathe rapidly, trying to get through the pain and anguish that I’m feeling. Victoria will be dying in a torturous way, and there’s nothing I can do to save her.

  “I’ll ask you one last time. Sign the papers.” I roll onto my back, and my father places his foot on my chest.

  I waiver. What have I got to live for? I’ve been an arrogant, rich brat all my life. The only good thing to ever happen to me was Victoria, and I’m the reason she’s going to die. I shut my eyes again, waiting for the inevitable.

  “You might as well kill me because I’m not going to sign them. I’ll never make it easy for you to take over the society for another thirty years. I want to destroy it. Let’s hope my death does that.”
/>
  Silence. Nothing. I open my eyes again just as my father brings his boot down toward my face.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A dreamy feminine voice floods my senses, this time. It sounds like an angel. Victoria, my Victoria. I must’ve gone to heaven. But, no, I’m still on the floor of a room in a castle in Scotland. My father lowers his foot, and we all turn to the door. Victoria stands there next to William — both have guns pointed at us. They’re dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, and both look ready for a fight. I’m not sure what I’m more shocked at: Victoria being alive, or the fact my brother has left Oakfield Hall, for the first time ever.

  “I’m afraid Laird McGuire couldn’t uphold his end of whatever bargain you made with him. He came down with an unfortunate case of a hole in the head. Couldn’t happen to a nicer man, if you ask me,” Victoria continues cockily.

  “Did my other son finally grow a set of balls?” My father steps forward, but William cocks the gun.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you, Father.” The last word is spat with venom. “I don’t like the future you have planned for Nicholas and Victoria very much, and I’ve found that years of playing shooting games on consoles has left me with an excellent aim.”

  “You would kill your own father?” The Duke raises a skeptical eyebrow, and I use his, momentarily, distracted gaze to shuffle to the side of the room. I need to regain my senses if I’m to help my brother and Victoria. Neither one is strong enough to survive the evil that could take place here.

  “I’ve had enough of your games and self-righteous nature. You’ve no right to treat people the way you have. No bit of paper can decide my fate, only I can do that. The society ends here and now.” Victoria meets my father halfway across the room. William remains at the door with his gun aimed at the un-moving Bishop and Elizabeth.

  “So confident, yet I see the shaking in your hands. Tell me, how far did the Laird get before William saved you?”

  Victoria smirks when she responds, "Not far enough to break me.”

  “Damn,” the Duke replies unhappily.