Page 18 of Savage King

The buzzer sounded again, jerking her from her position on the bed and into the hallway.

Tessa clamored into the living room before Skathi even had the door all the way open.

“Brought the tequila, the margarita mix, and a tray of cheeses I saw at Whole Foods and just couldn’t pass up,” she rattled off as she shot by the still dazed by Odin’s kiss Skathi and into Skathi’s galley kitchen. “I thought you said you’d have all the cake ingredients ready to go.”

Closing the door seemed like a feat of strength, but she did it, then she turned to make her way after Tessa, who was now staring at her with concern etched into her lovely features.

“You okay? Did something happen after the gym? Did Aaron show his ass again?”

After the gym? Too many things had happened after the gym. The most exciting of all…she’d been kissed by a god. The most terrifying part about that? She’d liked it.

Skide.Shit. Ugh.

Grunting, his cock pulsing his cum into the condom hugging his dick, which was lodged deep inside a warm, wet, brutalized pussy, he heard the door behind him open.

“Jefe.” A voice stole into his moment of euphoria, but he’d been expecting it.

Alfanzo Madrigal wasn’t one for surprises. He usually gutted someone when that happened.

The warm, coppery scent of blood. The sweet and slightly tangy scent of heroin cut with chlorine bleach. The sticky, savory scent of cum and sweat. The intoxicating scent of…fear.

Dios, he loved those scents. They had him hard as fuck, made his blood race and his body vibrate.This was fucking living. He loved the scents even more when they were all because of him. Especially the fear. The fear made him hardest of all. Made the release all that much more powerful.

When theputanasfeared him, their pussies got so much tighter, squeezing his cock as he pounded into them, their arms restrained, their legs held open by a spreader bar, but he left their mouths ungagged and their eyes wide open. The sounds of their screams, their near incoherent begging, and the sight of their wide, terrified eyes made the depths of his black soul…sing. The more they fought, their tighter their cunts, the better it felt.

Removing the used condom and tucking his now flaccid cock back into his designer trousers, Alfanzo picked up and flicked the end of his slowly burning cigar he’d left on the table beside the bed, the ashes landing on the naked belly of the girl he’d just fucked. Her trembling, sweating body coming down from the fucking, the pain, and the high the heroin had given her. She’d have a rough couple of hours before one of his men gave her another dose…then gave her to another of him men to “test drive”.

“You were better than the lastputa,” he offered the sniveling girl, “so that means you live.” At her gasp then subsequent sob, he chuckled. He liked it when they cried, especially in the twist of relief and fear that always came when he told them they would live because they took his cock so well.

With only three “bedrooms”, which were only small rooms with twin beds on old, creaky bed frames, Alfanzo was well aware of the quick “turn over” necessary to keep the long line of girls—chained, bloody, and sobbing—flowing through.

This girl had a tight pussy that would earn good coin, as long as his men didn’t ruin herelasticitybefore his buyer made his final payment in two days.

“Jefe,” Ronaldo drawled, as bored with the scene before him as he usually was. He was used to his boss taking the merchandise for a ride. None passed through their warehouse without first being ridden by him or one—or all—of his men. They had to make sure the items for sale were worth selling. Though, they left the virgin pussy alone, because virgins were top tier and would sell for five times more than the ones who’d already been used. “Jorge is back, and he has some news for us.”

He hummed, flicked the ashes off his cigar once more, then turned to leave the small room which had been converted into a bedroom for his use. The girl inside would be transferred back to her holding cell—no more than a cage, really—and the next would be brought to him that evening. He was a man, after all, and he had needs. Why pay for what he already owned? For what already belonged to him?

“Where is he?” Alfanzo demanded, moving down the corridor toward the main warehouse where most of his business was conducted. Concrete floors allowed for easy clean up if things got messy. He hated messy, because messy meant he had to explain to Chavez why he’d failed. He hated failing more than he did messes. Men died when he failed…because he put a bullet in them.

Jorge, one of the lowest level of his operation, was as a dog to him. Panting, eager for a pat on the head and a few scraps of Jefe’s attention or a few extra Benjamins. In return, he fetched, guarded, watched, and reported. Today, Jorge was reporting on something Alfanzo, and subsequently his boss Manuello Chavez, was very interested in.

Standing just inside the steel door leading out into the concrete lot of surrounding their warehouse compound, Jorge looked nervous. Wringing his hands, blinking too often, shifting his feet.

“Jorge, you better have good news for me,” Alfanzo spat in Spanish, his good mood after his dirty fuck suddenly taking a nosedive. “You’d better be here to tell me that the property has been secured.”

For the last several months, Alfanzo had been working to secure four specific businesses just on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Each business was one spoke on the wheel his boss was desperate to add to the machine of the Chavez cartel. Alfanzo, through blood—theirs—sweat—also theirs—and tears—most definitelytheirs—he’d already secured the warehouses in Winchester, the hangar at the private airfield at North Las Vegas Airport, and the trucking company in Paradise. The storage, the clearance, and the transportation had been bought, stolen, or pried from cold, dead hands.

All that was left was the gun range.

Taking a seat on an unused shipping crate, Alfanzo crossed his ankles then his arms over his chest, pinning his lap dog with a pitiless glare.

Jorge swallowed audibly, his face turning pale, the sweat on his brow beading and then slipping down his now green cheeks.

“Speak,pendejo! I don’t have time to sit here and watch you piss yourself.”

At Alfanzo’s bark, Jorge coughed then took a step closer.

“Jefe, the gun range is no longer available for sale. The owner has taken an offer and is waiting on the paperwork from the commercial realtor.”

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