Page 62 of Legacy of Succession

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.

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