25. Chapter 22 - Aaron
C ontent warning: This chapter includes descriptions of sexual violence.
I was restless.
The caged tiger within me had prowled its cell long enough; my skin crawled from the monotony of security. I wasn’t used to such a mundane life.
Mi Reina ’s basement apartment suited me well when it had only been a few weeks. Her condo was a vast improvement, with natural light and breathable mountain air, but a glass cage was still a cage .
Possibly, I had been a fool to believe in this arrangement. I trusted my beautiful cage master with my life; Kellan as well, but the execution of this plan was taking much longer than I’d given credit. Yet, I was a patient man.
I’d been born into a life of luxury and excess; despite not choosing my path in this world, I’d wanted for nothing. I’d endured the pain of torture, the guilt of disappointment, and the tormented fear of failure; Vicente had scarred my flesh while Veronica had scarred my mind—yet this feeling of helpless entrapment was its own form of mediocre agony.
The twitchy Rojo Irishman and I weren’t so different after all.
Or perhaps, it was the encrypted message I’d received on my private dark web server. I was not an expert in such things; I only knew how to use the underground internet to reach out to our many associates in underground industries.
Someone had found me.
Veronica is hiring underage girls. Vicente is raping girls. If you’re out there, please save us.
I had received the message four days ago, but the last four days could have been four years.
I hadn’t had time to review with Mi Reina , nor was it the most appropriate use of time. Alvarez’s tear down would inevitably bring down my parents with him, and I would bask in their demise long before I put them into coffins.
Veronica and Vicente would oversee the damage from their iron thrones, desperate to claim their power back. They had hitched their wagon to Alejandro, not Marco, but the media had not been kind to their associations. My parents did not entertain such human emotions as regret; they’d retreat into their anger before unleashing it into the most convenient outlet.
How fortunate for me that I was dead.
I s igned onto the dark web to see if there was an update. A new file awaited me with several encrypted videos from the same source. I opened one, unprepared for its contents.
Three women, one looking barely older than a child, were cuffed in metal bondage straps in a dark room. The footage was dark and grainy, but the space resembled our questioning rooms in the basement of Club 7.
Two men stood behind them, brutally sodomizing their bodies as the women screamed out in anguish. The child-like woman sobbed as she watched, tears falling down her face in buckets.
This was not fulfilling a fantasy. It was brutal ownership in the most violent of ways, meant to tear down a human being to assert one’s own puny idea of power.
Visceral rage raced through my veins and into my heart, its beat erratic and ferocious in my chest. Rape and assault were not the foundations of Club 7, or any of the other clubs. This abomination must be stopped.
Mi Reina was leading the Board of Directors in an emergency meeting since her company had signed agreements with Alvarez International. Rojo was cleaning out his desk at the office, and Kellan was meeting with his brothers to disband the rest of the men loyal to Alvarez’s operations.
I was alone.
My gaze flitted back to the message on my screen, sent yesterday. Whoever had sent it left no trace of their identity. Perhaps I could use our resident hacker to identify the source.
That would take time, though, a luxury I could not afford. I’d made a commitment on my honor to the employees of Club 7; no harm would come to them at the hands of someone within its walls; that included the wandering eyes and hands of management.
Leaving now was a weighty risk; weekdays were quieter at the club, and I could enter via the back entrance to hide my arr ival. Provided the electronic key pad remained the same, I could slip in, verify the truth, and come up with a plan to save the women before burning the building to the ground.
I had to consider Mi Reina ’s fury for putting myself in harm’s way. But did my life have more value than the people in my care?
I had to ascribe to her beliefs—we were more fortunate than most, with our wealth and influence, but our fortune at birth did not dictate our value above others.
She would understand after her rage subsided and she’d made me pay my penance in blood. It was a risk I was willing to take to ease the weight of my conscience.
I could not leave the condo myself. I had no vehicle here, or access to any of Hillary’s which lay dormant in the garage.
I would have to phone a friend for my errand. ‘Friend’ was surely a loose term, but the only person I could think of who would entertain such an idea without deterring me from my mission. A skilled arsonist accompaniment would also be an asset.
Reluctantly, I texted Rojo .
Aaron Rodriguez: I am in need of your assistance, Caperocita Roja.
Lauchlan O’Donnell: King Strippy! What can I do for ya?
Aaron Rodriguez: Please come pick me up.
Lauchlan O’Donnell: Am I going to get a reason, or did the Robot just run out of juice?
Aaron Rodriguez: I will call Kellan.
Lauchlan O’Donnell: Just putting ya on, King Roboto. I’ll see ya soon.
Lauchlan O’Donnell: She’s gonna kill you.
I looked at my clothing and my brow wrinkled in distaste. After years of wearing fine tailored suits and Italian shoes, I was now a casual clothes man. I had never shown up to any of our clubs in anything but my best clothing; I would stand out like the sorest of thumbs.
Lauchlan had a collection of suits still hanging in the closet in the bedroom he’d vacated since I’d moved in; perhaps he had something I could wear.
I rifled through the racks of suit jackets and pants, finding a charcoal gray suit similar enough to my previous collection to pass for the day. I was taller and slightly broader, but not by enough that anyone should notice. I borrowed a freshly starched dress shirt and put on the ensemble as I impatiently waited for him to arrive.
The longer time passed, the more unsettled about this decision I became, but I had a duty to fulfill. If the demons that spawned me were indeed abusing their power in the most egregious ways, it was up to me to right their wrongs in whatever way I could.
Lauchlan texted me when he arrived, directing me to the private parking garage level that only housed Hillary’s many cars. He met me with an infuriating smirk, but the guarded stare in his eyes showed he was troubled.
“Are you sure about this?” he questioned as I lowered myself into his ridiculously low muscle car. “Blondie’s likely to kill us both, yeh know.”
“She will understand,” I replied smoothly. Uncertainty lanced my gut, but I pressed onward. “My employees are in danger.”
Lauchlan’s gaze blazed with determined fire. “Then let’s go save some worker bees, yeh?” He gunned the engine and roared out of the parking garage in a spurt of obnoxious smoke, but I appreciated the sentiment of the childish Irishman.
“Wait a minute—is that my suit?” His attention left the road and his accusing stare swept over me as if I’d attended the murder of his puppy.
“It is now my suit.” I smoothed my hands over the mid-level fabric and shifted uncomfortably in its tight confines. I did no t want this mediocre suit in my wardrobe repertoire, but as it was now all I had, I would suffer the consequences. “I will not need it after today.”
“Might need it for your funeral,” he muttered under his breath, but he said nothing more about it. “Where to?” he asked instead when we came to the roundabout leading through town.
“Club 7,” I directed, and he weaved through the Carlisle streets as if we were in a cliched Los Angeles Street race. “I will tell you when to turn.”
Admittedly, the man got us there more quickly than Jacques would have. He likely had sensed the urgency in my tone and body language because he continued to glance at me from the corner of his eye. I was concerned about the lack of eyes on the road, but I felt safe in his care. Lauchlan was reckless and woefully ignorant, but his skills were vast and often underestimated.
I was learning not to underestimate him.
Instead of pressing me for more information about the brothel’s activities, he broke the silence with a different question.
“Why are you trusting me with this? I’d have thought you’d want my head on a spike.”
Ahh, yes. His game with Mi Reina . I was surprised to learn of such a game, but I was also learning my love thrived on unpredictable challenges; Rojo embodied that like pliable silicon.
“You did not betray her, no? She was aware of your intentions and played with you, anyway. What is to come of you and her is between the two of you.” I caught his wandering eyes, forcing his gaze from the road once again with the hardened malice in my stare.
“You choose to play me, little Irishman, and I will chop off your limbs and feed them to mountain lions while you watch, slowly bleeding to death.”
He nodded as if this were an appropriate punishment for such a crime.
“Noted,” he responded with ease; threats on his life were normal for him, it seemed. “Kellan will beat you to it, though. I might be bled out by the morning.”
I watched the traffic with blind eyes, the unfamiliar feeling of anxious energy worming its way beneath the folds of my skin.
“Kellan is a protector, as am I. I choose to trust that Mi Reina can take care of herself, and will request me when she needs me. Kellan is an impatient man and does not wait for her to ask. He will learn to trust her in time, or he will not. What is to come of them is between them.”
“How are you so calm about all of this?” Rojo ’s voice took on an incredulous tinge. “You’re really are Mr. Roboto.”
I did not love this nickname, but I had been called far worse insults in my lifetime. This man would not gain the satisfaction of riling me in the way he excelled at riling Kellan.
“There are two things I am most certain of in this life. Hillary Lane and my love for her. The rest is immaterial. You will be here next week or you will not, and that is at her discretion.”
I turned my whole body to face him, which was difficult in the confines of his sporty clown vehicle.
“You were going to thieve from her and she chose not to harm you. Perhaps you should express more gratitude to the woman who spared your life, when she can take the air you breathe and force you to choke on it.”
I didn’t give him time to respond. Club 7 was in my sights, and I needed to focus on my mission ahead. No other woman in my care would be touched without her permission.
“Wait here,” I commanded once he had pulled up to the darkened private employee entrance at the rear of the buildi ng. He gave me a two-fingered salute, and I hurried toward the building I’d swore I’d never see again.
To my relief, the code still worked on the keypad. As a precaution, I did not use my own—I chose a generic one we kept for emergency use when an employee got locked out of the building. I slipped into the familiar hallway; its dark, glittering walls now foreign to me as I crept down them towards the staircase to my old office.
I wasn’t used to creeping about like a thief in the night; I commanded this space and everyone within it. It may have been more suitable for Lauchlan to complete this mission on my behalf, given his proclivities.
But no—this burden was mine alone to bear. My birthright made me my parent’s insufferable keeper until such time I made them suffer themselves.
I saw no sign of Rosa near her usual perch by the stairwell; I didn’t have the time or opportunity to search the building and remain unseen. If I were to find an employee and pay them to remain quiet about my appearance, I could verify if the message was true. My arrival was too big of a risk to not leave with answers.
The hallway opened up to a series of doors; all private rooms for our—their—most profile clients. I jiggled the door handle on the first one and found it open. These rooms had automatic locks if the room was in use, so I moved to the next one in sequence. I had no use for empty rooms.
“Mr. Rodriguez!”
A high-pitched voice squeaked behind me, and I turned quickly to press a finger to my lips. A woman’s wide blue eyes peered back at me in wild surprise. For the first time, I cursed not knowing the employee’s names; it would have been useful to call her by name to coax her into spilling her secrets.
She looked vaguely familiar, but the outfit she wore—the black skirt and sequined bustier with red sequined stilettos, told me she was one of our attendees, hired and design ed to service the fantasies of other men and women on the floor.
I beckoned her into the vacant room. She hesitantly followed me into the sexual fantasy space, where a bondage bed lay amidst black and red painted walls.
“I have not been here. No one can know the truth. Can I trust you with this?”
Fearful eyes, clouded with confusion and apprehension, stared up at me through the dim light. I stepped back from her to give her space. I had unintentionally crowded her with the magnitude of my anxiety.
When she confirmed with a nod of trepidation, I continued. “I have heard rumors that my staff are being abused. Is this true?”
I had no time to ply her with compliments or enter small talk designed to set her at ease. An uncomfortable itch under my skin grew hotter with each passing moment; I was aware of the limited time on my clock.
“I—er—well...” Her gaze flicked nervously to the door behind us. “Nothing has happened to me,” she squeaked out in a rush, and her cheeks flushed crimson under the amber pot lights. “But I know of a few girls—er—women, who’ve been touched… inappropriately.”
The itch mutated into a searing burn beneath my flesh. In the several years I’d overseen and built this thriving business, I’d been forced to rid the brothels of opportunistic men who’d felt entitled to unwilling bodies; who abused the fantasy of rape by bypassing the several safeties put in place for the workers willing to entertain such fantasies, instead taking their power and choice away altogether.
I’d stripped the flesh off of a client who’d taken my employee's rights into his own hands. Another, I’d broken every bone in the hand he’d used to strike an unwilling attendee. I had no such patience for men who broke the rules. My rules.
“ Explain,” I growled, the word dipped in acid as I barely held my anger in check.
“Vicente has brought in some… friends,” she stuttered, desperate fear burning in her gaze as she peered back at me on trembling feet. “They haven’t been following the… rules,” she finished lamely, and my impatience grew to irritation.
“Elaborate,” I insisted, using all my self-control not to step into her personal space to threaten her with my size. I was not willing to burn down the house without direct confirmation of misdeeds, and “not following the rules” was not enough to give me what I needed.
She shrunk in on herself despite me staying well out of her comfort zone; the rage emanated from every pore of my skin, the vibrations of it pulsing into the surrounding air.
“My friend Chauntelle was raped.” Her head hung, gaze glued to the floor, as she spoke the next words. “And they’ve brought in younger employees. Last shift, they forced me to work with a fifteen-year-old.”
Vicente was going to die. Today .
“Thank you,” I gritted out between clenched teeth. “I will pay you to keep my appearance here quiet.”
She met my stare and the fear faded for a brief moment, replaced with proud defiance. “Mr. Rodriguez, save those girls. Save me. I don’t need any money from you.”
“It is done,” I replied, tone resolute. The determination to rid the earth of the scourge of my father and his desperation to prove his tiny cock was something to be admired filled my every blood cell. I held open the door for her and gestured for her to leave.
“Speak of this to no one,” I reminded her as she scurried through the opening, fear lacing her posture once more. “I will put Vicente in his place.”
Once she had vacated the corridor, I quickly fled down the opposite way, urgency biting on my heels. Lauchlan was still waiting for me, and I would need an hour off the premis es to formulate a plan. My favorite dagger was not enough to exact the justice needed here.
My footfalls echoed down the polished concrete floor of the rear hallway. I had rounded the corner to the door when an icy prickle swept down my spine. Someone was watching me. I felt their presence in the shadows like a dark cloud covering the sun.
Before I could turn to confirm my suspicions, a warm hand and sharp prick bit at my neck. I crumpled to my knees and my world faded into inky blackness, all sounds muffling save for the final few words:
“Welcome back, Mr. Rodriguez.”
I was not a man who indulged in drugs. Vicente had subjected me to many illicit substances over the years to understand their effects and to coach my brain into working through their cloying strength.
I’d been injected with a depressant of some kind. Designed to incapacitate me and make me pliant in the users' hold. I’d been trained to fight the drug's effects, and the dosage was too low for a man of my size. I was groggy, but aware; aware enough to know I was still in Club 7, in one of the basement rooms designed for torturing the abusive clients. My limbs were trapped in the grip of bound ropes, my arms and legs tied to the arms and legs of the chair.
How ironic it was I who was now in the chair when I had come to save them.
“You are a tricky man to find, Aaron,” a sultry voice purred in my ear, and I jolted at the warm breath against my skin. Perhaps I was more out of it than I’d expected.
I fought against the nausea, breathing large gulps of stale air through my nose to settle the roiling acid of my stomach.
I s aid nothing, choosing to wait out the woman who spoke so candidly to me, waiting for her to show her face. She did not disappoint; tanned, creamy skin, long dark hair and even darker eyes came into view as my attendant, the one whom I’d rescued from my father’s deplorable treatment, stared back at me, her expression a mix of satisfaction and curiosity.
Though surprising, I was relieved to see it was her and not Vicente or one of his loyal men. Vicente would murder me within moments to set the example and remove me from his list of challenges. This woman might not have such vehement motivations.
“I wasn’t sure if that ploy would work,” she mused. She toyed with the sharpened blade in her grip, holding it casually as if she knew how to use it. “We weren’t convinced you were still alive, but I knew when you tried to rescue me from Vicente that you had a weak point. I’ve been working double shifts, just in case.”
Perhaps her motivations were not so pliable, after all. I had considered the message was a trap to draw me out of hiding, but her involvement was certainly a surprise. How she’d known to manipulate me was another thing altogether.
A brittle laugh escaped her full lips as she assessed my dubious expression. “I know I’m not your weak point, Aaron. You didn’t even bother to learn my name.” Her tone bordered on playful, its upturned lilt suggesting this was all a game. “It wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have been my real one.”
The fuzz in my brain waged war as I pulled the strand of a murky memory. She had shown up to our ribbon-cutting day. I had only glimpsed her, but I’d known she was there.
“Who are you?”
I folded the words over my tongue as I stared back at the beautiful woman who’d once satisfied my every sexual need f or a healthy paycheck. We held no loyalty to each other, no pretense of connection, despite the connection of our bodies once upon a time. Simply a transactional relationship.
How could I use that transaction to my benefit? I worked through the puzzle pieces of my thoughts as my brain fought to put them back together.
“My name—my real name,” she corrected, “is Carmen Delgado. You have been my prize for a long time, Aaron Rodriguez.”
The name was not one I knew.
“I’m afraid your name means nothing to me.” I shrugged one shoulder in both an admission and to loosen the fibers against my skin. I’d trained to release myself from such devices, though I hadn’t been tied up for anything but bondage play in two decades. My lack of practice would be my downfall.
Her smile widened, her straight teeth resembling fangs in the ominous air. “Of course it doesn’t, you uncultured bear,” she cooed, condescending to me as if I were a child. “Why would you suspect the woman you paid to wet your cock would be the very assassin hired to kill you?”
A lesser man might cower in fear; I was not trembling in my boots—my interest was piqued. Who would hire someone to assassinate me when Kellan had already been tasked with the job? We’d kept our list of enemies small over the years, and we held most of the power. I was at a loss.
Unless…
“Who do you work for?”
Her grin mimicked a shark’s maw, with far more menace. “For a man who needed such assurances that you would actually end up dead. There is some mistrust in the family right now, I’m afraid.”
She waved her hand airily, and the dagger glinted in the soft golden light with each movement.
So, Antonio then. Kellan had admitted the relationship with his father was eroding; we had commiserated over our parentage together one evening. Our fathers would certainly put failsafes in places to ensure our follow-through. Had I been tasked with the same directive, no doubt Vicente would do the same. Familial trust was a myth in this business. Our blood was not thicker than water or wine; it thinned with every breach of disappointment until the bond was broken altogether.
I continued the micro-shifting of my muscles against the nylon cords, grateful for the cheaper suit wool that would work against the rope on my behalf. A more expensive fabric would tear. Rojo ’s suit may become the luckiest garment in my possession.
“And what is it you plan to do with me?” My voice remained calm—disassociated from the panic of the situation and the ravenous gleam in her eye that hungered for my death. “And what can I do to change your mind?”
“Oh, you won’t be changing my mind, cerdito ,” she taunted and held the shimmering blade to my throat. “But I get paid more for prolonging your suffering, so we will be here a while.”
Without pause, she plunged the dagger deep into my abdomen. White hot pain consumed my insides and I fought to maintain consciousness. My hands almost free from the cords, I pasted my lips shut, determined not to give her the pained cry she was craving, but the action took every ounce of self-control I bore.
She stepped back, cocking her head to admire the blood staining through the crisp shirt.
“Beautiful,” she breathed, the sadistic gleam of a killer finally entering her gaze. “You’re about to become your own work of art, Mr. Rodriguez. I hope you enjoy painting with blood.”
The knife drove into the muscle of my thigh, ripping the flesh into jagged tissue before I fell back into the bl iss of unconsciousness.