Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Could I put her to work straight away or would she require a gentler welcome than some of the more experienced employees I’d ‘hired’.
Reclining in the expensive ergonomic desk chair that caused back pain rather than cured it, I raked a hand through my sleek, dark hair. Saltwater and sunshine did its best to bleach the ebony, but it never quite managed. The best it could do was decorate the tips with an island bronze that pretended I had a heart somewhere beneath my ruthlessness.
I’d bought enough from this current dealer to know the stock came from all areas of the globe. Their favourite hunting grounds were backpackers and run-down restaurants in Mexico, but they also travelled abroad, taking their prey back to some secret facility where they held them until the noise of media and outrage of loved ones either became too hot to be a viable transaction or proved their selection wouldn’t be hugely missed.
Those who ended up on every media channel and lit a fire under police’s asses were released. Those who faded into obscurity were devoured by men like me.
Men with cash to purchase such things.
Things like souls.
I didn’t mind the ethics behind trafficking as long as the merchandise was humanely treated. In my opinion, the human race couldn’t have it both ways.
We couldn’t torture, eat, and abuse animals and think ourselves immune.
We couldn’t artificially and forcibly breed animals for consummation and not expect us to be above such treatment. A cow was raped, and its calf torn away and most likely slaughtered before it even had proper hide on its foetal body—all for the dairy industry to pump milk to a population who didn’t realise it was slowly murdering them with disease. Lambs were butchered when barely weaned for Sunday roasts. And chickens…shit, billions of those unfortunate feathered fiends were locked in cages, had their necks cut off and their carcasses filled with carcinogens to extend shelf life, only to be bought and tossed out after their expiration date without ever being eaten.
Wasteful.
Distasteful.
Gross.
If society allowed such barbarity to other sentient beings, why couldn’t I benefit from trading in fellow humans? After all, I provided them with a free-range existence—to a degree. I fed them the best food money could buy. They had medical treatment, pleasure time, freedom within my laws. All they had to do was provide a service.
We all had to provide a service.
From the newly born to the elderly. We were all slaves, ensuring the economy stayed afloat and not crumble into dust at our feet.
I was no different.
My goddesses were no different.
Traffickers and slavers and people captured and bound were no different.
The only difference between my girls and the girls working for some hotshot Wall Street exec was I offered free living, food, and healthcare. The poor girls on a pittance of a salary were one medical disaster away from destitution and bankruptcy.
In reality, my islands of temptation were fucking heaven compared to the rest of the fucked-up cesspit of a globe.
My goddesses should be thanking me.
And they did.
Once they get to know me.
Shoving away the anticipation of my latest purchase’s arrival, I returned to the facts and findings on a revised elixir my scientists had been working on. All those years I’d slogged in high-tech labs, the connections I’d cultivated, and persistence I’d nursed—it had all been worth it.
The numbers didn’t lie.
The potency was stronger than ever.
I hadn’t just founded utopia; I’d created ambrosia.
I fed my immortal goddesses the nectar of the gods, all so they could serve to their highest power.
What sort of monster would do that?
What sort of beast would ensure his conquests wanted to serve him?
Begged to serve him?
Who pleaded to stay…even when he set them free?
Chapter Five
THE HELICOPTER SWOOPED FROM azure sky to aquamarine ocean.
My stomach flipped at the sudden weightlessness, the sensation of skipping across air and gliding through invisible gravity.
The islands below scattered like coins spilled from a billionaire’s pocket. Some were smaller than a one-bedroom apartment. Others were large enough for a burst of palm trees to stand tall, dusted with rainbow-winged parrots.
Glittering golden, almost crystal sand winked from the bays of the larger atolls, while the tiny dots of land fought with the overwhelming turquoise-ness of the ocean to be seen.
The traveller’s blood inside me fizzed with amazement. The wanderer’s need to explore unseen places and walk untouched shores where others hadn’t gone before made me forget, just for a second, that I’d been brought here against my will.
A buffet of air punched the helicopter, wrenching it to the side as we hovered and continued to descend toward the capital H painted on a bamboo floating dock. Whitecaps appeared on the otherwise deathly calm sea, ferns frolicked in the updraft of the rotor blades and three men in white shorts and polo shirts waited with their hands clasped behind their backs, looking up at us.