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He grabs my foot and throws me to the ground. I can hear the other pimps back there being inspired by him. I’ll have to shut this down soon. With his esteem boosted, he launches himself over me. I pull my legs back and launch them into his chest hard enough to break something, shouting, “Submit!”
He’s in a lot of pain, I can see it. There’s a fresh dribble of blood on the corner of his lip from the impact of the kick to the chest. But his ego won’t let him rest. “This is your last warning to submit,” I tell him.
“Over my dead body.” He groans before coming at me again.
I grant him his wish since I’m a motherfucking genie and I grab my karambit within a split second, slicing open his windpipe. He falls to the floor, grabbing his throat and succumbing to his death.
“Wooo!” I exhale. I turn to the other fuckers. “Anybody else wanna be brave?”
To my surprise, although I shouldn’t have been, a few more, filled with adrenaline, fly up out of their seats. I’m not gonna fight them all. What the fuck do I look like? I don’t have time to waste. Some of my recruits who are still watching the screen, unbothered because they know I am more than capable and if I need them, I’ll call, groan in united disgust by something happening between the client and the pimp.
I call the pimps who want to challenge me down next to me. They run toward me of their own accord like excited little bitchass motherfuckers although the swiftness of their movements are restricted by their shackles. The rest of my recruits who are invested in my fight are standing by. I call as many of them as there are pimps to challenge me. I assign each of them to a pimp. They stand behind them.
“Execute them,” I tell my recruits, walking back to my seat because I don’t have time for dilly dallying with these fuckers.
As I walk back to my seat to finish watching the pimp being destroyed on the screen, the challengers are shoved to the ground on their knees where they are all shot in the back of their heads. I don’t want them to make battling me a habit. Before I take my seat, I stare the remaining pimps down and ask one final time, “Does anyone else want to challenge me?”
They all respond, “No,” because they know I like when my questions are answered.
I nod. When I turn back to the screen, I see the sexually assaulted pimp lying motionless in the bed with a massive load of shit on his face. I can smell it through the screen as memories of being asked to shit on clients or having clients shit on me in the past come rushing back.
The weird ass motherfucker is careful in removing every single needle from the pimp’s body and sanitizing each one of them before placing them back into his black box and releasing the shackles from the pimp’s body as his arms and legs fall limp.
I speak to my recruit standing outside of the bedroom door, through an earpiece. “Tell him that’s 3000 bucks.” Because that wasn’t no regular fucking.
I make my way up to the bedroom to see if the pimp’s dead by checking his wrist and plugging my nose. He’s alive. I grab a chain whip and slap him in the stomach to wake him up. I move backward just in case he jumps up, I don’t want shit flying toward me. “Hey, shit face!” I shout before erupting in a giggle behind the hand over my mouth and nose. He shudders but can’t scream, unless he wants a taste of what’s on his face. “Get yourself cleaned up,” I tell him without sympathy even as I notice that the metal bar next to him that the client seems to have forgotten is streaked with blood.
Behind my back, before closing the door, for both his benefit and the benefit of the pimps watching on the screen, I say, “Welcome to your first lesson in walking in your victims’ shoes.”
The recruit that’s standing guard at the bedroom door claps in celebration as we make our way out and the pimps are returned to their cells. Yawning, I call it a day and head home.
Chapter 7
Julissa
I’mshoweredandtiredbut a little bit restless. I settle into bed under my covers and turn on the television, skipping through the channels. There’s nothing interesting to watch so I decide to stop on the local news channel just in time to hear about the raid of the brothel.
There’s a reporter standing on the inside of the empty bar with stools overturned behind her as music from the sound system that hasn't been turned off since we left, plays.
“Witnesses from the neighboring establishments say a group of armed attackers dressed in black and masks raided this very bar on Tuesday morning. They say all but one of the attackers were masked up but they weren’t able to properly I.D the woman who they only saw from the back. The only descriptions we were able to get of the suspect was that she had short blonde hair and she’s Caucasian,” the reporter says. My heartbeat picks up a little but I’m not giving it too much weight.
“Why do you think an armed woman would raid this bar? And were all the attackers women?” the other reporter in office asks.
“According to the witnesses, as far as they could tell from the outlines, yes, it was a group of women. It’s important to note that this is a full service bar which offers legal sex services,” the reporter responds.
“So do you think it was a couple of um…” The reporter clears their throat, “employees trying to get back at the establishment for dues owed?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say for certain why the raid was conducted but there are currently no employers and employees. We haven’t found any dead bodies but we have found blood…” The reporter pauses and holds onto her earpiece. “This just in, forensics have managed to enhance the quality of the CCTV stills and the picture you’ll see on screen is of the unmasked attacker. If anyone has any information about this woman, please make contact with the police department at the number on the screen.”
Oh, fabulous reporting, clueless idiot. The pixelation in the picture still isn’t great but there is a clearer outline of me from the side, easy to recognize for the people who know and are aware of me. I can’t tell if I’m nervous or excited but somehow seeing my picture on my T.V is making my insides all queasy. Maybe I got used to hiding away for too long but this was the only reason I left my men and the life we could have had so that I could stop hiding so why do I feel so off? A thought echoes in my head, saying, “it’s too soon, you’re not prepared enough yet.” I try to ignore it but it grows even louder.
I can’t imagine how much more prepared I could be. I’m not afraid of dying and as far as risk for the others, they knew what they what they were getting themselves into, I’ve got a great team and we’re gonna become the new crime syndicates of Las Vegas, the ones who make sure that human trafficking can’t pass through the city without us knowing, the ones who will stop it in its tracks. And we’ll do that by taking away the pocket liners from the mob here that already allows this shit. Those pocket liners are the pimps. If I take their pimps, they lose money and I piss them off so that they can come after us, giving me the perfect opportunity to destroy them all. That’s been the plan all along so why am I now feeling like I should’ve waited a little longer? Wishing I could reverse the moment I revealed myself in bright daylight?
I’m pissed off by the lack of certainty riddling my stomach with anxiety. I haven’t felt this way in so long. The last time I felt this fear was when I was constantly watching my back in The Berkshires. I’m probably fucking traumatized by that to be honest. Suppressing who I truly wanted to be and all that shit. But at least then I had the arms of three warm men to fuck my stress away. I can probably call Ren over, he’d be down to fuck. Except, I’m forgetting that though the fucking was incredible, although I’m missing them more than anything right now, they started to become a part of the reasons for my stress too. I can’t afford to have the same thing happen with Ren.
Frustrated and in need of relief, I reach into my bedside table for the toys I bought for moments like these so that I could make sure that I wouldn’t give in to the temptation of falling into someone else’s bed. I’ve used them a few times, they’re fucking powerful as shit. I haven’t had much time to use them lately. Before Calder, Mikhail and Axel, I would’ve never even thought of buying these items but well, now, I enjoy orgasming way too fucking much to never experience it again unless I’m willing to compromise what I want to achieve just for some fucking and risk falling in love.
I pull out my double ended dildo that’s right in between one to two inches thick and twelve inches long which allows me to grab hold of one end and fuck myself with it without too much pressure on my wrist if I were to use a regular sized dildo. Along with that, I’ve got a clit suction vibrator that stays stuck to my clit for as long as I want it, no matter how wet I get. I also grab some lube, just in case I need it because my anxiety is shooting off so much right now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to focus on getting wet.
