A Dagger Through Dimensions - Chapter 17
Worse than death
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Gordon Brewer - Author/Creator
Chapter 17
About thirty minutes later, Sally’s car pulled into a dusty parking area outside of a two-story house. There were a few cars already there, and she saw two men enter the front door.
“Come on,” Antonio said as he opened the door.
Sally remained in the car until the thug next to her pushed her out the open door. The gangster took her hand and squeezed hard.
“It’s in your interest to follow me,” he explained coldly.
He led her to the house while two of his men followed closely behind. When they stepped onto the porch, a skinny woman with too much makeup and wearing a worn dress opened the door. The smell of burned tobacco and booze drifted through the entrance.
“Oh, Mr. Antonio, it’s good to see you. Do you have a new girl for us?”
Antonio didn’t respond, only waved the woman away as he stepped inside the parlor area. Half a dozen women sat on two couches, each of them staring daggers at Sally. The women ranged in age, looks, and body types. All of them wore robes with their undergarments exposed underneath. Antonio took Sally by the arm and led them into the hallway and into a small room next to the kitchen. In the room was a leather day couch, cracked from age and use, sitting near one wall. Across from the couch, a desk filled with papers and empty gin and whiskey bottles sat in front of a window. Red velvet curtains, partially gray with dust, covered the window.
“This might become your new home when you cannot pay me tomorrow,” he pushed her to the couch before going to the desk chair.
The thugs following him closed the door, leaving Sally alone with their boss.
“As you can see, this is one of several brothels that I own. One of my options is to put your ass in this house and put you to work upstairs. Unfortunately, you’ll run out of looks long before you can repay what you owe me. Do I have your full attention?”
Sally nodded, her face pale at the implications of his threat. However, she realized that the man had something else in mind.
“Then you have another idea,” she replied. “Are you telling me this is the worst thing waiting for me?”
He frowned.
“No, your death is the worst thing waiting for you. Whoring a minimum of twenty clients a night is just a step above. I believe you won’t like either option unless you get smart.”
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