by Anna Edwards
Tainted Reasoning
Dark Sovereignty Book Two
Anna Edwards
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Afterword
Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
The Control Series
The Glacial Blood
About the Author
Meet the Author
Copyright © 2018 by Anna Edwards
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
www.AuthorAnnaEdwards.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.
Disclaimer: Please do not try any sexual practice without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither the publisher nor the author will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from the use of the information contained in this book.
Cover Design by www.CharityHendry.com
Logo Design by Charity Hendry
Editing by Tracy Roelle
Formatting by Anna Edwards and Charity Hendry
Proofreading by Sheena Taylor
Tainted Reasoning/ Anna Edwards -- 1st ed.
Created with Vellum
Foreword
Please note this is an unconventional dark romance. There will be triggers.
Thank you for understanding. I hope you enjoy reading.
Anna xx
Chapter One
William
I shut my eyes, allowing the stench of his fear, and his desperation for an end to the suffering, to wash over me. I can feel it surround every fiber of my being, and I revel in it. The man my brother, Nicholas, is currently torturing deserves everything that comes to him. He’s a devil in the guise of a human being – landed gentry with a façade so convincing nobody knew for years he abused his daughter, Amelia. He raped her, beat her, and forced her to perform acts so degrading that in the end she placed a pistol against her sweet, innocent head and pulled the trigger. My sister-in-law, Victoria, still wakes in the night screaming from the memory. Nicholas doesn’t know I can hear her way up in the attic area of the mansion we reside in. Her sobs are heartbreaking and make the man, whose fingers and toes are currently being removed, one by one, more than deserving of his punishment. Nicholas’ hands are covered in blood. I know he doesn’t like to do this. He would rather be home with his new wife, but this has to be done. The evil that exists within the society bearing our family name must be destroyed. It must be wiped from the surface of this planet as penance for the tortures inflicted on innocent girls since the society was founded by our four-times-great-grandfather.
“What you did to Amelia was sick. My name will no longer be associated with such crimes. We’ll turn the society into one that honors the female of our species. Rejoicing in her beauty and worshiping her like the goddess she is. We’ll not harm anyone, nor will we take any more property that’s not ours without consent. Your membership is at an end, and that of your heirs unless they accept my authority and sign their agreement to the new charter I’ve put in place.” My brother stands tall in front of Edgar Rushbrooke. His bloody hands now rest, folded across his chest. He wears a tailored suit that fits his body like a glove. It’s an odd choice for the work we are doing, but somehow, it provides him with even more power. I’m in jeans and a t-shirt. I’ve never had the designer wardrobe my brother has. I’ve not had need of it, having been locked away since I was a toddler by my father, the previous Duke of Oakfield. Jeans are in fact an upgrade from the jogging bottoms I’ve previously worn. Green, my t-shirt is green. It always has to be. It’s my favorite color, after all, and the only one I’ll wear over my toned chest. The shade doesn’t matter: forest, olive, mint, or even emerald– it just has to be green. I once borrowed one of Nicholas’ t-shirts–he does have a few–it was burgundy, and I felt ill at ease all day. It wasn’t right, and I was glad to get back to my comfort color the next day. My uniform.
My unruly brown hair is messily styled with my fingers brushed through it being the only nod to tidiness. Nicholas’ is combed to perfection–no doubt by his new wife. I’m sure she’s also given him a close shave this morning since his jaw is devoid of any hair. Mine is stubbled with two days’ growth. I don’t like shaving although I know I have to do it, but it feels strange. I can’t explain why–it just seems wrong to me. I guess it’s because of the autism I suffer from, wiring my brain in such a way that a natural grooming routine feels odd. My brain does that frequently, but thankfully, it also forces me to be a very clean person–I shower several times a day.
The tics start subtly: the swipe of my ear, a tap of my foot, the banging of the fingers of my left hand onto the right. My anxiety of the situation forces me into what I know will become my routine to cope with it.
“William?” Nicholas has turned to face me, and I look up at him. “You ok?”
“Yes,” I reply, not wanting to worry him. This is me. The strange movements and oddities are who I am. Not everyone understands it, but I can’t change them. They’re a fundamental part of who I am and are with me for life.
“Good. Can you pass me the cutters? I want to remove his tongue.”
“No!” Edgar shouts out. “Please. It was your father. I didn’t want to do anything to Amelia. I loved her. She was my only daughter. The Duke forced me to prepare her. He said he would ostracize me if I didn’t, and I couldn’t risk that. My title is all our family have left–we’ve barely got any money left in our estate. I didn’t want to do it. I even tried to smuggle Amelia away, but I failed.” The once dignified gentleman is now a sniveling wreck. His eyes are blood shot, and snot drips from his nose. It’s embarrassing to see how the men of the society respond to some of the tortures, which they would happily inflict on a woman, in other circumstances. Victoria took everything that happened to her with her head held high. This man is a coward, and in a few short moments, he will die like one. I don’t hesitate any longer and picking up the cutters, I step forward. Nicholas holds his head straight, and I pull out Edgar’s tongue and slice through the muscle. Gargled sounds of pain fill the room, and I shut my eyes, taking them all in. They excite me. The knowledge that this man is suffering gives me great joy. Is that normal?
I throw the bloody tongue onto the fire, which has been lit in the basement, and listen to it crackle as I watch it shrivel up to nothing. It’s beautiful. Truthfully, is that reaction normal?
“Brother, the final say i
s all yours.” I walk over to where a comfortable Queen Anne chair is placed in the corner of the room, its leather cover a deep green in shade. Nicholas placed it in here just for me. He understands my obsessions.
Nicholas pulls a gun from his pocket and points it directly at Edgar.
“The documentation you all seem to favor states at this point I should remove your head with the sword of my ancestry. I find that far too messy though. I’m going to deviate from the rules a little bit and try something new.” The corner of his lip lifts into a devilish smile. He’s the King of Oakfield, now, and he’s cleaning out the trash. I shut my eyes, so I can allow my hearing senses to take over.
The gun fires as Edgar whimpers for his life. Well, at least, I think that’s what he’s doing because with no tongue, it’s a little hard to understand him. I hear his skull crack and then silence. The smell of death invades my nostrils, and I open my eyes again. Edgar Rushbrooke is dead. Amelia can finally rest in peace. I’ve never felt so happy until the mess in the room hits me, and my need for cleanliness starts to itch at my skin.
Nicholas places his gun away and comes over to me. He picks up a towel to wipe his hands clean before tapping me on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a friend Matthew Carter who’s ex MI-5. Since he found out what I’ve been doing, he’s been more than happy to help with cleanups. We don’t have to do it.”
I laugh, looking back toward the dead man now slumped over in his chair.
I shift in my seat as the learning of my youth comes flooding back to me. Intricate details of the human body recollected in a photographic memory.
“Did you know the large intestine is bigger than the smaller one?” I ask Nicholas
“I remember something about that from my biology lessons at school. I preferred the sex education part, though. That stayed with me a good deal longer.” He winks at me. “I enjoyed heading over to the nearby girl’s school after lessons to show them just what I’d learned.”
“How Victoria puts up with you, I’ll never know?” I roll my eyes and look back at the body.
“We’re still in the honeymoon stage. I’m sure it won’t last. Then, I’ll just have to keep fucking her, so she’s too tired to care.” Nicholas responds.
“Really don’t need to know that.” I push myself up from the seat and walk over to where Edgar is. The floor is covered in blood, and I can hear it squelch under the boots I’m wearing. The intestines always fascinated me as a child–the fact an organ that long could fit inside us. I place my hands over where they rest in my own body.
“William?” Nicholas is beside me. His voice full of concern. We’ve always been close, and he’s protective of me–sometimes to the extreme. I’m the same with him, though. “What is it?”
“I want to see them.” I tell him.
“See what?” he asks, his brows furrowing together.
“The intestines. This may be the only chance I get. I have to know if they really are as long as all the books say. Is that bad?”
His eyes flick over to Edgar. “It’s not exactly normal, but I know you’ve always had an interest in the human body. My credit card knew it when you spent over five hundred pounds on books about the human body, as well as a massive skeleton and a muscle statue.”
“I hope you’re not bad-mouthing Indiana Bones and Macho Man.”
“Never!” Nicholas chuckles and goes over to a table in the corner of the room. “Get him out of the chair and lay him down.”
I look up at my brother and swipe my head, tap my foot, and bang my fingers.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve got no interest in what happens to this man. You can cut him up into little pieces if you want. Examine his heart, lungs, and whatever else you want to look at. He can be turned into dog food for all I care. Edgar’s in hell, now, and I’m not returning him to his family to bury. He doesn’t deserve our respect.” He hands me the knife. “You want to do it, or shall I?”
I look at the knife handle and then at the body. My stomach lurches a little before settling as my excitement builds at the thought of what goodies lie under the covering of skin and muscle.
“You can do it. I’ll put some gloves on and help lay out the intestines. Do we have anything to measure them with?”
“Over in that drawer, there’s a tape measure.” He nods his head toward a modern IKEA unit. It looks out of place in comparison with the abundance of antique furniture we have all over our house, but I guess it was specially purchased for this purpose and can be easily disposed of. Not worth risking a thirty-thousand-pound sideboard when you can use one costing less than twenty pounds. I pull the drawer open and rummage through the contents until I find what I’m looking for. When I turn back, Nicholas is already pulling the intestines out through the massive hole he’s cut into Edgar’s abdomen. I breathe deeply, my body fizzing with excitement. I’m sure I should be worried about the perverse pleasure I’m getting from seeing a man cut open with his guts spilling out, but I need to see it. I’ve been told I’ve been wrong all my life, so why should I try to act any differently now. I’ve been presented with this opportunity, and I’m not going to waste it.
Nicholas finishes pulling the intestines out and cuts them off. The human waste from the body spills out on to the floor, and he curses when it splatters on his shoes.
“Fuck.” He grabs a cloth and wipes the mess off before throwing the towel into a nearby sink. This basement is specifically designed for the work we’re undertaking, but it wasn’t Nicholas who set it up. It’s a remnant from my father’s time.
“Sorry,” I tell him.
“Not a problem, really. I’ll disinfect them later. Now, how do you want me to do this?”
“I think we need to lay it out flat around the floor.” I take hold of the end that’s attached to the small intestine. This is the large intestine or colon to give its proper title.” I tell Nicholas.
“Paradoxically that’s the shorter one, right?” He places some medical gloves on his hands and takes the other end, leading to the anus, and helps to stretch it out.
“Yes. It should only be around five feet.”
We place it down, and I get the tape measure, which confirms it is about the correct length. I put my fingers around the organ and squeeze. It feels squidgy to the touch.
“This has never been my favorite choice of meat.” Nicholas screws his nose up. “You remember when Nurse made us eat tripe because it would be good for us.”
“I remember you trying not to gag and throwing it out of the window at every available opportunity.”
We pick up the small intestine and start the more substantial task of laying that out.
“I don’t think even the dogs or foxes would’ve wanted it.” He laughs, and I join him. We finish laying out the small intestine, and I measure it.
“It’s twenty-five foot long. That’s about average. They can get up to thirty-four feet. I check the width of it and notice it’s bigger than the standard of an inch. “It’s dilated.”
“What?” Nicholas is at the sink, washing his hands.
“The intestine. Its width is greater than it should be.”
“You are going to have to speak in dumb people terms, little brother.” Nicholas dries his hands and picking up his phone, he quickly types out a message. I know it’s to call in the cleanup crew.
“When the small intestine is like this, it’s a sign something is wrong. I think he might have been sick, even dying. It’s not good like this. He would have been in pain.”
“Damn,” Nicholas exclaims. “I should have left him in pain. Mind you, I think we made sure he suffered enough. Amelia will be proud.”
“She will.” I smile as I think of the terrified girl I’d met. “It will give her peace.”
“It will.” Nicholas’ face falls. I know the guilt of his part in Amelia’s death weighs heavily on him. He suffers for it every day, and it’s the reason he’s trying to get rid of all the others who caused
her torment.
“Come on,” I say to him and wrap my arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go shower and see that pretty wife of yours.”
“A perfect plan.”
As we leave the room, I turn back one final time and look at the intestines laid out neatly in a row, together. This is not normal. I know it. I can’t help worrying about the effects of being confined away for so many years and what damage it may have inflicted on my soul.
Chapter Two
Tamara
My hands tap impatiently on the dividing screen of the black London taxi I’m traveling in. I swear this man could put his foot down if he wanted to, but he’s deliberately driving slowly because he knows I need to be somewhere. I have to be at Oakfield Hall, but not today, not even yesterday. I needed to be there the day, all those months ago, when Nicholas Cavendish first set eyes on my best friend. I still can’t believe she married the man. I swear he must have brainwashed her or something because I saw the state of her after she was handed over by her father to the Cavendish family. She had a brand burned into her skin by Nicholas himself, for fuck’s sake. How can you fall in love with a man who does that? No, he’s definitely brainwashed her.
