Insurmountable

Scar Tissue

But, it wasn't that cheeky redhead that caught my attention. It was the willowy blonde in the middle. The girl with her hair falling over her face, struggling not to make eye contact. Struggling not to stand out. Not to be pulled aside or singled out. But everything about her made her stand out to me.

"You're first, Little Dove." I pulled her forward. "What's your name?"

"Alley." She lifted her blue-green eyes, peeking out from her long, bright lashes.

"Follow me to the infirmary." In this case, being chosen first was not the worst thing. We all knew what would happen as soon as I turned my back.

The guards and men lining the back wall smirked at us as we passed, waiting for their opportunity to pounce. You'd think that eventually they'd get enough. They'd get bored. Obviously, they hadn't seen as much as me. Done as much as me.

Even new girls were boring.

But then, I'd been involved in this world for as long as I could remember. That's a long time to develop tastes and get your fill.

* * *

It seemed like my days never ended, and unfortunately they blurred into weeks that also went on forever. I spent all day Monday processing the new girls and getting them settled with only a few minor incidents from my men. Tuesday through Thursday however, I'd spent twenty-four hours a day merely keeping my team out of trouble. An impossible feat without new girls floating around. And Friday only meant it'd get worse. We had a hundred and six girls and ninety customers booked in for the night, starting at seven when we opened the girls. New girls, new visitors, and a security team with libidos of sixteen-year-olds meant my life would be a living hell until morning.

And then I'd start the process all over again.

At eight thirty—after having already dealt with enough crises to last an entire week, I pushed open the security room door, hoping for a quick update assuring me that all was under control. "Dig, what's the..."

The room was empty. The room was never supposed to be empty, especially on a packed night.

Damn incompetent fools. Lazy bastards.

All they cared about was getting their rocks off. Having their cocks fluffed. If replacing a single person didn't involve jumping through so many damn loops, I'd replace them all in a fucking heartbeat.

I scanned the cameras. The lobby looked good. The grounds were fine. Every room. Every nook and cranny and foot of the yard. They're all monitored—at all times. More than two hundred cameras in the place that the security team are trusted to watch to protect our assets and our reputation.

In theory anyhow. Obviously a flaw had developed in the system.

Some dipshits just couldn't take it. They got all hot and bothered and wander off to find an available girl for a quickie.

I scanned the third floor rooms.

"Fuck," I yelled, slamming my hand down on the keyboard. The chair soared across the room, thumping against the back wall just as the door opened.

"Miles, I—" Dig stuttered. "I uh—"

"Shut up and call the team to room 329."

I bypassed the elevators—where any of the current customers would see me, and inevitably slow things up—and sprinted up three flights of stairs, ran down the, hallway and busted through the door of room 329.

The patron—a man I hadn't encountered directly before—was standing over Alley with his shoe in his hand wailing on her. He was so busy with the beating that he hadn't even noticed that I'd entered the room until I had my arm around his neck. I twisted, throwing him off balance, and slamming him face first into the opposite wall.

"What?" he growled through his clenched teeth. "You stick me with a useless piece of shit then come in here to fuck me over?"

His shoulder jerked, but he didn't stand a chance of throwing off a two hundred and forty pound, six-foot-nine man. "Don't even give me that. You don't rough up our girls and expect not to pay the price."

Finally, backup arrived and I shoved the bastard toward Dig and Keith. "Take him to see Ross. I'm sure he'll have some ideas for getting a handle on the situation. Probably by kicking the shit out of him and sending him back to town with a one-of-a-kind warning. Ross kept enough shit to blackmail anyone, and if he couldn't find anything legit, he created it. "And Dig, be sure to account for your whereabouts when Ross is done with him."

"Yes, sir," he mumbled.

Alley laid curled up on the floor.

"Little dove." I brushed back her hair to check her injuries. Her lip was busted and her right eyebrow bruised. The injuries I couldn't see were the most troubling. "Come on."

I lifted her up, but she kept her hands fisted tightly over her stomach and her eyes squeezed closed. "You'll be fine, Little dove."

When I laid her out on the exam table, her eyes opened, but she stared blankly across the room. "What happened?"

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

"Tell me," I coaxed, gently brushing her hair back. We only had a matter of time before Ross would finish up with the others and come in to pass judgment on her. "Just tell me."

"I don't know," she whispered.

Too many of our "partners" discouraged the girls from ever talking about the patrons, blaming anything that went wrong on the girl—no questions asked. "What did he ask you to do?"

"Nothing." Her voice shook. "He didn't ask for anything. Nothing. Nothing."

She cried, drawing her knees to her chest, and rolling to her side. "I'm sorry."

"Easy, Alley. Just tell me what happened. We have it on video, but I want your account."

"Why?"

If everyone else didn't get their jollies by fucking up the girls, my job would have been so much easier. They showed up thinking that everything I did or said was a fucking trap, and sometimes it took me months to get them to a point where I could work with them. I wasn't a softie, I just understood after years of experience that it was much easier for everyone if the girls worked with me, and for that, I needed some level of trust.

Unlike Ross, I didn't subscribe to the wasteful idea that every girl was replaceable. Technically it might have been true, but every replacement cost time and money. It didn't make business sense.

"I want to know what set him off," I whispered, squeezing her wrist. She shook, but didn't pull away.

"He took me to the room. I looked up waiting for him to tell me what he wanted, and he hit me. He said I was useless. That I couldn't give him what he needed, but he never...."

"Okay," I gently brushed back her long blonde hair to reveal her injured cheekbone. "I'm going to take off your nightgown so we can check your injuries. Can you sit up?"

She nodded, and with a little help, pulled herself up, so I could lift the nightie over her head. Her right hip and ribs were red, and she had a stripe across her collarbone.

"What hurts?"

Alley touched her side, then closed her eyes. "It's not that bad."

"We'll let the doctor make sure of that."

Her back straightened like I'd scolded her. "I don't need the doctor"—she swung her legs off the side of the bed—"I can go back to work."

I pushed her legs back onto the bed. She was holding on, but far too close to being broken. I wondered if it was already too late to pull her back. "No, Little Dove, that's not how we do things here. You'll get looked at and make sure you're all right."

She fidgeted and squirmed, so I helped her lie back down. "Sir, I feel dizzy."

"Lie back, Alley."