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Raul Cortez is different. The man is completely capable of every evil thing Pirro does, but he’s less likely to act out of anger, and even less inclined to hurt someone just for the hell of it. We’re a commodity for Cortez, just something to be bought and sold, something to be traded on occasion. He’s never intentionally cruel despite the nature of his business. It also means he’s just as quick, if not quicker, to dispose of someone he considers not worth the effort.
I’m on my best behavior when called up by Raul, but it’s times like now when the boss is away that Pirro, his second-in-command, thrives on hurting people.
Cold chills race down my skin when Pirro turns from the woman to face me. I hate the look in his eyes. It could mean any number of things.
I keep my eyes on him as he approaches, the other men shuffling the women along to be processed. I know what happens next, and it also makes me lift my hand to the back of my neck. The number tattooed there seems to itch, despite having been healed for a long time now.
“I need your help in one of the other rooms,” Pirro says.
I nod, knowing not to argue with him. My help could be anything. It could be with a client, or one of the new women. It could be because he wants to watch me service one of the other guys or that he’s needing to be serviced himself. I pray for anything but the latter because Pirro is a sadist through and through. I hate having his attention, but I refuse to the let the guilt bubble up too much with thinking that he’ll be too busy with the new girls to bother with me.
I’ve learned not to act surprised when I step into a room, but there isn’t a corpse and blood to clean up this time.
A man stands in the middle of the room, his arms suspended over his head, held in place by chains. He’s been stripped to the skin except for the blindfold over his eyes, his body showcasing Pirro’s handiwork. Cuts ooze all over. His chest, thighs, and abdomen seep with blood, the redness around the wounds making it clear they’ve already begun to fester a little.
“I need you to keep him alive,” Pirro says. “Your shit is over there.”
My eyes follow the point of his fingers across the room to the familiar tackle box. It houses a crude first aid kit I’ve used many times since they researched me and discovered I worked as an ER nurse at one of the hospitals in Plano.
It’s not very often that Pirro even bothers to bring men back here. The man in this room is only the second that I know of since I’ve been here. The first man didn’t last a week. I watched three men kick him into one of the holes they dug that’s visible from my bedroom window. I doubt this man will have a different fate, but it will not be because I didn’t offer him the best medical care I’m capable of providing with such limited supplies.
He wakes when I press the first piece of medicated gauze to his skin, the sting bringing him back from whatever reprieve his body was allowing that caused him to pass out.
He jerks against his restraints, and I take a step back, wishing he wasn’t blindfolded so he would understand I’m not one of the people who means him harm. Unless it’s a command issued by Pirro. I want to tell him that I’m as much a captive as he is, but explanations aren’t allowed. We’d both be punished if I attempted it.
“Let me clean your cuts,” I say instead, knowing it’s skating a fine line, but taking the risk anyway.
He doesn’t try to pull away when I approach him again, and I feel more than just his eyes on me.
I don’t have to turn around to know that Pirro has activated the video camera on the far side of the room. They record and sell everything that happens around here. I have no doubt part one of this man’s time here has already been uploaded to some scummy porn site and subscribers are itching for the next part.
Raul Cortez is a smart man, realizing that selling videos to thousands will bring much more money than allowing one client to witness whatever Pirro’s plans are for each of us.
The real money comes from the live feeds, and I have no doubt they plan to sell this man’s murder not only to the highest bidder of the person who wants to kill someone, but they’ll also make money by uploading the death online. If it isn’t uploaded, it’s because they’re using the tape to blackmail whoever the murderer is.
