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Something just doesn’t smell right and maybe he knows more than I give him credit for. Our intel confirmed Viper intends to make an example of this particular victim at one of his infamous pimp circle parties. However, there isn’t usually violence at a slave stable, at least nothing beyond the usual slaps, pinches, and the occasional earlobe twist. They like to keep the goods in working order—the better they look, the more money they fetch. Finding a victim with such obvious injuries is highly unusual.
Within these grim, putrefying walls, the menace breathes, a cruel beast lurking in the shadows, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Whippo, the embodiment of this menace, snivels and stammers, his reptilian eyes darting about, sniffing out the prospect of treachery or money.
“Plans?” Whippo’s voice cracks, and he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “That ain’t none of my business. She's fourteen, maybe. But Viper wants her for something special. Something big's coming down, and this kid’s a part of it.” His eyes gleam with avarice. He chews on his bottom lip, his mind calculating risks and rewards.
I can feel the weight of Sasha's gaze, a burning intensity that speaks to the shared purpose that has led us down this harrowing path. Her presence resonates with a silent, steadfast support. This world, the monstrous reality we've immersed ourselves in, is a cancerous growth on the soul of humanity. Yet we persist, driven by an unyielding mission to obliterate the disease, one festering sore at a time.
Sasha steps forward and runs her finger down Whippo’s arm. “Can we go now, sugah. You gonna get me in trouble with the man. I need to clean her up and get her all pretty. She’s got to make us some money.” Sasha shimmies up against him, grabs his sack and squeezes, making sure he has no second thoughts. “Oh my, you really are a big boy.”
Whippo startles. and his eyes dart to me. I give my don’t-give-a-fuck shrug.
Sasha steps even closer and murmurs, “Want to take me for a test run?” She squeezes his junk harder.
I suppress a smile as Whippo struggles to find his bravado. He doesn’t seem to notice Sasha backing him to the door. I bury the internal eye roll and hunker down, keeping my gaze fastened on the ragged woman kneeling at my feet. She tugs the moth-eaten blanket, quickly covering an orange tube top, a short pink skirt and ripped fishnet stockings. An outfit so dreadful it can’t be a mistake. Between the fresh bruises dotting her skin like cans of paint thrown on canvas, her skin is the most beautiful shade of caramel. I lock eyes with hers and am rewarded with a jet stream of pure hatred before she lowers her eyes. But I swear I saw a flash of connection, of recognition. What the fuck is wrong with you, Jaden?
“We’ve got work to do.” I turn to Whippo and give him my most forbidding “get lost” look. “Thanks, man.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as Whippo leaves the room. We must get Destiny out of this place. Now. I look at Sasha, and she gives a slight nod. Ten years of hanging together twenty-four-seven means we rarely need words to convey our thoughts.
The VIC, Destiny, scrambles to her feet, pride etched in every line of her face. “I’m not going anywhere with you unless you tell me who you are and why I should trust you.”
“We’re here to help,” I reply, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “We're getting you out of this nightmare. But we need your cooperation.”
“Help?” she scoffs, her voice tinged with skepticism, yet her eyes betray a longing to believe. “What’s in it for you?”
I step closer, close enough to smell the stench of her captivity, to see the spark that refuses to die. “Justice,” I say softly. Her eyes widen at the word, a flicker of understanding passing between us.
Sasha steps forward and firmly grabs Destiny’s chin. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Destiny jerks her head away and glares in return. Her muscles tense, ready to spring. Great.
“Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?” Sasha reaches out a hand. Destiny slaps it away. “Have it your way.”
Sasha grips a pressure point near Destiny’s neck. “Nighty night, sweetheart,” she whispers. Destiny struggles. Sasha holds firm... eight, nine, ten. When Destiny slumps to the floor, Sasha picks her up and sweeps out of the room.
I follow a few beats behind ensuring they get safely out of the building. One slip, one show of weakness, and I will lose my foothold in this cesspool. And that could mean the difference between life and death.
2
DESTINY
I thought I knew all there was to know about pain. A universe of suffering encapsulated in the battered vessel of my body, but it turns out I don't. Every fucking cell within me howls, a symphony of torment. It's my just desserts, my self-made requiem for opening my goddamned big mouth and back-talking Viper. Words escape like wild horses, unchecked and reckless. Then, insanity entwined with rage, I slapped him.
The tactile memory of his assault lingers, as if his fingers are still there, violating my very existence. I kept telling him to fuck off—silently, a scream trapped within a cage of fear. Once, it slipped out, an "Oops" in the midst of horror.
He hurled me against the unforgiving wall, a dance of cruelty and lust. My reflex was primal—I spat, I slapped, I resisted. Time splintered as he slammed my head, a staccato rhythm of brutality I lost count of, sometimes losing consciousness and perhaps a part of myself. He added kicks, an encore to my suffering. The constant pain that has marked my small frame whispers the haunting melody of violation.
I lie now, feigning sleep, clothed in rags and invisibility, until Whippo's kick jars me. An irritation, a reminder of the world's injustice. My middle finger's response is an involuntary rebellion, a tiny spark of defiance in the darkness.
Then, another figure appears, enormous and wreathed in an aura of danger, a tornado of dread and power. His presence ignites a sensation within me, a tremor of fear and anticipation. My eyes meet his, and for a fleeting moment, I see compassion in his wolf-like gaze. A flicker of humanity before the mask of the predator falls back into place.
He stops Whippo from striking, a surprising act of kindness that leaves me stunned and momentarily speechless. No one has ever stood up for me, no one has ever seen me, but he does. In his deep tan eyes, a blend of races and histories, I glimpse the angel of my dreams, a tantalizing mirage of salvation and desire.
But dreams die, and hope is a dangerous illusion. I can't trust him, can't allow myself to be ensnared by false promises. My past screams a cautionary tale, a bitter lesson I've learned time and time again. I choose to hate him, even as a part of me longs to believe.
Whippo stammers, his false bravado crumbling before the mountain of muscle in front of him. I almost smile, almost forget the impending nightmare of the party where my body will be a plaything, where my very soul will be flayed and torn.
The man and his towering companion approach, and the battle within me ignites anew. They won't take me without a fight; they won't separate me from my sister. Even as darkness descends, my mind sharpens, ready to confront the storm.
