BACK WHEN LIFE was good, Marcus had a system. It had been designed by his head of security, Thorat, after one of Marcus’s “dates” had called the cops and complained of rape. A prostitute, complaining of rape. It was laughable. Thorat had padded the pockets of the cops who arrived to take a report, and the police report and girl were never heard of again, a problem taken care of by his ex–Special Forces employee. After that mishap, Thorat took control. Used his considerable knowledge and corrupted intelligence to devise their system, one where Thorat provided the girls and disposed of them afterward. Marcus simply had to show up and enjoy himself. It kept his hands clean and his world simple.
Marcus would wait at the marsh cottage, the thousand-foot structure that was his personal fuck den. Have his time with the girls, take as long as he needed, get his fill, enough to last a few months, possibly even a year. They’d struggle. The more hours that passed, the more the drugs wore off, the more they fought. Some more than others. The worst were the ones who failed to break. He’d only had one, a girl seven years ago. That girl hadn’t made it through alive, was the one black mark on his record. He didn’t like that ending—all the work of a fight without the reward of them yielding and pliable. The rest of the girls had all ended up there; he’d broken them, he’d won. It was what he was: a winner. Always had been, always would be. And the girls had each learned that. From his fists. From his belt. From his cock. They’d all eventually quieted down. Begged. Offered him anything and everything, then given him even more.
He’d take his fill and leave. The longest session had been seven hours, shortest was two. He’d leave and Thorat would return. Give the girl a dose of forget-me and then dump them on the street. The ending the whores deserved. The lucky ones woke up and found their own way home with no clear memory of what had happened. The unlucky ones got found by someone else. Someone different than Marcus but after the same thing. The countless other breeds of animals that roamed these streets.
Thorat’s system worked. It had been well planned, weaknesses examined, kinks worked out. Gave Thorat job security and the chance to exercise his old skills. Gave Marcus the fix he needed without the risk. And he hadn’t been greedy, had regulated himself. Made each experience last, holding him over for months, even years, at a time. He and Thorat had had fourteen perfect exchanges over the course of ten years. Katie McLaughlin had been the bitch who brought the system down.