His Prisoner

by Jesse Jordan

  “You know Rodrigo, you keep stripping for me, I'm going to take that as an invitation,” a lilting Greek accented voice says behind me, and I turn to see one of the other members of The Network, Larissa 'The Dryad,' watching me with a smirk on her seductive face. She and I have traded sexual taunts and other jokes for two and a half years now, ever since I got to Sicily, and it's become sort of a game. We both know that neither of us wants, or could afford, to get involved with the other, even for fun. Inter-office romances would be stupid within The Network, and especially with a seductress and assassin like Larissa. Besides, for some reason I just like her more in a friendly way than in a I want to fuck her senseless way.

  “Larissa, there's a dozen men on The Farm who would be more than happy to accept your invitation,” I joke, changing my mind and grabbing the can of Axe I keep in my truck kit and giving my armpits a quick spritz. “I'm just the only one smart enough to not get caught in your web.”

  “Which is why you're about the only man on The Farm I respect,” Larissa says, her seductive teasing immediately shutting off. It's one of the unique things about her that took me a while to get used to, but now I appreciate. She can go from flirty to professional in a single second. “How was your training run?”

  “Decent. Father Giacamo was his normal self. You know, before I went into confession he asked if you were going to come to church soon. I didn't have the heart to tell him that you've probably never been inside a church. You're Greek Orthodox, right?”

  Larissa laughs, her distinctive violet eyes crinkling at the corners in good spirits. “I am, but oh, I've been in a Catholic church, and a few times, the Church has been inside me. Work is not always unpleasant. As for Giacamo, I'd go to confessional more often if I didn't have to listen to him jacking off in his side of the booth while I tell him what I get up to. As it is, it's just a game for me.”

  I laugh, taking out the short sleeved denim workshirt I wanted for today. Moving days are the day I like least at The Farm, and so I treat it like real work, in a real work shirt. Larissa doesn't turn away or even smirk as I pull my shorts off and pull on my black jeans before changing from my running shoes to the boots that I wear for The Farm. When I'm done, I brush off my hands and put my workout clothes in my toolbox, ensuring the smell of my sweat doesn't stink up the cab of my truck. Closing the lid, I turn around again and see Larissa smirking, shaking her head back and forth slightly, the long black hair that I know has bewitched many a victim, some fatally, swaying.

  “You know Larissa, you'd have less problems with Giacamo if your confessions didn't sound like The Best of Penthouse Letters,” I joke. “Well, right up until the point you kill them.”

  “Ah, but at least they die with a smile on their face. Besides, I've been told I'm the closest a person can come to God, so I just save them a lifetime of disappointment afterwards,” Larissa says with a touch of pride. “By the way, what did you think of my idea this morning?”

  “About you giving some of the girls hints?” I ask, and Larissa nods. “Well, I'll admit I had some thoughts about it during my run. Part of me laughed as I thought of the girls killing their new owners if they get pissed at them. The Sultan can brag all he wants about his clients knowing how to handle a woman, but knowing that if they treat them wrong, they could die? How to bring feminism to the Mideast.”

  Larissa laughs as we leave my truck. For a while I thought she was a sociopath. But there isn't really a definition for her. I just know that for her, she's probably laughing at the idea of inflicting that much death on a widescale basis. It certainly isn't because she's a feminist. Well, then again since she holds herself equal to any man, and in my estimation she's better than a lot of the men that we both work with, maybe she is.

  “Rodrigo, you amuse me, your sense of humor. So rare here, so American.”

  “Maybe that's why you keep inviting yourself to my villa,” I point out, and Larissa laughs again. “What?”

  “Admit it Rodrigo, you and I will never go to bed together, but you like my company too. I think I entertain you as much as you do me.”

  I think about it, then nod. “Perhaps. At least, you're one of the only people I wouldn't shoot on sight for showing up at my place uninvited. Still then... why do it? Why this new idea of becoming some sort of teacher?”

  Larissa shrugs. “I can't keep seducing and killing men and women forever, Rodrigo. Besides, it adds a shine to our merchandise, getting us more money.”

  “You're hardly old, Larissa. In fact... well, this might be dangerous, but I have no idea how old you are even. I always pegged you for being a little younger than me, say twenty five or so?”

  Larissa laughs loudly. “And you say you never flirt with me. No, you and I are about the same age. And I'm not saying I'm ready for the retirement home, not by a long shot. I was thinking more along the lines of danger.”

  “That I can understand,” I admit. “Do you think that the girls would be willing to learn?”

  “Not every girl we sell is kidnapped, you know,” Larissa responds matter of factly. “I checked with your boss, he said that about twenty percent of the girls he transports are actually volunteers for the life. A lot of it depends on where they go. Russian girls and Slavic girls practically volunteer to go to the Americas, even to South America. Rodrigo, life in America isn't perfect, but some of these girls, especially the Slavic girls... trust me, for them even a Mideast harem is a step up.”

  “Careful Larissa, you sound like you're feeling sorry for the girls. I might accuse you of having a heart if you do,” I tease, and Larissa rolls her eyes. “Honestly Larissa, if that's what you want to do, I see no reason to oppose it. I'm sure there's going to be rules put in place so you don't damage The Network's merchandise, but I don't see a reason why The Sultan or Rachmaninoff would object.”

  “I appreciate it,” Larissa says. “I know that in The Network you're not quite on their level, but you do have Rachmaninoff's ear as well as working for Scoglitti. A good word from you would be appreciated.”

  “Of course, Larissa. For now, we have work to do. The Sultan's men have been preparing the girls for transport, and I don't trust that crew of vipers,” I say.

  It's no secret among The Network, while I can work with The Sultan, and have for years... I hate the bastard. We're all criminals, but there's lines you don't cross. The Sultan does all the time though, he's truly someone who doesn't give a single fuck except for money and power. He'd serve his own mother a vial of flesh eating bacteria if it made him enough money. If he didn't have the connections to the Mideast....

  “I'm going to speak with Rachmaninoff this evening, he invited me to dinner,” Larissa says, giving me a knowing smile at my comment. She has no fondness for The Sultan too, although considering that Larissa is Greek, and The Sultan a self-described Persian, that animosity is practically in the blood between them, I suspect their ancestors were probably hacking away at each other at Plataea. “By the way, are you open for a visit in a few days?”

  “You're going to come whether I say yes or no, so just send me a text message when you plan on arriving,” I wave off, making Larissa laugh. The first time she broke into my villa, I nearly shot her, only her superior position within The Network's hierarchy and her high level of training preventing me from killing her. Now though... well, at least she doesn't damage anything too expensive when she breaks in. Sometimes she offers to pay for it too.

  We make our way towards the far side of The Farm, which actually does have some legitimate agriculture on it. It's probably just my biased opinion, but the olive oil that comes from the grove that grows on the eastern rise of The Farm is the best in all of Sicily, and the pigs that are raised to dispose of those things that The Network would prefer to be disposed of make some damn good bacon too... once you get past their diet.

  “You know Rodrigo, you're looking tense,” Larissa says as we go down the short hill to the small barn that is where the girls today are being kept. “You really should
look at indulging some more. Seriously, nothing better for me than a good orgasm.”

  I shrug, not wanting to tell her the truth about my feelings or my sex life as we reach the door. She helped me a little when I was setting up my villa, but since then, she and I haven't discussed the details of that side of my life.

  “Either way, let's make sure that The Sultan's men...,” I say, sliding the steel door back on its track. The words die in my throat as I see the men gathered in a rough circle, a girl strung up on the bar and shackles there. “What the fuck are they doing?”

  “Girl broke Kahled's nose,” one of The Sultan's men says, pointing across the way. “He's going to whip her.”

  I look and see Kahled. Brutish, stupid, and sadistic to an obscene degree, his lower face is sheeted in reddish blood, an angry leer on his face. He flicks his whip, teasing the girl, who's naked and tied up in such a way that I can't see her face. Still, as soon as she opens her mouth, I hear it. New Jersey, maybe the Bronx, but if I had to lay money, she's from northern Jersey.

  “Fuck you, ya bastard. You gonna do it, then do it!” she yells. “But the first dick that tries to get in me I'm gonna snap off with my pussy!”

  Larissa, who is standing next to me, chuckles. “Well, there's one who's either going to get herself killed or get herself married very quickly. Look at that body.”

  I take a moment to look at the girl, and I have to admit, she's got an ass that artists would die to carve. With thick blonde hair that glows even in the dim light of the slave pens, she's beautiful, the sort of woman that I can tell is used to having men beg for a chance to worship her. Even from behind I can feel a surge of desire, in front of me is a real woman, one of a rare and disappearing breed in a world obsessed with fake plasticky 'models' and surgery. Not this woman, she's all natural and I want her, I want to bury my cock balls deep inside her.... and I haven't even seen her face yet.

  “Wait!” I call out, my voice piercing the hoots and taunts of The Sultan's men. Kahled looks over, his lip twitching in anger when he sees me. He knows that I'm not his boss' favorite person, but at the same time, I'm nobody to be fucked with.

  “Sir, Kahled deserves his retribution,” Leon, the man in charge of The Sultan's men, says in Italian. “She broke his nose when he went into her cell.”

  “Then he got what he deserved for being sloppy,” I reply in English. Almost all of the men in The Network can understand English, even if some of the lower ranked ones don't speak it too well. “Besides, I can see it in Kahled's eyes, he's not interested in training. Let me guess.... wanted to dip his wick in the merchandise?”

  Kahled's eyes glare at me, and I smirk, he knows I pegged him right. I walk forward, past the girl without looking at her, directly into Kahled's face. “She let you get off with a broken nose, Kahled. Do you think The Sultan will let you get off with marking her?”

  “Some like marks on their slaves,” Kahled replies in his hesitant, thickly accented English. He's got a point, I've unfortunately seen over the past three years what some of the owners do to their 'property.'

  “Well, let's see if this one is worth marking or not,” I say, holding my hand out. It's a risk, I'm pushing it as it is for some reason, but something in that woman's voice makes me want to push the line. Kahled though tightens his grip, and I know that he's not going to give up his weapon, not without me knocking him the fuck out, and there isn't need for that.... yet. “Fine. But it stays down until I say so. Or else you answer to me.”

  I'm not in his branch within The Network, but I do command respect, and I have a reputation of someone not to be fucked with. Kahled nods slightly, and I turn around.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  The blonde hair still frames her face, which looks like it's been carved by Michelangelo himself, lips that, even if one side is starting to swell from taking a shot, are flawless. Her gray eyes are intelligent, this is obviously no dumb bitch from the Jersey Shore despite her angry words when I came in. They flare with rage and anger, making them even more beautiful.

  The rest of her is just as perfect, the sort of woman that any real man should want in his life. Large, generous breasts, a flare to her hips and thighs that makes my cock stir in my pants... but still, it's hard to tear my eyes away from that face. She's scared, she'd be an idiot not to be, but she's got guts, enough to stare down what's now nearly a dozen of The Sultan's men and call them out. It's magnetic practically.

  “So what the fuck you lookin' at?” she asks, and I can hear it. She's used to men being intimidated by her, either by her brains, but most likely by her body. I can understand why, it's a body that once you see, let alone touch, is going to haunt your dreams and fantasies for the rest of your life. I know men who would literally sacrifice their lives for a chance with a woman like this, and in this instant, I'm not too sure they'd be that far off. More than that though, this woman knows it.

  Because of this though, she's severely disappointed by the world. Never meeting her match, I can read her like a book. She came to Europe because, regardless of whatever excuse she used when she booked her flight out of Newark, her life bored the shit out of her. Even now, facing a dozen of The Sultan's thugs and sailors, she's bored by it.

  What she needs... is training. Not the brutal, unthinking training that Kahled wants to inflict, like a child smashing a toy that it cannot fully appreciate.

  What this woman needs is real training.

  The sort of training that I can provide. The sort of training that so many have begged for, and none have been able to take. The sort of training that only the strongest of women can endure. I need a woman who can endure that training in my life.

  But looking at her flawless, voluptuous body, I see my own desires mirrored. I see a woman who needs completion. In the spirit and strength I see in those lustrous gray eyes, I know that what this woman needs.... is me.

  “Gentlemen... I believe I have a business proposal for you.”

  Jessica

  “Well, let's see if this one is worth marking or not,” the powerful man says, holding his hand up to take the whip from Mushmouth, who I guess is named Kahled. Kahled's hand tightens though, and after a moment the man lowers his hand, nodding his head slightly, as if he just doesn't really care. “Fine. But it stays down until I say so. Or else you answer to me.”

  He turns around, and my throat instantly goes dry. His intense eyes are nearly as black as his hair, with a jawline that looks like it could be used to chop wood it's so strong, sensuous lips that twitch when he sees me, his tongue coming out I think unconsciously to lick his plump lower lip. He's picked up a scar somewhere underneath his right eye, about two inches long and decently healed, but it's still there, a bone white smile in his tanned skin.

  The rest of him is just as powerful and perfectly put together, his arm and chest muscles straining against the fabric of his denim work shirt, his thighs making the black denim he's wearing swell.

  He looks at me, and I can tell... this man wants me. But not like any man who's begged me to fuck them before, not at all like the dozen or so assholes who want to rape me. This man wants me... but he wants me his way. It scares me but at the same time excites me, and I open my mouth, my fear talking. “So what the fuck you lookin' at?”

  The man's lips twitch in desire and amusement, and he actually chuckles. “Gentlemen... I believe I have a business proposal for you.”

  “A business proposal?” the lead thug says, switching to English again. I guess when they're talking about the merchandise, they like to discuss things in English. “What sort of business proposal, Mr. Rodrigo?”

  “Yes,” Rodrigo says, walking around me, studying me like the thugs did, but this time, I don't feel the same sense of disgust that I felt for the thugs, who never could have handled me. In fact, frighteningly, I feel a deep sense of self awareness. This is a man who can appreciate a woman like me, and I can feel his eyes burning into me as he walks around. I try to follow him, turnin
g my head as best I can, and the whole time his face never loses the appreciative but amused look that it's had for the past ten seconds.

  “Mmmm, yes indeed. You see Leon, while Kahled might want to punish this woman, he's far too clumsy to damage such an flawless beauty. You damage the merchandise, you lose money for yourself and your capo. And you... men,” he says in such a way as to make me very certain what he thinks of Leon, Kahled, and the rest of the men, “you men are not up to the task of training such a wild stallion. You'd only hurt this one's value.”

  His words twist inside me. On one hand, I'm pissed off to be talked about like I'm a new car on the lot, like I might or might not come with power steering and in-dash navigation. But in his eyes, in the command in his voice, another side of me likes what I'm hearing. It's the side of me that's never been truly satisfied by a man, the dark side that I've never let even my deepest girlfriends in college know about, the side that wants a man like this.

  “So what you saying?” Kahled says, dropping the whip, his hand clenching in a fist. “You want girl?”

  “Who wouldn't?” Rodrigo says as if Kahled had asked if he wanted chocolate chip cookies. “Here's my offer. Give me this woman, take her out of the shipment. I'll train her, and then when The Sultan delivers her to a new owner, she'll be much, much better to him.”

  “Fuck you, I'm nobody's toy,” I hiss, and Rodrigo looks back at me, my next words dying on my lips when I see the expression in his eyes. They burn with intensity, both challenging me and telling me to shut the fuck up at the same time for my own damn good. I shut my mouth, at least for the moment.

  “Training this one could be quite a challenge. But I've got time,” Rodrigo says, turning his attention back to Leon and Kahled. “Now let her go, she's coming with me.”