6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Jarrett

" I 've told ya before, and I'll tell ya again, I won't train ‘em if they're in this condition." The girl on the floor in front of me is truly broken. Her pale skin is covered in cuts, bruises, and burn marks, her ribs are protruding, and she looks about ready to meet Death.

"Vale, this is your fucking job. We bring you the girls, you make them obedient. We get paid, you get paid, everyone's happy." I can practically feel the spittle flying from Rick's mouth as he squares up to me and snarls, making the scar on his top lip more prominent. His long hair is pulled into a high bun, giving him a few extra inches on me, but I make up for it in bulk and I refuse to back down to his kind of filth.

"Everyone ain't happy, Dick. Take her and leave." For a start, I don't wanna be burying no bodies because that shit's just messy.

"Terence is gonna have your ass for this, Vale." He smirks, lifting one side of his top lip like the cat who's got the cream.

"I hope he uses lube this time. Now fuck off." I slam the large oak door closed, leaving the girl outside on the porch with Rick.

Do I feel any remorse for not helping her? No. But other than sending her off to a hospital, there's nothing I can do anyway.

The girls I train to be effective submissives need to be able to gain the right state of mind. There needs to be something inside them that wants this life or they'll be dead within a week of being with their owners. I'm aware that being sold to a rich prick to be their sex slave isn't exactly something most people would choose for themselves, and I'm not na?ve enough to believe all the girls brought to me want that life, either.

But this is all I know. My dad trained girls, my grandad trained girls, and I've been a part of this since the age of ten. Yeah, I know it's illegal, but the money is fucking outstanding and I want for nothing. Plus, I get a real kick out of it when one of my girls begins to understand their role, when they discover how much they love to be dominated and how much pleasure they'll actually get out of it.

Okay, so some of them end up with fucking monsters, but more often than not, the men buying these women are just desperate. And if their woman treats them the way I've trained them to, everyone wins. With my dad at the helm of the trafficking ring I train for—A.K.A. The Firm—I get a little more insight than others might, but that also brings its own problems.

Take Rick and Terrence, for example. Fucking pricks. Rick wants my job because he's sick of risking himself to find suitable girls. He thinks I have it cushty. And Terrence, well, he's just pissed at me because I don't do what he says. He technically runs the Miami sect of the business, meaning I should report to him when the girls I get are ready to be sold, but I'd rather stick my finger in a socket than have anything to do with him.

Instead, I go straight to Dad because I know he makes an effort not to send my girls to the complete sadists. I don't give a fuck if that makes me a daddy's boy. It goes some ways to ease my conscience.

Heading through the house, I check my phone to see if Ophelia has replied to my latest text telling her the ball is in her court. It absolutely is not in her court, but I'm allowing her the illusion. For now.

I installed a hidden app on her phone at the club, so now I have access to everything she has access to. Considering she's practically the queen of technology, thanks to her dad's company, I was surprised at how easy it was. But I have always had a knack for technology and fuck it, I'm not complaining.

When I saw the message on her phone from that fuckface, Logan, I got curious and turned on the mic for her phone so that I could listen in. I wasn't enjoying what I heard, but my cock jumped to attention when she didn't hesitate to respond to my first few texts.

Obedient little thing. I like it.

The thing is, liking her isn't a part of the plan.

Watching her dance last night though, smiling, laughing, having fun…she became a million times more addictive than I ever thought possible.

The Firm tasked me with tracking her, seeing as I'm the most skilled man they have in Miami. We didn't have an exact location, but there were rumors floating about. They were right because I found her easily enough about three months ago. Her hair was different from the video footage The Firm has from the night one of our own was murdered by her hand, but the moment I saw her face smiling back at me from a charity gala advertisement, I had no doubt.

I've kept her whereabouts to myself for now because watching her has become my new favorite pastime. I'm not ready to give her up just yet.

Sunshine beats down on me as I walk out the back door and through the garden to the pool house. It's fucking humid and I'm not built for this shit. Spending my first twenty-two years on this Earth in London didn't prepare me for the heat over here. When my dad moved us here ten years ago, I thought he was batshit, still do, but the work comes easier than it did in the UK.

There are a lot more willing girls being brought to me than we used to have.

Georgina is naked and on her knees as soon as I walk through the door. We have a schedule—which I'm admittedly five minutes late for—and like the good girl I'm training her to be, she's ready.

There are a few toys laid out over the royal-blue bedspread on the mattress positioned in the center of the room. Ones that Georgina is ready to play with today. But since actually meeting Ophelia in the flesh instead of through a screen, my dick doesn't wanna wake up for anyone else. I even tried having a wank this morning, and nothing. Nada. Zip. That was until I brought up her picture on my computer screen.

"Good girl, Georgina. Do you remember your colors?" She's ready for her new owner at this point. In fact, Dad has a buyer for her already, but they're not ready for her until next week. The day before I head to Detroit. Thank fuck.

Detroit is my reward for myself.

A weekend of debauchery with a stranger that I never have to see again. Hopefully my dick works by then or I'm gonna have to ask the woman I buy to wear a face mask.

"Yes, Sir. Green if it's okay. Amber if it's becoming too much. Red if I need you to stop." Georgina keeps her head bowed, her hands on her knees, and her tone remains calm and even.

"Well done. What have you prepared for dinner?"

"Lasagna, Sir. Would you like to start with that?"

What I really want is to paddle Ophelia's arse for not replying to my last text yet, to make her peachy skin red in the shape of my palm, then to soothe it with my tongue…

Fuck. This girl's got me in her claws and I need to get out of them real quick.

"Yes, Georgina. Let's start with dinner." Because anything else feels like I'm cheating on someone that isn't even mine. Yet.

Murderess or not, I'll have her for myself.