DISCLAIMER: This is my story. Don't take it. The original characters are mine. All others, if any, are not. They belong to their respective person. This story is for mature audiences so, read per your discretion.
"Imperious...extreme in everything...there you have me in a nutshell.
Kill me again or take me as I am, for I shall not change."
The Marquis de Sade, Last Will and Testament
PROLOGUE
Château de Vincennes - Vincennes, France - August 8, 1777
His eyes opened, blinking a few times to regain his vision. His head ached with a pounding that could shatter the earth herself. Still, somehow, he gathered his strength to push himself onto his elbows. The shackles on his wrists allowed him little effort to do it comfortably.
Looking around, he noticed the darkness of the place; the coldness and dankness of if it. Skeleton bones hung from their shackles. Dead rodents lain in the corners. There was no light, save for the moonlight that shone through the window high above his head. The place...it gave him an eerie feeling, one that was found in the deepest of nightmares. He'd been in a lot of prisons but this one was the worse, yet, just from sight alone.
His head turned swiftly, hearing footsteps getting louder as whoever it was came closer. The heavy door unlocked and then, was opened slowly. The light that shone in pierced his eyes greatly.
He growled. "Could you have given me a warning when you were going to open the door?" Turning on his back, he raised his arms over his eyes, shielding them as best as he could.
"Raise him up! I want to look at him in the face!"
Suddenly, the chains of his shackles began to rise and so did his arms. He growled in pain as he tried to hold himself up on his weakened legs. Because his back was to the doorway, his eyes were focusing on only the brick and concrete wall. He felt like trash. He was a Comte, French nobility and here he was being treated like a slug. He heard the footsteps walk closer to him. And then he was face to face with the one man he wished death upon. "Lazarus, it is always a pleasure when I am graced with your presence."
His sarcastic remark was quickly returned with a quick slap to the face.
"I should slap you harder, but from what I have read, you enjoy things to that nature, Comte." Lazarus narrowed his dark brown eyes. "You are nothing but filth. If you did not have what I want, I would be disposing of you as we speak. Now, quickly, tell me where the key is."
With his head hung low, the Comte chuckled, his eyes raising to the stout man. "I wouldn't tell you where it is even if your dead wife offered her fat body to me. Tell me something, Lazarus, how big did they have to make her coffin?"
Lazarus' lips turned into a grim frown. With a wave of his hand, two more men entered into the cell; one with a whip, the other with a stick. Lazarus stepped closer with an empty smile. "You will pay dearly for that comment." He laughed, his large stomach bobbing up and down. "Your mother surely did! With all of us!"
"Don't you speak of my--" His words were abruptly cut short at the pain he felt on his back and arms; the two men beating him viciously. His teeth clenched, his breath rushing in and out. He wasn't going to give Lazarus the satisfaction of hearing him scream. His eyes closed as the stick and whip cut deeply into the skin of his back. This was pain he felt before. Hell, he has performed this very ordeal on a prostitute once before. She passed out from the pain but that was because she was weak. And weak was something he wasn't.
"Are you going to tell me where I can find it? Or are you wanting more?" He waved his hand for the men to beat him harder.
He hadn't known his head was down until he opened his eyes, gazing at the cold ground. "More. Please." He said in an unruly voice as tears betrayed him and escaped from his eyes.
Lazarus' eyes widened for only a moment. His hand grabbed the arrogant prick's chin. "Do not be a fool! You will die before they finish with you! I send a message to His Majesty the King and request a lettre de cachet, a pardon, on your behalf. Think about this, Comte: all of this will be over, if you just tell me where it is."
For brief moments, the beatings stopped. But he was sure they will start again. "I'd rather screw your wife in her grave."
Lazarus' face grew dark. "Then you shall see her from yours!"
The beatings started again as Lazarus left the cell. He didn't want to have to do this, but the Comte left him no choice. If he won't tell him, then the Mrs. Comte would.
********
It had felt like hours since the men stopped their on him. His legs completely gave out on him long ago. His arms were literately popping out of their sockets. He felt the blood still running down his back and neck. Lazarus was going to pay. He may have been on the verge from death, but he will make a pact with the devil himself, if he had to, to get revenge on Lazarus. His eyes were now clouded; he was starting to lose consciousness. The good thing about dying was, Lazarus would never find the key. It was long gone, out of France, never to return.
Just as he closed his eyes, he heard a noise behind him. His eyes widened, but it was all he could do. He was too weak to say anything.
"Pain is essential to life." said the voice. "It is through pain in which we feel things." His long and lean body jumped from the window sill, his feet touching the ground within seconds. He looked around, taking in his surroundings, though there wasn't much to take in. His head dipped down to the man before him. He could feel the life slipping away and hear the dull thumping of his heart. "You're losing life. Such a terrible tragedy. Lazarus is off laughing and gallivanting with his fortunes and next, your wife. Yet, you are here, barely hanging on by a simple thread. What shall we do, hm?” He produced a smile that showed the tips of his fangs. He watched as the man’s eyes grew round. “Oh no, please, do not be afraid. I am only here to give you what you want.”
He would have laughed, if he had the strength to. To give him what he wanted? What he wanted was the chance to beat everything out of Lazarus and display his head above his fireplace. What he wanted was Lazarus’ most prized jewels in his hand and he wasn’t speaking of diamonds or emeralds.
“You will. Just say yes to me. Say yes, and I will give you a gift that will allow you to do that, plus more.” The stranger almost felt pity on the man. Almost. “I offer to you the very gift that Lazarus will loathe: eternal life, in return for your soul.”
The Comte was hesitant. "Wh-Who are you?"
"Who am I? Why, I am the man that is offering you your freedom!" A smirk grew on his pale face. "I am called Bordeaux, sir. A lonely Frenchman who just wants to give a man his freedom. Look at you! A Comte, French nobility, shackled in a cold, dark dungeon. What would your wife think? What would you son think of his French Noble father?"
His head bent low. He felt about as important as the rats that crawled around his feet.
“Don’t you want revenge on Lazarus?” Leaning forward, he touched his lips to the man’s ear, whispering. “He killed your mother and will marry your wife. You can picture that, can you? His fat, slouchy body in between her creamy, white legs, pumping his girth within her warmth. And all because you wouldn’t tell him where the fucking key is. Say you want it; say you want my gift and you will have your revenge.”
The man’s words were like a knife through his gut. A knife that enlightened the rage that he was holding inside. With his eyes growing heavy by the second, he took in a small breath. “Yes...” he let out with a gush of wind. Before he knew it, he heard the man’s chuckle and felt his teeth bite into the skin of his neck. His body shook violently against the pain; writhing. He started to feel again and the pain was excruciating. He’d been subjected to it before but it was nothing compared to this. This pain wasn’t enjoyable. His eyes clenched shut and watered immensely.
His soul lifted into the air as if it was his heart being ripped from his body. The Comte yelled out in agony. What was happening? What had he agreed to? Helplessly, he watched as his soul floated into a box the stranger was holding.
Then, everything went black.
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|| Chapter 1 --->
