Chapter 36
The cries of women and girls alike provide a sweet symphony to my ears as I pass by the battered cages that line the damp, piss stained walls.
Whilst my little wife has been fucking around with a man that isn’t me, I’ve been placing my investments elsewhere.
The sex trade is booming and I have the perfect cage ready and waiting for my Annabelle, along with the rest of these fucking whores who only provide one thing, and clearly my wife is only good for one thing.
Now you’re probably thinking, Ricky, what about your drug trade?
Well, remember that little shipment of mine that went missing?
I tracked the fucker down. It ended up in the hands of a little rat who managed to intercept the drop off, clearing the storage container of the highest quality drugs and selling them onto top shop buyers, buyers who so happened to be trading in women.
Whores, pussy, whatever the fuck you wanna’ call em.
My interest was caught like a fish on a hook, my mind instantly going back to my whore wife, and how her pussy could make me millions, along with the rest of these moaning bitches in these cages.
The stench down here is disgusting. The rancid smell of ammonia and fecal matter stings my nostrils, causing me to scrunch my nose up.
These women are nothing but shit on my shoe but I know they’ll bring me good money when the time comes.
I pace up and down the dark basement, the odd bit of light filters through the closed doors that lead to private rooms for my buyers.
Five small dog cages line either side of the walls creating an open pathway in between, with an empty one right at the end that has Annabelle’s name written all over it.
I can’t wait to see her cowering, her skin battered and bruised from my torment.
You see, my buyers aren’t picky about appearance, as long as there’s a usable pussy between their legs, they’ll pay.
Making my way back down the short walkway, the soft cries and whimpers of the girls and women fill the dark space.
“Quit your fucking crying!” I blast out, kicking the metal cage with my leather shoe.
The metal rattle, the heavy padlock swinging back and forth.
The woman inside scurries backwards until her back hits the bars.
Her skin is filthy and black, bruises and welts cover her arms and legs.
Her black greasy locks stick to her pale face as she wraps her arms around her exposed naked body in an attempt to cover herself but I’ve already seen her tainted cunt.
The baggy skin of her pussy lips hangs out between her legs like a dropped ham sandwich.
She’s been thoroughly used and abused by my men, broken into to the point where she’s constantly gaping now.
I’d be surprised if her insides didn’t fall out when she stands.
I’m sure I could find a buyer who’s into that shit.
The room falls silent, everyone of these washed up cunts hiding in the corners of their cages. One of my men will be down here soon to feed them their one meal a day of stale bread and water, just enough to keep them alive, but weak enough that they can’t fight back.
Turning away from the cages, I leave the basement and make the short walk up the stone steps until I reach the first floor of the abandoned prison facility.
The perfect place to house these wash outs.
The bright fluorescent lights cause my eyes to squint, a stark contrast between the darkness that’s downstairs.
A couple of my men work silently around the room packing up pounds of cocaine, hundreds of pure white blocks line the tables ready to be stashed into a shipping container, and I spot Nico sitting in a black leather chair, his legs crossed over one another as they lean on top of the table, the thick heavy smoke whirling around him from the cigar that’s perched in between his lips, the red hot cherry burning brightly.
“Merch is looking good.” I say. Nico’s eyes meet mine behind his black shades, his hand coming to his mouth to remove the cigar.
“Aye, boss. We’ve got a buyer coming in a couple of days for the young blonde.
” Nico informs me. A thrill of excitement rushes through my body.
The blondie Nico is referring to, Emma, I think her name is, not that I could give a shit anyway, is barely eighteen, her pussy is fresh and perfect, unused.
She’s gonna make me the big bucks. Unfortunately for Emma she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time when one of my men grabbed her on her way home from work.
She was single, had no parents and lived alone, she wouldn’t be missed.
“Ahh, perfect little Emma.” I breathe out.
“Do we still have eyes on my traitorous little wife?” Nico places the cigar into the glass ashtray, the white smoke still swirling, the rich smell of tobacco filling my nostrils.
I’ve never been a big smoker, sniff has always been my crutch.
He drops his legs from the table and begins typing away on his laptop that’s placed in front of him, the plastic keys clicking away at rapid speed.
“She’s still in Rockford.” Nico says. “She hasn’t been back to her apartment since the break in, I’m guessing little Deany boy has taken her back to his place. ”
Dean fucking Sinclair. Retired Marine and hitman has laid claim to my wife and she’s allowed him to, the cheating bitch.
I’m surprised she even went through with the attempted suicide after my men ransacked her apartment, destroying everything in their path.
She’s always been a weakling, a poor fucking sap, but what I didn’t plan for was Dean playing the hero of the story.
The one to bring her back from the brink of death.
But I suppose it works out for me, instead of dying a somewhat peaceful death, she’ll be dragged back to me kicking and screaming, and once I’m done with her, once my buyer has had his way with her she’ll be begging for death.
Casually, I slip my hands into my pressed trouser pockets.
“She probably thinks that I won’t return.
I’ve given her a false sense of security by biding my time but soon that time will be over, Nico.
I’ll have her one way or another.” My tone is dark and threatening as I stride out of the warehouse towards my McLaren, leaving Nico to hold down the fort.