Crack.
“Prime pussy, eh? Seems a little dirty, Pavel. Guess we better show her what a dirty bitch deserves,” a voice shouts in the distance.
Pavel laughs in response. He doesn’t care as long as he gets his fifty dollars and a vein full of crack.
Kick.
My sex is writhing in pain, throbbing and bleeding as I feel myself falling apart down a tunnel of darkness. I’m trying to let go, pleading with my heart and my brain to die, but I remain stuck on this piece of shit floor being tormented like I deserve.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
My eyes grow swollen from the repetitive punches to my face. I can’t see what is happening before me anymore. Now, I can only feel. Feeling is horrible. I ache everywhere and I wish that I would die. If there is a God, why won’t He let me give up?
You will burn! Burn in the fire, girl. The woman’s voice from before plays like a broken record over and over again. Fuck heaven. I will take hell over this. Throw me into the pits of doom and set me on fire. Surely that is better than this.
I am lifted up like a ragdoll. Every ounce of energy that I had is depleted to nothing.
“Wakey, wakey, pussycat,” one man says to me in a condescending tone.
I try to open my eyes, but they are nothing more than swollen slits. I can only feel. I am straddled on top of one man as I feel another sit behind me. His arms encircle my chest, massaging my bleeding nipples. I feel more, making me understand that I’m alive. I’m rammed down onto the men, one claiming my ass and the other claiming my sex. Both sear through me and I scream out loud. Tears form in my eyes, but they can’t escape. Even still, my body won’t allow it because they are swollen. I haven’t wanted to cry before, but now that I do, my body won’t let me.
Thrust after thrust, I’m taken as the steady stream of blood currents from my ass and sex. The men grunt as they fuck me, grasping onto every part of my broken body. I melt into them, letting them have me like they wish. After all, that is what I was made for.
The man in the front finishes first, pulling out and letting himself get off on my stomach. The other man flips me onto my belly on the makeshift bed and pushes my head into the hard ground as he fucks my ass harder. I wanted a goodbye so much before, but something tells me that little girls like me never get the version that they ask for.
The man stills himself inside of me, growling out loud like a dog. He bends down to my ear, breathing heavily, “Goodbye, bitch.”
With one hard hit to the back of my head, I meet the darkness that I have longed for.
Caesar
Burnt flesh and loving touches.
I am not home long enough to shower the smell of the incinerated girl from my body when Pavel knocks on my door with his little whore. She looks twelve, but I don’t care right now. Her dirty matted hair is pulled up with an elastic band, and not the kind made for hair, but the office supply kind. She has dark drug circles under her dull blue eyes and I know it will take weeks to make her healthy enough to be a donor. I wish they would look after their sluts better. She is going to have to scrub her dirty cunt before I touch her.
“Go shower, you filthy bitch.” I shove her behind me and Pavel puts his hand up to stop the door closing.
“I need money if this one isn’t coming back, Caesar. I can’t keep giving you free…” I stop him by grabbing his gabbing jaw in my hand.
“You need nothing from me unless you are ready to give me what is mine, Pavel. You owe me. Now fuck off.” I let him go and as he turns to leave I have one last word.
“Bring me another filthy emaciated bitch and our deal is off. You start looking after them, you Russian fuck.”
He flips me the bird as he walks down the grimy hallway. He is too cocky for his own good. I would love to kill him, but he brings me a steady supply of nobodies to fill my beds. I lock the door; the old lock wouldn’t keep anyone out, but I doubt they would try to come in. I have a reputation on these streets. I am not like the pimps and dealers. Anyone who crosses my path ends up gone, so they all stay away.
The quivering girl hasn’t even made a move to the bathroom, which infuriates me a little. I wish they would just fucking listen.
“Go shower. There is medical grade soap in there. Use it on that dirty cunt of yours, you hear me?” She nods, her eyes watering as she tries to walk in her stupid heels. She leaves the door open, as if I want to watch her. I don’t! I want to fuck her and go to sleep. I just don’t like dirty women in my bed. I might live in this filthy building, but my home is clean on the inside. I have to be clean in my line of work; diseased organs are worthless, sick people are useless to me. Well, not completely useless. I will not lie and say I have never sold sick parts, but healthy bodies don’t give up as easily while waiting to die. If an organ can be transplanted, it is. I am not bothered if you have hepatitis or HIV. The person receiving it won’t know for a long while that they got sick, and even then, they cannot blame me. Even if my spare part gives you a deadly disease, it gives you a chance to live first.
I take off my jacket and shoes while I wait for her to clean the filth and squalor from her body. I go to find the brandy in my small kitchenette while lighting another smoke, the burn of the alcohol down my throat and the smoke in my lungs takes away the day’s work. The water shuts off and I wait for the dripping wet girl to emerge - I don’t have any towels. I hate towels; they are breeding grounds for all sorts of vile germs. The slightly emaciated, shivering girl pads out of my bathroom, and I feel my mouth water and my cock jump to attention. There is something about a vulnerable woman, or girl, that makes me hard. The way her dripping wet hair sticks to the skin of her young, firm breast and the dark, sad rings around her eyes is enough to make me crazy with need. I am the only one she will ever see this way.
“Stand by the window until you drip dry, puta,” I motion for her to stand in front of the window where the last rays of the late afternoon sun are shining in. The twinkle of tears at the corner of her eyes delights the evil bastard in me and I watch her shiver there until her dripping skin is almost dry but still a little clammy. She starts to sniff a little from the cold air; the heating is somewhat hit and miss in the building and today, it’s missing again. I don’t care. The sniff sets off something I have no control over, the sound is like a vice grip on my cock and my mind turns to the craziness. My misophonia takes over and I want nothing more than to rape and hurt her. Not me, my disease; my disease makes me do things. I need to try and control myself, as I don't want to scare her. I need her to trust me. I cannot feel the chill through my warm clothes so it doesn’t bother me at all. “Are you clean? Or do we have to do this all over again, perra?” I like the fear in her eyes at idea of standing before me freezing her ass off for another half hour. It shows me they are not completely dead - yet. Dead bodies don’t excite me, or repulse me, they are simply how I make my living. I do it here.My family has clinics and harvesting plants all over the world. “Come here, la puta, so I can see for myself.” She stumbles slowly towards me, her steps having no conviction or purpose. She stands, shaking before me and I want to destroy her, but not kill her. I want to use her up before she dies. Take the last of her goodness before I make her say goodbye.
Sniff - my cock hardens more, sniff - I want to hurt her. Sniff - make it stop, please!
I put my hands around her skinny waist and pull her closer. Her skin is soft against my rough, dry fingers. My hands are hard and abrasive from using antibacterial hand wash all day long. She isn’t particularly pretty, not even beautiful, but she is soft and doesn’t smell of burnt flesh or antiseptic, so she gets me hard just inhaling her scent. She has scrubbed her grey skin almost raw trying to be clean for me. I trail my hands over her body like sandpaper taking the surface off, feeling every part of her. The pulse in her thigh where her veins will be taken, the soft tenderness of her belly where her liver lies waiting for its new owner. Her heaving chest where two healthy lungs breathe in air, and a heartbeat keeps her alive. That hea
rtbeat already belongs to someone else who matters. Her dull blue eyes are the gift of sight to a blind person who wishes to see. I feel that heart beating faster and faster; I see her breaths becoming shallower, I am not so sure if it is lust or fear. “Are you scared of me, puta?” I ask as I grip her delicate throat a little too tight, and she nods as a tear escapes from her eye. I know the lack of air lets them escape even when she wills them not to. I need her to be ready to give up. I want her to want to say goodbye, as it’s so much more satisfying when they have no will to live.
I pull her roughly onto my lap so I can get close to her, to smell her, to feel her and ultimately to make her give up. You see, I’ve learned something about these little cunts; they don’t fear pain or abuse, they are used to it. Conditioned to live with the aching bones and bruised flesh, if you show them tenderness, a little affection, it will suffocate and crush them and they will beg to die rather than let it go. Kill them with kindness, slay them with a smile and murder them with a kiss.
The worst thing in the world you can do to a worthless washed up street whore is give her hope, because there is no fucking hope and they all know it. If you are on these streets, you are born into the world of the hopeless and you will die in it. If you are lucky, I will get you and you will say your goodbye, and if you are not, someone else will get you first.
She starts to move her body and act like the slut she was made to be, but it does nothing for me. I grip her tighter to make her stay still. “Slowly, puta. I am not in the mood to be rough with you.”
Do you want to know how to kill a worthless girl’s heart? It’s simple - kiss her. Holding her head still, I kiss her softly, and at first she resists me. They always do. Then she becomes still and unmoving - confused. Then when I add the softest touch to their neck or face, they fucking fall apart and give up. As she opens her mouth for mine to take it, I know she will give up her life easily.
When I lift her up and lay her on my clean sheets, she is confused and scared. Exactly where I want her to be. She speaks for the first time since she was shoved through my door. “You are him, aren’t you?” her words are a whisper. A whisper that feeds my insanity and I fight to make it stop. “Who, puta? Who am I?” She doesn’t answer me and reverts to her coping mechanism of being a limp, lifeless doll. I don’t want a doll. I want her to feel me bringing her to life, only to whip it away. I trace her beaten body with touches that I know will ignite that hope. I lick and kiss every inch of her whorish little body and when her walls have crashed down and she writhes beneath me, wanting me to take her, I do.
I pull a condom from my dresser drawer and protect myself from whatever it is she may have, and I fuck her. I don’t hurt her body because I like her soft body writhing in pleasure beneath me. I like the power I have over her, and I live for the prospect of making her beg me for her goodbye. I murder them with my love.
With my cock buried in her soft cunt, I keep going until I know she has enjoyed it. I fuck her a few more times before the night makes me tired. I order us food, knowing she is starving. I feed her belly and that hope, the same hope that will be crushed if she has to go back. When her belly is full and she sits on my lap with my hand stroking her hair, she is calm and the fear is gone. I do what I always do best. Dangle the hope in front of them.
“When they beat you and rape you, what do you wish for?” I know the answer, as it is always the same.
“To die.” She answers truthfully, because I have lulled her into a place of trust and false hope.
“I can give you that, or I can send you back to Pavel.” There it is, the choice of hell on earth or hell.
“Let me die, please! Don’t send me back. I knew you were him. I knew it! Let me die, kill me. Kill me now, but don’t send me back.” Her pleas become desperate sobs. Stop talking! Please, stop talking. I cannot bear any more noise today.
Her talking has made my body react again and I need to get rid of the raging hard-on her fucking whispers have caused again. I put a finger over her lips to quiet her and nod. They always give up. Tomorrow she will fill a bed.
I am not the worst thing that can happen to you, but I will be the last.
Caesar
Part of the whole.
After many years of trial and error and a wake of useless dead bodies, we know the best way to get them exactly where we need them to be. If you buy an organ on the red market it is not going to be a healthy, fit person who gave it up. It’s an urchin that has been used and abused by themselves and others. You never know what you are going to get and I really don't care. I save your life, but sometimes it’s not what it seems.
I let the girl lie next to me for the night. I know she doesn’t sleep much because she has to choose to suffer and live or to die and never hurt again. I have no problem sleeping at night as I am not conflicted, confused or troubled. I am who I am and I own it. I am able to sleep for six hours despite her constant tossing beside me, and when her shuddering from the cold wakes me in the early hours of the morning, I instinctively pull her into me. Her bony body stills next to mine, waiting for the horrors that should follow. They won’t come from me; the horrors that I have are silent, quiet and unseen. She won’t feel her death, but she can feel me taking her body in ways that she isn’t used to. There is little point to sex if you don’t both enjoy it, so I don’t understand the need to beat or hurt a girl to get off. I like them to feel good, because if they feel good I feel even better. She relaxes into me as I take her from behind, my slow rhythm making her breaths hot and needy, like the way she arches into me as we both get the release we were seeking. I don’t need sex for the connection. I need it to set the demons of my mind free, as it quiets my voices. The incessant din inside my mind where I hear the voices of a thousand goodbyes and the screams of those who I couldn’t save from the demons of Hunts Point. Sound is the one thing that can hurt me. I need quiet, and I crave silence. I have tried earplugs. I soundproofed my home, but somehow the voices always get inside. Soft, sweet, beautiful voices are the devil in my mind that drives me to do bad things.
I leave her spent and satisfied in my bed so I can go and shower for the day that lies ahead of me. The hot water warms my now cold body and eases the tension in my shoulders for a few moments. I let the water flow over me for as long as it stays warm, and when it turns cold, I get out and dress myself. I have a hard time sliding my dark jeans up my still wet legs; the dark black polo shirt takes less effort. Once I am dressed and my teeth and hair are brushed, I fetch the zip locked bag from the cardboard box in my room. It contains a razor, toothbrush and a simple ladies’ dress and a pair of flip flops. They are all identical and I keep them here so it is easy to get the girls ready to leave when it’s time.
“Go shower and clean yourself. When you are done we will go set you free, armorcito.” Her eyes twinkle with hope as she slides from my bed and scurries to the bathroom. I take the time to go through the emails and messages on my phone while I have my morning smoke or three. When she emerges, she looks almost human. The knitted dress hangs on her skinny body, and I am again angered at the condition of Pavel’s girls as it just keeps getting worse. I don’t have this problem with the others but that dirty fucking Russian. I am going to go pay him a visit later today. I need a kidney and he has a match for me. I hate these kinds of jobs where it’s just not worth them dying and I have to take what I need and let them go; it’s so much fucking work. I see that some new boy on Pavel’s list is a match and maybe this will scare him enough to run before he is sucked into the vortex of scum and shit that surrounds the Russian.
I don’t offer the girl a smoke, even though I can see her begging with her eyes. It’s time to start filtering the shit out of her body so I can use it.
“Let’s go, armorcito,” I stand up and grab my leather coat from the hook by my door. The little shadow follows me in her dress and flip flops. My van is parked in front of the building and I help her inside. The dinosaur of a car sputters to life reluctantly in the morning cold.
I drive the short distance south to my place of business. Those who know me call it the butchery. Those who don’t see it for what it is on the surface, a medical waste processing facility. I park around back in the staff lot and open the passenger door for her to exit. I see the hesitation flash over her face. I hold out my hand to her, the innocent unthreatening contact relaxing her and she slides out of the car, landing on the asphalt below. The next part is no fun, I don’t do it. I don’t even watch anymore. We enter through the heavy metal doors and are met by a smiling Mateo. I let him live in the small loft space upstairs. He is too full of shit to pay rent and keeps getting evicted and this way he is on call all the time. He has strange tastes and unusual habits that draw attention out in the world, and here he can hide away.
“Hello, pretty,” he croons at her. Her instinct for bad things makes her cling to me a little tighter and she hides herself behind my back. My nephew is all kinds of fucked up and her instincts would be right if they mattered, but now she is just a number. The second the door closed behind us, she lost the last of her identity.
“Mateo is going to take you now, armorcito. He will take care of you.” I talk to him, but my eyes convey a message to my nephew. No fucking around you little shit. Just do your job. He nods and takes her hand from mine. Her eyes latch onto me and they are full of questions. “It’s this, or go back to Pavel?” I answer her unspoken words. She turns to walk with Mateo. Defeated by life, she gives up so easily - it’s like stealing from a baby.
They will go to the processing room where she will be disinfected from head to toe, examined by a doctor for any obvious diseases. They will take blood and tissue samples and a bone marrow biopsy. Mateo will hold her down when she kicks and screams and bites and he will hit her if she tries too hard. Then she will be given a drink that will let her drift off to sleep. Once she sleeps, she will be put in a bed, connected to a set of monitors and put into an induced coma of sorts; a minimally conscious state, as they call it. Feeding tubes and an IV will keep her alive until we are ready for her to say goodbye. I hate watching them be processed; the stripping of their humanity to become spare parts is brutal. They always talk and fucking cry. I would go insane from the noise.
The Goodbye Man (Red Market #1) Page 4