CHAPTER SEVEN

"Has he returned?" asked the man standing outside one of their many businesses. He glanced up and down the busy street. It aligned to the wharf where dozens of sailboats and yachts were docked. Men and women came from all over to enjoy what he offered.

"No. We've had no communication. We think the yacht sank after taking the girl to the island. The GPS gave a last known location about six miles from the island. The storm was pretty intense. He should have waited." He nodded his head.

His brother was gone. His friend. His business partner. The other half of their empire. They'd created all of this together. Their father had owned multiple brothels, whore houses, whatever you wanted to call them, all over Southeast Asia. He made the mistake of making them nice. Giving the women bathrooms, showers, tubs. Hell, they were even allowed to have full meals and good clothing.

They changed the model when their father died. Let the women get pregnant. Once. Then, when they had a full stock, they would sterilize the women, allowing their children to grow into slavery.

The slaves were fed and clothed. Somewhat. They were given small amounts of food, enough to live but not to run. They had no exposure to the outside world other than their clientele. And the clientele understood the conditions.

After all, you were paying to be allowed to do anything you wanted for twenty-four hours. If you killed a girl, you owed double. They could have sex, enjoy some BDSM, beat the girl, whip her, torture her, anything they wanted. All for the low twenty-four-hour price of one hundred thousand American dollars.

"What do we do, boss?" asked the man.

Boss. He would be boss now that his brother was gone. The challenge was keeping others away from that fucking island. Their father started with a few hundred POWs from a variety of nations. He was the man to make them disappear. Countries would call and beg him to take them off their hands. For a fee, of course.

The island had slowly been relieved of her bulging population. Once a month, a helicopter would drop basic needs, some basic medical equipment. But never was there an opportunity to get off the island. Never. They were so far from civilization no one would find them.

"The drop was made three weeks ago. Plan another for the end of the month. Just the basics, like always, from the chopper. Don't tell anyone that my brother is dead. If they ask, he's on an extended business trip."

"Yes, sir. Rikovsky is asking for the girl again. The one your brother took to the island." The man stared at his employee.

"That bastard is bloodthirsty, that's for damn sure. Tell him she's dead and that he'll have to take another. Find one that won't cry. He likes it when they're silent. It excites him."

"Yes, sir. I'm going to let the women have a swim and clean off. It's been a few days and one of the customers was complaining."

"They don't get to fucking complain. They know the rules and how we operate. We keep them stupid, unaware, and illiterate. He gets to do whatever the fuck he wants to them." He paused for a moment, realizing how much he was going to miss his brother. "Let them swim. Get them clean."

"Yes, sir."

"John? When we make that drop at the end of the month, I want to be on that chopper. I want to see that everything is okay."