“Relax, cherie . Please…” He put his arms around my waist and positioned me so I leaned against him, my back to his chest. “You misunderstood me. I have no intention of sharing you with Sylvia. I promise you.”
“Then who?” My voice was uncomprehending.
“You remember Anton from Lori’s auction? He is going to be in Paris in a few weeks. If you were interested in such a thing, the two of us have topped women together before. If you aren’t interested, then,” he kissed my fingers, “it’s not a big deal. I will never do anything you don’t want to happen.”
Could it be true? I leaned against him and wondered if I could indeed trust Alexander’s words, the way every instinct of mine was screaming for me to do. “No Sylvia?” I asked cautiously. I needed to hear him reassure me again.
“Never, cherie . I promise you.”
I clung to his hands. I’d learned to protect myself, but in that moment, I drew all my strength from him.
Chapter 11
Alexander:
Marie-Therese is long dead, of course, but the second woman Dylan took, we find alive, Jean-Luc and I, in a brothel in Berlin.
Her name is Pamela. She has no papers and no identification. She can’t remember anything. Her body has reacted to protect her from the horrors visited on her by shrouding her memory in a cloud.
She is wasting away. Her skin is translucent; her purple veins bulge through. She has a blank look in her eyes. I will learn to recognize that look as Dylan’s calling card.
Dylan doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. He won’t kill his former slaves. That’s why he sells them to brothels around the world. He doesn’t need the money, not at the start. But he can’t let these women go either. He can’t afford the risk of exposure that this will bring.
These women are, without exception, dead inside. Some vital spark of life has disappeared, leaving a void in its wake. I can only hope that with enough care and nurturing, with enough therapy, Pamela can find her way back.
“You want to buy this one?” the pimp next to me sneers. “Are you sure? This one’s been around the block. She’s been here almost twenty years.” He looks disdainful. “That is one loose cunt, if you know what I’m saying. We’ve got younger girls.”
I’m not opposed to brothels if the women are there out of their own volition, but this concrete hell-hole isn’t that sort of place. It is a slave camp. These women don’t see any money. Their bodies buy their pitiful shelter and meagre rations. And Pamela is reaching the end of her useful life, judging by that ‘loose cunt’ comment. In a year, she might even be dead. Dylan might be unable to put a bullet through the head of his slaves when he is done with them. Others have no such compunction.
Riding in as a savior will raise suspicions. Today, I instead need to play the role of a buyer. I push back the loathing that rises in me and nod. “Yes, this one. I hear she likes pain.”
“She’s a screamer. You want to test her now?”
No. I am not going to beat this broken shell of a woman so that the pimp can get his dick to rise. Asshole. I shoot Jean-Luc a look and he nods briefly. My meaning is clear. The pimp will be found dead later on in the week.
Yet, as much as I want to liberate all the women and burn the entire place to the ground, I cannot. I am not yet completely free to act. I only have the name of one woman. Dylan has taken many others, women I still need to locate and save, if rescue is even possible.
When they are all found, when I have made amends, I will act. Then the streets will run in blood and flames will engulf every single man and woman who is tainted. This is the deepest desire of my heart.
Pamela is slow to awareness, but she realizes at some point that she is being sold. She falls to her knees in despair. “No, no, no,” she begs the pimp. “This is my home. Please don’t make me leave.”
I swallow back the bile in my mouth. Her existence is hell - the
“Then who?” My voice was uncomprehending.
“You remember Anton from Lori’s auction? He is going to be in Paris in a few weeks. If you were interested in such a thing, the two of us have topped women together before. If you aren’t interested, then,” he kissed my fingers, “it’s not a big deal. I will never do anything you don’t want to happen.”
Could it be true? I leaned against him and wondered if I could indeed trust Alexander’s words, the way every instinct of mine was screaming for me to do. “No Sylvia?” I asked cautiously. I needed to hear him reassure me again.
“Never, cherie . I promise you.”
I clung to his hands. I’d learned to protect myself, but in that moment, I drew all my strength from him.
Chapter 11
Alexander:
Marie-Therese is long dead, of course, but the second woman Dylan took, we find alive, Jean-Luc and I, in a brothel in Berlin.
Her name is Pamela. She has no papers and no identification. She can’t remember anything. Her body has reacted to protect her from the horrors visited on her by shrouding her memory in a cloud.
She is wasting away. Her skin is translucent; her purple veins bulge through. She has a blank look in her eyes. I will learn to recognize that look as Dylan’s calling card.
Dylan doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. He won’t kill his former slaves. That’s why he sells them to brothels around the world. He doesn’t need the money, not at the start. But he can’t let these women go either. He can’t afford the risk of exposure that this will bring.
These women are, without exception, dead inside. Some vital spark of life has disappeared, leaving a void in its wake. I can only hope that with enough care and nurturing, with enough therapy, Pamela can find her way back.
“You want to buy this one?” the pimp next to me sneers. “Are you sure? This one’s been around the block. She’s been here almost twenty years.” He looks disdainful. “That is one loose cunt, if you know what I’m saying. We’ve got younger girls.”
I’m not opposed to brothels if the women are there out of their own volition, but this concrete hell-hole isn’t that sort of place. It is a slave camp. These women don’t see any money. Their bodies buy their pitiful shelter and meagre rations. And Pamela is reaching the end of her useful life, judging by that ‘loose cunt’ comment. In a year, she might even be dead. Dylan might be unable to put a bullet through the head of his slaves when he is done with them. Others have no such compunction.
Riding in as a savior will raise suspicions. Today, I instead need to play the role of a buyer. I push back the loathing that rises in me and nod. “Yes, this one. I hear she likes pain.”
“She’s a screamer. You want to test her now?”
No. I am not going to beat this broken shell of a woman so that the pimp can get his dick to rise. Asshole. I shoot Jean-Luc a look and he nods briefly. My meaning is clear. The pimp will be found dead later on in the week.
Yet, as much as I want to liberate all the women and burn the entire place to the ground, I cannot. I am not yet completely free to act. I only have the name of one woman. Dylan has taken many others, women I still need to locate and save, if rescue is even possible.
When they are all found, when I have made amends, I will act. Then the streets will run in blood and flames will engulf every single man and woman who is tainted. This is the deepest desire of my heart.
Pamela is slow to awareness, but she realizes at some point that she is being sold. She falls to her knees in despair. “No, no, no,” she begs the pimp. “This is my home. Please don’t make me leave.”
I swallow back the bile in my mouth. Her existence is hell - the
Similar Books
