Nine C-Section, Nine Dead Sons, One Escape novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I held that rigid pose and ground my teeth until dawn broke.

Julian woke and ordered me to dress him.

When he saw how bloodless my face had gone, he stroked my cheek and murmured reassurances.

“When the family shipped me off overseas years ago, Priscilla never left my side. She took care of me. After all that, I owe her my protection.”

“Not a word about yesterday. The last thing I need is Old Mrs. Ashworth riding me about it.”

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I nodded. Calm. Blank.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. He clearly hadn’t expected this much submission.

Then he took my hand, his expression softening into something almost kind.

“Vivienne, get some rest. The charity gala tomorrow, I told you you’d be on my arm. I’m keeping that.”

Looking at that affectionate mask, I used to believe he actually cared.

Now I knew better. His heart had only one occupant.

I nodded. Vague. Noncommittal.

The next evening, I showed up as agreed.

I was nearly out. I wasn’t going to waste my breath fighting them anymore.

Laughter and champagne glasses clinked through the Grand Ballroom of the Ritz–Carlton.

Priscilla cut me a venomous glance and made a show of lifting her wine glass. “Oh my. Look at you, Vivienne. Last night you were on your knees at my bedside, and today you’re gliding around playing the perfect lady. Nothing to say to anyone?”

She covered her mouth in mock horror.

“Oops. This mouth of mine. How did that slip out?”

The crowd latched onto the scandal immediately. Laughter erupted. Disdainful stares swung my way.

She swirled her glass and leaned in close, her whisper slithering into my ear.

“Some women push out baby after baby and can’t keep a single one breathing.”

“Might as well have banked their cord blood and sold it to the highest bidder.”

“At least they wouldn’t have been totally worthless. Could’ve bought me a Birkin.”

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The fury ignited. I put every ounce of strength I had into one slap across her face.

Priscilla screamed and went down, her forehead cracking against the table’s edge. Blood beaded up.

“Julian! Help! Vivienne’s trying to kill me!”

Julian sprinted over, his eyes wild.

“Get a doctor now!”

After the doctors dressed her wound, she started vomiting blood. A lot of it.

The ballroom erupted into chaos.

Specialists circled her. Five, six of them. Nobody could find anything wrong.

Someone cautiously suggested calling in a specialist of a different sort.

Within minutes, a man appeared clutching a pendulum board, the kind of psychic you call when nobody wants to say out loud what they’re really looking for.

He made a show of calculation, then his face went grave.

“Miss Holloway is under direct spiritual attack. The negative energy clinging to her is off the charts.”

Julian’s voice dropped to something lethal.

“Who would dare go after Priscilla?”

The psychic produced his divining tool. The needle spun wildly before locking dead–on toward me. “Mrs. Ashworth is shrouded in restless spirits. Nothing short of a fire cleansing will drive them out.”

A splinter of hesitation crossed Julian’s face.

Priscilla clutched her chest, her voice a trembling, fragile thing. consider… the old method? Branding the flesh?”

“Julian… perhaps we should

In front of everyone, they gagged me and strapped me to the banquet table.

They heated a branding iron in a coal brazier until it glowed red.

The first press landed on my shoulder.

The stench of burning flesh choked the air.

I convulsed in agony but couldn’t make a sound.

The second press seared into my back.

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I smelled my own meat cooking.

Tears poured down my face. Bound to that table, I could only thrash uselessly.

The ropes sawed through the skin at my wrists. Blood dripped off my fingertips.

I lost count of how many times they pressed that iron into me.

Every time it pulled away, I heard my flesh tear with it.

The wounds were charred black. Blood and fluid wept from them. My entire back felt like it had been skinned alive.

The psychic made another calculation.

“It’s not enough. There’s one more spirit. A spiteful one, stirring up chaos from beyond. It has to be dragged out and scourged.”

Julian spat a curse under his breath. “That cursed blood. Even dead, it won’t lie quiet.”

My head snapped up. Every drop of blood in my body went cold.

Back then, he’d looked so remorseful. He’d promised a proper burial.

Now he spat the words cursed seed like venom.

Something carved a hole straight through my chest. It hurt worse than the branding iron. A thousand times worse.

The warmth in Julian’s eyes was gone. Nothing left but a killing resolve. “Bring that dead little bastard

here.”

Chapter 3