My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 12 "Confrontation" by Marita A. Hansen Page B

features. “You should never have
allowed the Devil’s hand to touch you.”
    “What are you on about?”
    “Your tattoos,” he said, waving a
finger at my chest.
    I looked down at it. The top few
buttons of my long-sleeved shirt were left open, revealing a glimpse of my
hellish tattoos.
    The Padre continued, “You’re
an extremely handsome man, with a body people would kill to touch, yet you’ve
covered it with images of demons and hellfire. The one on your back is truly horrifying.
Why would you desecrate such perfection?”
    I gritted my teeth, realizing he
must’ve seen my videos too. “You’re a priest; you shouldn’t be watching porn.”
    “Satan whispered the temptation
into my ear and unfortunately I fell for it. What you did to those harlots,” he
grimaced, “it was truly repulsive. You’re an evil boy.”
    “I’m not evil, you are.”
    “I wasn’t the one doing vile things
to the Daughters of Satan.” His eyes wandered back to my chest. “Or desecrating
my body with hellish tattoos. But at least you didn’t whip yourself like your
spiteful brother did. I couldn’t look upon his body after that. It was too
upsetting.”
    I inhaled sharply, instantly know
who he was talking about. My brother Brando had a penchant for being whipped by
women. But I’d thought it was a sexual need, not the result of abuse.
    “What did you do to him?” I asked,
hoping I was wrong.
    The Padre frowned. “Things
you cannot understand. Brando was the first angel I saw, then Satan yanked out
his wings, damning him for eternity.”
    “Stop speaking in riddles and tell
me what you did to him.”
    “If Brando hasn’t told you, I’m not
about to, boy.”
    “I’m not a boy, so tell me! What
did you do to my brother?”
    “I filled him with love, yet all he
gave me was hate. He’s a devil dressed in angel’s clothing, a truly evil boy.
Only his cold eyes and whip marks betray his true nature. If I could, I would
punish him further, but as I said, I can no longer look at him.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “He fucked him,” Matteo cut in.
“When he says he fills someone with love, it means he’s raped them.”
    The Padre spun around. “It
does not.”
    “Liar,” Matteo spat. “You fucked
his brother like Jagger and Thierry, didn’t you?”
    The Padre went quiet; his lack
of words confirming what he’d done to Brando. Unadulterated rage shot through
me. Before I knew what I was doing, I lunged forward, ramming my forehead into
the priest’s nose. He hollered in pain and fell backwards, his big body crashing
to the ground. Leo and a soldier shouted at me to stop, but I went for the Padre again, kicking the merda out of him. A blow struck me from behind,
but it did nothing; my rage too strong.
    Someone rammed into me from the
side, knocking me away from the priest. I fell to the ground, yelling out as my
attacker landed on top of me. I thrashed about, wanting to get back to the
priest, so I could make him pay for violating my brother. I wasn’t usually
violent, but what he’d done ... even my hatred of death wouldn’t have stopped
me from killing him. There was always an exception to a rule—and that sick fuck
deserved to go to Hell. My brother’s whip marks were severe, a crisscross of
agony carved into his back. I had to detach him from a wall once, the
dominatrix having whipped him so badly that he’d passed out. I had yelled at
the woman, but she’d retorted that Brando had paid her to render him
unconscious, giving her a grand for the job.
    More men rushed to restrain me. I continued to
thrash about, trying to get back to the priest. A fist struck my face, then
another one hit me in the stomach, followed by more to my face. Matteo started
yelling at them to stop, but they continued, the last punch turning my world
black.
    ***
    I felt the pain before I opened my
eyes. My head was pounding like a freight train had hit it with a cargo full of
explosives, while my arms were stretched tight