A man stepped forward — one of the operators, mid-30s, scarred cheek, gray vest stained dark. He clapped once.
Thirty girls were led in from three side corridors.
They shuffled forward in a ragged line — all in different coloured identical mini dresses: thin straps, open backs laced with satin ribbons, skirts so short they barely covered anything. Ornate lace masks hid their upper faces, turning them into anonymous, trembling silhouettes. Some shook visibly; others held unnaturally still, chests rising and falling too fast under the clinging fabric. Bare legs, bare feet on cold concrete. No shoes. No jewelry. Just skin, fear, and the faint scent of perfume.
The scarred man raised his voice — loud, rehearsed.
"Anyone the masters choose! There are several rooms inside — take whoever you want. They're yours for the night. One night only. No repeats."
Filthy chuckles rippled through the back rows.
One enforcer muttered, "Look at those legs. Fuck."
Another: "Bet they're tight. Virgins, right?"
Lucas leaned forward, grin splitting wide and dirty, eyes raking over the line of masked girls like they were meat on display.
"Fuck me sideways — look at the one on the left. Tits practically spilling out of that little black rag. I'd rip those straps with my teeth and bury my face in 'em till she's sobbing for air."
Victor cracked his knuckles, voice low and thick with hunger.
"That redhead in the middle? Ass like a ripe peach. I'd bend her over this shitty chair right now, hike that skirt up, and pound her so hard the whole jungle hears her beg me to stop — then keep going till she can't walk straight."
Damon laughed — slow, dark, filthy — tongue flicking across his lower lip.
"Give me the one shaking like a leaf. Nothing hotter than breaking something terrified. I want her crying, whimpering, trying to crawl away while I pin her wrists and fuck her raw till she's dripping and ruined."
Leon tilted his head, smirk lazy but cruel.
"They all look ready to cry already. Perfect little virgins — tight, wet, screaming. I'll take my time… make 'em beg for mercy before I even start. Then make 'em beg for more when I'm balls-deep."
Ren smiled — slow, serpentine, gloved fingers flexing.
"I'll have the quiet one. The ones who try to stay silent always crack the loudest. I want to hear her choke on her own sobs while I choke her throat with my cock, make her gag till tears run down that pretty mask."
The air in the room thickened with their laughter — crude, wet, predatory.
The girls were already trembling knowing what was going to happen to them.
Kai sat motionless — gaze sharp, cutting across the line of girls like a blade. He said nothing.
Vernon usually never looked.
He kept his eyes on the floor, or the wall, or nothing — detached, mechanical.
But tonight something pulled.
He lifted his head.
And saw her.
Ira.
Second Row.
Third from the left.
Black dress clinging to every curve — thin straps digging into shoulders, open back exposing the elegant line of her spine, skirt riding high on thighs. Lace mask hiding her eyes, but he knew that face. That body. That tremble.
His heart slammed — once, hard, violent — like something caged inside him had finally broken free.
Panic flooded him — sudden, choking.
He stood.
Fast.
The chair scraped loudly.
Every head turned.
Before anyone could speak, Vernon crossed the room in four long strides.
He grabbed Ira — vicious, possessive — one arm hooking under her knees, the other clamping around her waist. She gasped, body jerking against him.
He threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
The girls trembled harder, some whimpering.
Staff froze — eyes wide.
Vernon didn't look at them.
He carried Ira — fast, relentless — toward the corridor of rooms.
She struggled weakly against his shoulder, breath hitching, hands pushing at his back.
He kicked open the nearest door — thud — stepped inside, slammed it shut, and locked it.
The sound echoed.
The room exploded.
Lucas: "Woah! What the fuck was that?!"
Victor laughed — shocked, delighted.
"When did he become so goddamn lustful?!"
Damon smirked.
"Bro couldn't hold it anymore. Look at him go!"
Leon: "I guess Saint Vernon is actually a lot more perverted than us — just doesn't show it!"
Ren chuckled darkly.
"First time I've seen him move that fast for pussy. That girl's lucky. "
The back rows roared with laughter — crude, hungry.
Kai's gaze sharpened — cold, piercing, suspicious.
-----
The door slammed shut with a heavy thud that echoed through the cracked concrete walls.
Vernon threw Ira onto the thin mattress. The bed creaked under her weight, springs groaning like old bones.
The moonlight poured through the open window like spilled mercury, cold and merciless, painting the cracked plaster walls in silver and deep shadow. The bed sagged in the middle — old springs groaning under invisible weight — mattress stained with gods-knew-what from nights before. Plaster peeled in long curling tongues from the ceiling; one chunk had already fallen and lay crumbled beside the iron headboard like pale ash.
From the window, one could see dark animal shadows moved in the trees — monkeys, perhaps, or something larger. A low growl rolled through the night, distant but close enough to raise the hairs on her arms. Insects droned. Somewhere far off, a bird screamed once and fell silent.
Ira hit the mattress hard when Vernon threw her down. The impact jolted through her spine, forced a sharp gasp from her lungs. She immediately scrambled backward on elbows and heels, the thin black dress riding up her thighs until lace-edged satin bunched uselessly at her hips. No panties. No bra. Just skin prickling in the humid night air and the obscene knowledge that every frantic breath made her nipples drag against the fabric.
Vernon stood at the foot of the bed.
His black wool suit — faint charcoal ravens embroidered across the chest — hung open, revealing the pale expanse of his torso. Moonlight carved every ridge of muscle, every old knife wound, every mark of violence into sharp relief. His long dark hair had come loose from its tie during the rush; strands fell forward, shadowing his face. His eyes — usually flat, emotionless — were bloodshot now, pupils blown wide with something raw and furious.
To be continued.....