“But you won’t. He is richer than rich. Protected by his own. There are very few men in this town who haven’t pledged their allegiance to him and the gang.”
“You have to take me to him,” I begged.
Ramos laughed and shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand I’m going to lose the only woman I love if this guy is as evil as you say he is.”
Carlos leaned in close and dug his nails into my shoulder.
“I will show you the way but once the house comes into view you’re on your own,” he whispered. “But we have to leave now.”
~
I was certain Carlos’ car wouldn’t get us to the top of the hill. When it stalled for the third time, he gave up and pulled the keys out the ignition.
“We’re as good as here,” he said as he climbed out.
I walked round to his side of the car and followed his gaze up to the top of the hill. A gust of wind sent a small avalanche of dust and rocks toward our feet.
“What is this place?”
“Headquarters,” he said as he reached for his cigarettes.
He pulled them out his back pocket, squashed and misshapen.
“For the gang?”
He thought for a second as he stared off into the distance.
“You’re on your own now. It’s not far. Just a couple minutes.”
He pointed up the hill and I squinted to see better. From a distance, the villa grounds sprawled so far into the desert it looked like a fortified town. It wasn’t until I took a few steps around the bend that I saw just how big the house was behind the golden gates.
“Thanks, buddy.”
“Hope you find her.”
I turned round to shake the young boy’s hand but he was already climbing back into his car. He saluted me as he sped off and disappeared leaving me with nothing but the taste of grit and gravel between my teeth.
It was cold now and I was breaking out in a cool sweat beneath my shirt. I tugged at the collar and smoothed my hair back over my head. If everyone knew who I was already, it was pointless trying to stay incognito.
As I approached the gates, I could see the blacked out figure of a man with a gun, balaclava pulled over his head and his legs spread apart. He gripped his gun tighter as I neared then let his hands fall loose when he saw my face.
“Mister Bosworth?”
“That’s me.”
He pulled a radio out his pocket and spoke excitedly into it as it crackled. An even faster voice responded and a second later the gates were gliding open.
“You are here to meet Pinstripe?” asked a mouth behind the balaclava.
Pinstripe? I thought. Who the fuck’s called Pinstripe?
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Alright, man that’s awesome. He heard you were in town. Was gonna invite you up.”
“Of course he was.”
He led me through the gates down a long hallway lined with white, marble pillars.
Trash, I thought. All the money in the world and no class. I knew what I needed to about this Pinstripe bastard right away. He was a flashy gangster. A nobody who grew up to make money out of drugs and violence and loved to flaunt it.
The villa revealed itself to be more extravagant with every door that opened. Each surface was lined with gold and more marble. Every new room proving to be trashier than the last.
“He’s entertaining guests,” said the balaclava.
“Hey, any chance you could take that off?” I asked, pointing to it.
He shook his head.
“Boss’ orders.”
“I just wanna see who I’m looking at before I kill them.”
Before he could react, I launched an uppercut to his lower jaw. He staggered backward in shock, but not before I ripped his gun from his hands and fired two rounds right into his head.
“Bastard,” I spat over his dead body.
At the sound of the gunshot, footsteps came running at me from all directions. I spun round and saw more blacked out faces and more guns.
“Woah!” came a voice from the top of the stairs.
Only now, did I get my bearings and see where I was standing. At the foot of a spiral staircase, I stood in a grand hall littered with dazzling, crystal chandeliers and golden walls.
Disgusting, I thought. I should blow this place to pieces. Only in its destruction could it look truly beautiful.
My eyes were pulled back to the top of the stairs where a small figure dressed in red pushed out through his guards.
“Pinstripe?”
“Bosworth… It was only a matter of time before a man like you in my town would be in my company.”
He sauntered down the stairs, pulling at his lapels, impervious to the fact there was a dead body in his house.
“Although I was hoping it was under more, how do I say it,more amiable circumstances?”
He reached the foot of the stairs and paused for what I could only assume was dramatic effect. Stocky like a bull, his muscles bulged out from his suit sleeves. His skin was pockmarked but bronzed, his hair jet black but thinning. As he walked toward me, I noticed a scar down the site of his face.
He walked over to me beneath a cloud of throat-catching cologne. Only now could I see the white cowboy boots with gold stars studded around his toes. He rolled his sleeves up over his elbows, a gesture to show me his tattoos. More devils, some holding semi-automatic rifles, some with knives between their teeth. Some were women with voluptuous bodies and tails that coiled round their own necks. Some weren’t devils at all but young girls with hands around their throat, their limbs bound up beneath a tangle of ropes.
It was then that I looked at his hands and saw how strong they were. I didn’t need to be told they had killed before, it was obvious in the way he flexed them just for me, a warning that he knew what he was doing with them. What had he done to Etta with those hands?
“I think we need to talk,” he said.
“We do.”
He looked down at the body at my feet, taking care to not step into the blood.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Blood washes out of marble easily.”
He shrugged and nudged the body with his toe cap.
“He was good for nothing anyway. Young guy, no family, pain in the ass. Liked to drink more than work. You did me a favor.”
He bent down and pulled the balaclava off. A young face was staring back at us, younger than Carlos. His eyes were still wide open in fear. He was just a boy. A lump formed in my throat and my hands began to shake. I looked down and saw I was still clutching the gun I’d killed him with. It felt dirty.
“Mind if I?”
Pinstripe took it from me and slung it over his shoulder.
“Follow me,” he said before raising two fingers at his men.
Two guards trailed behind us, barrels of their guns facing the back of my head.
“You know why I’m here, don’t you?”
He pursed his lips in thought and pushed his way through a set of double doors that opened out into a long corridor. Art hung on the walls. No doubt this guy thought it was extravagant and priceless but I knew better. It was garbage just like everything else in the house.
I walked behind him, staring at the back of his sweaty neck, hating him, wanting him to drop dead on the spot.
“In here,” he said and twisted the golden handle of the last door. “You two, wait out here.”
The guards nodded.
I felt numb as I walked into his office, the first thing I’d seen to a normal functional room since I arrived. The furniture was modest, the décor muted and tasteful. This was private. This was where real work took place.
“Please, take a seat.”
I remained standing, my hands still shaking.
I looked behind me to make sure the guards were still out in the hall. I waited until the door glided to a close before I opened my mouth.
“Where is she?”
Pinstri
pe raised an eyebrow.
“She?”
“Etta. My girlfriend.”
My fiancée, I wanted to say.
Pinstripe frowned.
“Girlfriend?” he shrugged. “How should I know?”
He opened up his drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of cherry wine.
“No,” I said.
“Ah, I see you’re more of a scotch man. Or vodka perhaps.”
“I mean no. I’m not here to drink. This isn’t a social call.”
The line between his eyes deepened with confusion.
“There’s me thinking the great Lincoln Bosworth wanted to come along and grace a local businessman with his company. Guess I was wrong, huh.”
“Yes, wrong.”
He closed over the cabinet, opening up the bottle of wine with his teeth before taking a gulp and setting it down on his desk.
“I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” he said.
“No misunderstanding. You like girls, right? And money?”
He laughed and clapped his hands.
“Who doesn’t?”
I took a step forward but he didn’t budge. This was his territory and he thought he was safe. He crossed his arms across his chest and smirked.
“What’s going on here? Do we have some kind of problem?”
“You’re fucking right we have a problem. You’ve taken my girlfriend and what for, eh? For money?”
He waved his hands in front of him.
“Woah, no, no. I would never take a woman of such caliber. Would never dream of hurting a relation of the great Lincoln Bosworth. You’re a star, man. An idol. You’re like a god, someone who dragged themselves out the gutter to forge their way in life. You’re a real rags to riches story, man. Nothing but respect for you.”
His eyes were honest and open. You’d be forgiven for thinking he was actually telling the truth.
The gun was now resting on the desk. Just a few more steps and I could grab it but what was the point? He was probably packed with guns and knives stuffed into every pocket. I held my breath for a moment, not knowing what to do next. Another wrong word or a panicked movement could result in a hail of bullets.
“I’ve been told you have her,” I said. “People have said you trade in women.”
He cocked his head to the side and licked his lips.
“Who have you been listening to Mr Bosworth? Those tramps down in the village? Those old bastards who don’t know anything about me but love to sit around that bar down there talking, gossiping, making up lies about me to entertain themselves? Is that who you’ve been listening to?”
I wiped the nervous sweat from my forehead and tried to stop shaking.
“I don’t gossip,” I said. “But I need to find her.”
My voice broke as I struggled to stop myself crying.
“If you have her I’ll pay you whatever you want just to make sure she’s safe. Anything at all. Just tell me a number and it’s yours.”
He looked even more puzzled and scratched his head, his eyes growing wider by the second.
“That’s, erm, generous of you Bosworth but she’s not here.”
“Seriously, anything.”
I leaned forward toward the gun on his desk then maneuvered over it to reach for a notepad and pen. I handed them to him and he looked at me as though I was nuts.
“This is how this is going to work. I’m going to turn my back and you’re going to write a number on that piece of paper. Then I’m going to give you it and in two minutes time, you’ll be giving me back my girl. Understand?”
He shook his head.
“No, not really buddy. Like I said, she’s not here.”
I was sick of his games and turned round to face the wall.
“Just write a number!”
I waited for a second, listening out for the sound of his pen scratching the paper but it never came. All I heard was him sigh followed by the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.
“You better come with me,” he said. “Come…”
He opened the door and led me back out into the hall where the guards were waiting for us.
“Okay let’s take you downstairs.”
He pulled a key out from his pants and pushed it into the lock in the nearest door. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t the long winding staircase that dipped down into darkness.
“Come,” he said again, tugging at my shirt sleeve.
Dimly lit with cobwebs up the walls, it was a far cry from the rest of the house. The steps crumbled beneath my feet as I descended them, dust running down the walls as my fingers grazed their surface.
A smell began to drift over us the deeper we ventured into the building; human excrement, sweat, fear and the sour, metallic tang of iron scented blood. It was the same smell that I used to scrub from the floors of my old laboratory after I was finished with the girls from the Waters’ House.
“Please, follow me,” said Pinstripe.
I hadn’t noticed that I had frozen on the bottom step. He waved me on, eager to take me into the bowels of his house.
“Come.”
Another key was presented from his pocket, this one bigger than the last like something that would grant access to a long-forgotten, ancient crypt. I took one last look at the guards who were rolling their eyes with boredom. They no doubt took this route every day.
I walked on, following that ghastly red suit through a labyrinth of corridors lit with nothing but the occasional swinging lightbulb that flickered on and off every twenty feet or so.
The smell intensified until it was sticking to the back of my throat, coating my tongue and stinging my eyes.
“Fuck… What is this place?”
He was still smirking as he smoothed back his greasy hair.
“You’ll see.”
He pushed his shoulder against the last door and it creaked open. The smell grew worse. I pushed my arm across my mouth and held my breath.
“Jesus, fucking Christ.”
“Come inside,” said Pinstripe. “Maybe you’ll see something you like.”
He nodded to the guards and once again they waited outside as I was led inside. I coughed, choked up the last of the liquid that was in my stomach and leaned forward, retching into the dust as tears streamed my face.
“What?” laughed Pinstripe. “You never seen a store like this before?”
I wiped my eyes and looked up.
There were girls.
Dozens of them.
All chained to the walls.
Some were crying while others lacked the capability to even muster tears. A wailing sound permeated the entire room. It was stronger than the smell, even more distressing that the sight of the girls.
“No girlfriend but…”
Pinstripe winked.
“But maybe you find something you like.”
I glowered at him then ran my eyes over the rows of girls. Beside me, a young blonde woman with piercing blue eyes was gazing up at me, the only person in her line that was conscious.
Crouching down beside her, I held her head in my hands.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” she gasped.
I could place her clipped accent to the east coast. She was the type of girl you’d seen in the local mall sipping a milkshake and giggling with her friends.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was traveling with friends. We were on spring break when I met a guy. He said he wanted to take my picture. Said he’d pay me a thousand dollars but…”
“Okay she’s a nice girl, right,” interrupted Pinstripe.
He clapped his hands and stood in between us.
“Maybe I can write a number down on this piece of paper just for her.”
I took one last look around the room and stifled the need to be sick. There was only one thing I wanted to do but I needed to be quick and silent.
“What do you think?” asked Pinstripe.
&nbs
p; I answered him with a punch to the chest. There was only one square inch on his body I needed to strike, only one place that would kill him just the way I wanted.
My knuckle dug into his chest, cracking the bones in my hand. As soon as I struck him he fell into a spasm, his body flailing on the floor.
“Fuck!” he cried out, clutching at his chest. “What have you done?”
He screamed, his face turning as red as his suit.
“Help!Fucking help!”
His guards rushed in to find him on the floor.
“Quick!” I shouted as I dropped to my knees by his side. “He’s having a heart attack.”
His face grew blue and his lips purple. He dug his fingers into his chest one last time as his eyes rolled back in his head.
He lay dead with foam spewing from his mouth and his guards staring dumbstruck.
“What happened?” one of them asked as he ripped off his balaclava.
“He was just talking and then… then… then he had a heart attack.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked to his colleague.
“Always knew the blow would kill him that way,” he said.
But only I knew that wasn’t the case. Commotiocordis, a heart attack brought on by a punch to the heart. It worked like a charm every time.
Mad Love Science
Jewels And Panties Series
Book Thirteen
Brooke Kinsley
© 2017 All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses per law
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
"Erotica is literature designed to be read with one hand...”-Brooke Kinsley
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Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series Page 60