All Chapters of Retribution : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Valencia NightingaleThe crunch of chips in my mouth echoed louder across the arena, from where I stood, leaning over the railing.The air was thick with the scent of rotten flesh and old blood enough to make the entire place repulsive but what was fun with a little disgust eh.Richter’s broken whimpers were music to my ears, a symphony of my very own creativity. I knew he would never break getting tortured, I could shatter his limbs and cut his tongue into tiny little pieces and feed it to him but even then, he wouldn't break.A man like Maxwell Richter thrived on masculinity. On domination, to fully break him, I needed to reduce his masculinity to nothing and what better way to do so than to have him defiled from every angle. The same way he had done to others.Unless he was secretly gay and enjoying himself.Who knows, Maybe Malcom and him had been ramming their poles up each other's asses, I wouldn't be surprised.A barely contained laugh slipped from my lips as I urged my men to

Vladislav MorozThe air inside Saint Dunstan’s Church smelt like rotting wood and melted candle wax. It was practically empty, save for the few believers, who knelt by the altar clutching their bibles to their chests and whispering prayers to whoever they believed was above. They clung to the former glory of the church, history had it that the pastor who used to preach here was chosen by God himself. He was a miracle worker. I guess they knelt here in an attempt to soak up what was left of his divine essence after he died. Which was practically before any of them were even born. Foolish, if you ask me.But humans would be humans, clinging to the shred of another's exaggerated feats rather than fighting for their own place.It was that very fact that brought me to this church. It was the perfect spot for a secret meeting with royalty. My polished shoes squeaked against the cracked wooden floor as I walked down the steps, hands behind my back. My men had already fanned out, all

Valencia Nightingale. "Fuck," I exhaled through gritted teeth, my vision blurring for a long second as I wrapped my palm around the jagged edge of the long shard of glass jutting out from between my shoulder blades. I counted from one to ten in my head, like I always did whenever I knew I didn't want to do something but had to get it over with. I would pick any number before I got to ten and do it. And today, that lucky number was seven. With one swift tug, I pulled the glass out, feeling strands of my flesh rip apart with the force. Pain shot through me, hot and sharp as blood sprayed everywhere, splattering across Prince Caspian’s pale face. His eyes widened, but I didn’t have time for his shock. I tossed the glass aside, the shard shattering against the rocky ground behind the huge boulder where we were hiding at the back of the church. I could feel the exhaustion creeping in, like a thief in the night. But I shoved it back. I could die later, when I completed my mission.

Vladislav MorozThe door slammed behind me as I stood by the passage, arms crossed around my chest. The doctor had announced that he needed to cut off her clothes to stitch her wounds, and it wasn't appropriate for us to be there.I almost wanted to snarl at him to have his female attendants handle it instead, but he was short on staff. My visit was impromptu. There was only a single female attendant with him, and they would have to manage it together.I had no choice. Anatoly had led Caspian to a room, probably muttering threats at him and roughing him up like a sack of grain. The young brat was surprisingly humble, face filled with regret after seeing what his stupid plans did to my...My person.I sighed, unconsciously smearing blood all over my face. I didn’t want to be involved in London's politics. But it seemed like I didn't have a choice anymore. There are just some battles that, no matter how hard we try to avoid them, they always catch up with us. I could easily kill Malco

Valencia NightingaleTears formed at the corner of my eyes as I laughed out loud, head tipping back. The laughter had burst out of me, sharp and disbelieving at the thought of him changing my clothes."You?. You, of all people changing my clothes?" I retorted, my voice high, like Vladislav had just told the world's worst dad joke. I stood there in this oversized cotton shirt, in his fancy bedroom, my one hand on my hip, shaking my head as I slapped my knee. "Good one, Moroz. Real funny. You should actually consider being a stand-up comedian. I'll attend all your shows. No kidding"But he didn't laugh. He just stood there, a few steps away from the door frame, watching me with a bored look in his eyes and that half-smile, half-smirk of his. My stomach did a triple backflip.Wait. He actually wasn't joking.My laugh took a scary turn, trailing off awkwardly at the end. "You're serious," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "You actually changed my clothes?"His smirk didn't budge. He