Trey - Shandi Boyes Page 0,3
career aspirations.”
Smiling, I smear in the blobs of cum that’ll most likely fall when she stands before shifting on my feet to face August, or Eight as he prefers us to call him. He’s a newbie to Nikolai’s crew, so he’s the best one to free from the bunkers while we wait for an update from Nikolai on where we’re going next.
He’s preparing to send his girl back to Hopeton, aware a war is about to begin. If I were smart, I would have done the same thing with India. Alas, back then, I was only twenty-two. I had no clue how fucked-up this world is, much less the people who think they run it.
“Follow her home. If she touches her face at all during the commute, revoke her privileges to Clarks.” The whore gasps in a sharp breath. It’s barely heard over the chuckle of Nikolai’s men.
Nikolai is my brother in arms. He took me in when my wish to make India mine almost caused my demise. He’s Russian, fucking filthy, and hates the man who raised him with every fiber of his being.
I want to say I had the same issues with my father. Regretfully, it was the respect I had for him that got him killed. Have you ever thought about who you’d choose if forced to pick between the woman who made you realize you had a heart in your chest and the man who gave you life?
It wouldn’t be an easy decision for the strongest man to make, much less one who had a gun held to his head, and a threat to kill them both if you didn’t pick one.
Did I pick right? You tell me. I’m in a foreign country, second-in-charge of an entity turning over three billion dollars in assets a year, and fucking whores who can stir my cock even without drugs lacing my veins. Some will say I’m living the life. Others would fight for better. I say quit complaining and take what you’re given. Things aren’t the best they could be, but they could be a whole lot worse. I could be in the ground like my father, his entire existence ruined because his son couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
As Eight marches the whore with my spawn on her face to his car, I slump back into the two-seater couch I woke up on. This place fucking reeks of sex and blow. It’s a smell I usually crave, however, the havoc brewing in my gut is snuffing my body’s usually positive response to the lifestyle I was raised in.
This is life for me—drugs, whores, and guns. I was raised around them, craved them, and have been destroyed by them, yet, they’re the only things that make me feel alive, although not once have they caused my heart to patter in my ears.
Two
Sales Docket Number 12574
Bile burns the back of my throat when I ram my fingers down as far as they can go. I can’t believe I was so stupid not to check the food they slid through the slot this evening. I’m starving, and my body is showing signs of malnourishment, but still, I can’t believe I trusted these men. They sell women as sex slaves. As if that isn’t bad enough, this sanction doesn’t do one-and-done sales. They auction the same women over and over again, only stopping when they’re either killed by one of the brutes paying to spend an hour with them, or they die from starvation.
I’m teetering close to having both causes of death placed on my death certificate.
The men in this sanction pay top dollar for a woman to occupy their time for an hour. The thousands they hand over ensures their stipulations are the highest I’ve seen. They don’t just want beautiful, charismatic women with flawless bodies and tight vaginas, they also want them to be full of tenacity and to have the gall to get through the four or so men a night they’re expected to ‘entertain.’
When I was given to Vladimir Popov, founder of this sex-trafficking ring, I had the curves needed to entice top dollar, the wavy blonde locks men like to grip, and bright blue eyes that were full of life. But since I also have the shyness of a mouse, I’ve been overlooked more than the women I arrived here with.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining I’m not fetching top dollar. I’d rather starve to death than be brutalized by men who see