Page 72 of Kidnapped By the Beast
It became clear to Brandt very quickly that the bastard was what the Kindred called a Broken One—a male who derived pleasure from the pain of women. Either that or he simply hated everyone female. Either way, he deserved to lose his authority which he had misused over and over.
The noise in the chamber swelled—murmurs rising to shouts, fists pounding against palms as the crowd swelled and shouted.
And then Alexandra stepped forward.
“I want to be heard!” Her clear voice rang out above the rabble and somehow caught the attention of the crowd. Everyone hushed.
Brandt’s breath caught. Every muscle in his body tensed, fighting the urge to pull her back to safety as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd. But no, this was her moment—he had to let her speak.
Her hands trembled at her sides, but her chin was still high. Her voice shook at first, but each word grew steadier.
“You let your officers hurt me,” she said, her voice carrying through the hall. “You ordered me dragged through the marketplace like a criminal, stripped of dignity. You put me in the stocks and locked a cruel device inside me that tore me apart with every step I took. You left me exposed while a crowd jeered and leered at my body. That wasn’t punishment—it was torture! And it was all over a misunderstanding—but you wouldn’t listen to me!”
Brandt’s chest swelled with fierce pride.
That’s it, sweetheart! Tell him. Make him hear you.
“You didn’t care that I was an off-worlder who didn’t know your customs,” she continued, her eyes burning. “You didn’t care that I begged you to listen. You didn’t care that I could have died! How many others have you condemned like that? How many more women have you destroyed?”
Her words were the final straw. Up until then, only men had spoken on behalf of the women they cared for. But to hear a woman who had been wronged speak for herself seemed to light the crowd on fire!
The chamber exploded with sound—the crowd roared as one, the sound deafening—the stench of angry sweat and rage filling the air.
The Magistrate paled, his four eyes darting wildly as people surged forward.
“No! No, you can’t do this to me!” he screeched, clutching at his heavy robes, trying to keep them out of the hands of the angry mob. “Officers! Officers, protect me!”
But the officers hesitated, and the mob rushed the dais. Hands tore at GrOin-der’s robes, dragging him from his lofty seat. His spectacles fell, clattering across the stone floor and were instantly trampled by hundreds of feet.
Brandt let himself savor the sight for one heartbeat—justice finally claiming the pompous bastard. He was getting a taste of his own medicine, as the humans put it.
Good. Let them have him. Let him taste fear for once. Let him feel what all those women he sentenced went through!
But then movement caught his eye.
Two officers shoved through the crowd, their eyes fixed on Lexi.
She froze, her breath hitching, terror flooding her face.
“Brandt…please…” she whispered.
Brandt didn’t need her words—he knew. He saw the fear in her eyes and the way her body flinched back. These were the evil bastards that had shoved the metal rod inside her and locked her in the stocks.
His voice came out as a growl from deep in his chest.
“Are these the two?”
Her lips trembled, but she nodded.
“Y-yes.”
Rage slammed into him, hot and unstoppable—the bloody curtain fell over his vision, painting everything red.
Brandt was moving before he knew it, fists swinging as he roared into battle. One male’s nose exploded under the force of his punch, blood spraying as the man collapsed. The other tried to raise a weapon, but Brandt’s fist smashed into his jaw with a crack like thunder. He dropped like a stone, bleeding on the floor.
They were down. But it wasn’t enough—not for what they’d done. Brandt’s vision pulsed red, his fists tightening, aching to smash until there was nothing left but blood and bone. He raised his bloody fist again?—
“Brandt!”
