Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Noticing all of them in high heels, I walk to the shelves with the shoes and grab a pair that has my correct size on it.
The woman who was so hateful to me laughs when she sees what I have in my hands, but what the hell do I know about shoes? I've been a t-shirt and jeans type of girl all my life. Dressing up for me is a nice shirt and a pair of jeans without manufactured holes in it.
I curse all the times I ignored Morgan when she tried to make me more feminine. Paying more attention to her would probably help me a ton right now.
When the second group of women comes back into the room, I follow the hateful woman and the others toward the door, concentrating very hard not to sprain an ankle or break my neck.
My concentration doesn't hold out very long and I make my grand entrance into the room, wobbling and reaching out for anything I can grab onto to keep from eating the concrete floor.
The woman in front of me helpfully steps aside, giving my body momentum and the full ability to sprawl out on the floor, like a baby fawn learning how to walk for the first time.
Chapter 9
Heathen
My gut twists, knotting up inside of me, as I watch the group of women parade through the door, each one lining up perfectly over the small dots on the floor without even having to look, as if they've done it a million times.
I know why I'm here, but if a SWAT team raided this place right now, what would I even be able to tell them? I feel like scum just sitting here and witnessing this display.
Disgust eats away at me as I look at each of their smiling faces.
The one on the end winks at me, as if we share a secret, and I have to look away, bile threatening its way up the back of my throat. I swallow against the burn and keep my eyes moving, as if I'm legitimately here to find a subservient wife willing to give me anything I command of her.
What have they been promised to be in this situation?
Usually, these places have contracts, but it's always more than a piece of paper that keeps them compliant. More often than not, legal documents and visas are held prisoner until they satisfy some sort of obligation created by the person running the show. Even if they satisfy the initial agreement, the marker is always being moved, making it just out of reach, no matter how many times they meet the goals set by others.
It's heartbreaking to me to see the smiles, the overdone makeup, the way each of them puffs up their chest when I move my eyes to them.
Not one smile reaches their eyes, but at least they have no visible bruises in the slinky dresses they're all wearing.
"You like?" Edmon asks, angling his head toward the line of women.
I know it would be suspicious to just send them out and ask for more, so I stand and walk around them, looking at them without actually looking at them.
"I'm not really into blondes," I mutter as I look down the line and attack their one common feature.
"Her hair is dyed," Edmon says, pointing to one in the middle, and I almost chuckle at the rage in her eyes at being singled out in a less-than-complimentary way.
"Do you have more?" I ask, needing to get this damn thing going.
I don't even know if it's possible that they would have Kaylee out in the line so soon. Since I saw her the other day, I don't want to think about what a woman would go through in order to become compliant so quickly. She didn't seem like the type of person to toe the line with a smile on her face.
With a wave of his hand, the women turn and begin walking toward the door they entered the room through.
"Ask for Keesa," the one who winked at me urges before she leaves the room.
I walk back to the sofa and take a seat, doing my best to look bored with the offerings. But the entire time, I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to get all these women out of there, while also considering the repercussions of doing so.
The door opens once again and another group of women come out, each one with smiles that don't reach their eyes.
Once again, I can't see any bruises or evidence of physical harm, but that doesn't mean they haven't been hurt either.
Kaylee is not in the lineup, and I have to go through the same stupid process of walking around them as if analyzing each of them before I ask for more.
"You're a hard man to please," Edmon says, and I can recognize the annoyance in his tone, making me wonder if most dirty bastards come in and pick from the first group.