Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Now, Dwayne was more than happy to do this for free. He hated scum, especially after he saw the security footage of the event. Charity hadn’t been clear to see, but they had sound. She’d screamed for help, begging the men to leave her alone.
Her voice, even in panic, had a sweetness to it that called to him. Pushing those thoughts aside, he continued to survey the bar.
There was a woman on the floor, kneeling in dirt as she sucked one guy off, and worked the other with her hand. Both men were smoking, drinking, and laughing as she did this. He saw the wad of cash on the table, clearly payment, which, he knew from seeing this kind of thing, she’d never get. The woman should have taken half before the act, and then just walked away. As it was, they wouldn’t even pay her for a job well done.
Moving past that, he saw several men and women dancing, wrapped around each other, but he wasn’t buying it.
Then he finally saw the guard. He stood out like a sore fucking thumb. Perfect suit, pristine, clearly cost him a pretty penny, and he stood in front of the door, guarding it.
They always stood out.
Tapping his fingers on his thighs, Dwayne waited, made sure everything was in place, and then he got to his feet.
For the most part people ignored him, and for that, they’d keep their lives tonight.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” the guard asked.
Dwayne stood in front of him, assessing the situation.
“Let me past.”
“Fuck off. I’ve never seen you, and it’s for friends only. Now get before I decide to end your life, you fucking idiot.”
Dwayne took a deep breath and flicked his arms out. The point of the blade hidden at his wrist came out, and he jammed it into the man’s neck. Holding him up with the blade in the neck, he flicked the catch of the door, opening it.
To anyone else nothing looked out of place.
By the time he withdrew the blade, closed and locked the door, the guard was dead on the floor.
“You should have just let me inside.”
Wiping the blood on his black jacket, he clicked the blade back into place and walked down the steps toward his destination. The lights were dimmed, and he heard the screaming, the crying, the begging.
In between that, he heard the male laughter.
Pulling his guns out of his back holster, he clicked the safety off both, and then looked through the window in the door.
Charity Frank was clear to see in the center of about six men. Her face was bloodied, her clothes torn, and bruises were already starting to appear from where she’d been fighting them. She kept her arms wrapped around herself and was trying to escape. Every time she kept moving toward the door, someone would push her, another would grab her, squeeze a breast, and then throw her to the ground, where she’d get a kick for her efforts.
They were damaging the merchandise, and he wondered if this was on purpose and who they were selling her to. Some people loved to see a bruised woman up for purchase.
It went against everything in him to watch them do this. To see one of the men pick her up by her hair and force her to do it again. As she fell down the second time, and they were distracted by kicking her, he made his move.
Opening the door, he didn’t ask questions.
He fired his weapon with precision and ease, not even trying to wound them.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
By the time they realized that he was there, they were already dead on the floor. Charity was curled up in a ball, her hands over her head, begging them to leave her alone.
The guns he used had silencers on them so she hadn’t seen anything, but she would have heard them, being so close. Stepping over the bodies, he saw the blood leaking out, and he had to move otherwise she’d be covered in blood.
Crouching down, he called her name.
“Charity, listen to me,” he said.
The crying slowed, and she moved her arm, looking at him from underneath it. Her blue eyes struck him first. They were pained. The innocence he’d seen in them from one of the pictures her parents sent was long gone. In its place were pain, suffering, and fear.
“Your parents sent me. I’m here to save you. No, don’t look around you. Look at me. They’re not going to hurt you anymore.”
“It’s a trick. It’s always a trick. You’re going to hurt me.”
He gripped her chin. “I’m not going to hurt you, but we’re going to leave here. Do you know of a back entrance anywhere?”
She shook her head. “I don’t even know where here is.” She sniffled, and her throat sounded hoarse, probably from all the screaming.