Scar Tissue

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Miles

I never stood a chance.

Not once in my entire life did I ever know anything other than this.

Sex. Slaves. Drugs. Trafficking. Parties. Alcohol. Money. Extortion. Beatings. Blackmail. Pain.

And exquisite pleasure. Every fantasy at the snap of a finger.

"Miles," Gabe grunted my name as he pounded on my apartment door. I wanted to punch him in the face every time I heard his voice. Unfortunately, he worked for my security team—the most experienced dickhead I had. In more ways than one.

"New girls are here," he yelled.

New girls, or fresh meat as many of the men around the Retreat liked to call them. Everyone loves when the new girls show up. Clients, employees, especially the boss, Ross. I, however, dreaded the days when they showed up. The men went wild, and depending on where the girls came from, I could have a near crisis on my hands.

Our organization was made up of multiple sex trafficking rings and brothels around the world. Some were high-class establishments with money to throw around on the girls. Expensive costumes, elaborate facilities, and medical treatment for the women. Others were more questionable, using drugs and violence to subdue the women.

Punishments. Rewards. The scales could tip drastically in either direction.

I snapped my keys onto my belt loop and opened my apartment door, walking past Gabe without so much as a word. He was an asshole. Pure and simple. An asshole who didn't listen to jack shit. And I was the poor, unlucky fool strapped with being his boss.

Most days he was lucky I let him live.

We climbed aboard the elevator and I punched the button for the fifth floor—The Commons—where we processed all the new girls.

"You're in a mood today," Gabe said.

I didn't look at him. If I did, I might have punched his smug face in. I straightened the collar and cuffs of my shirt instead. "I'm not in a mood."

When we stepped off the elevator, twelve new girls were standing in the middle of the room; blondes, brunettes, red heads, and everything in between. I assessed them all within seconds of laying eyes on them. The bold girls, the timid girls, experienced, and unexperienced. It's always in their eyes, their posture, and their nervous twitches. They were all dressed in street clothes to make their transportation less suspicious.

"Take off your clothes," I said.

Some of the girls grinned as they pulled their shirts over their heads and dropped their bras to the floor. Others simply did as told, keeping their eyelids lowered. They all obeyed without hesitation.

Major perk of the job—looking at all the beautiful women.

"You'll all be examined by our doctor." I strolled past the line of women, checking them each out from head to foot. "He'll make sure your birth control is up to date and you're in good physical condition."

I circled around the last girl and walked up the backside, checking out their other assets. The redhead on the end, arched her back pressing her ass toward me as I passed. Then, she peeked over her shoulder and winked.

I knew she'd be trouble, but the patrons would fucking love her. A lot of the girls did anything they could to get their five seconds of recognition. They needed attention, Yearned for it. After all, attention was quite possibly the only thing they lived for.

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