Prologue
Las Vegas
The Strip
Two weeks Ago…
N o one would notice if she were gone. If she just disappeared from the world, no one would even miss her, and that’s what made this all perfect. She would be off the street in one minute, and in the hands of the buyer by the following week.
She would be cleaned up.
Promised a life.
And trained.
Then, when she was perfectly groomed, ready and able, she’d be someone’s wildest fantasy.
Middle Eastern men.
Russian gangsters.
Men who liked them young.
Men who had to hurt women to get off.
The clientele possibilities were endless.
To them, it didn’t matter where she came from, but that they could pick up a phone and have a girl delivered to their door. That was what gave them power in Vegas.
They had a specialty, and they provided the pedaled flesh in ‘Sin City’.
How apropos?
It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it, and they were the ones to make a name for themselves in the seedy underbelly of that town.
They were damn good at it too.
In the city that never slept, there was a need for fresh, young women—all day and night.
That sweet piece of ass was a commodity, and they’d dialed in to the perfect source.
They’d hit the mother lode.
Vegas was the best city in the country if you were looking for some nubile flesh.
These girls knew no bounds. They were willing to do whatever they were asked if given a little booze, cash, and drugs.
They would open their legs for any man.
They would do anything to survive the streets.
That’s why, after working in New York and Houston, they’d made Vegas their home base. It was a city built on the working girl’s body.
Sex sold in Vegas, at the bunny ranches, in the private transactions between the madams and their clientele, and now with their high-end clients.
It was all good in Vegas.
Well, as long as you weren’t the one being bought and sold. Their expiry date was short, as they’d all come to see.
The women they found were bought, sold, and used up. Most never came back. Most found their way into dumpsters, crack houses, and the city morgue.
That was life.
And death.
It wasn’t their fault. When the johns paid, they bought the full service.
Snuff films.
Sex orgies.
Daddies who liked little girls.
It took all kinds to make the world go around, and they were locked into the sleaziest clientele.
It was perfect.
Then, it started going downhill.
At some point, word spread, and it became harder and harder to find willing girls. These weren’t your normal hookers. When they would go to a buyer, they soon began to realize that they weren’t coming back.
It got harder.
So, no longer were they looking for women to work for them. These girls had to be taken.
It began with tricks, continued with drug addiction, and then off to the men who used them up.
No one liked the words ‘sex slave’, but it happened in Vegas. Trafficking of fresh, nubile flesh was a big market, and they were at the top of the list for supplying the girls.
And they did it with a smile.
The repeat clientele gave them a reputation, and they had earned it. They’d transported, hooked up with pimps for any ‘special’ girls, and then they got them to the training expert.
He was a sick fuck.
He’d let so many people use them, that they were conditioned to perform. They were nothing more than little girls locked in cages, but when the client pulled them out, they were whores with a purpose.
It was dark.
It was evil.
It was a money-making gold mine.
They were living large, and that was a beautiful thing. Everyone knew money talked, but in Vegas, it bought the finer things.
It was good to be powerful.
When the sun came up, the world was a sunny place, but at night, when it was dark, dirty, and dingy, the cheap motels lit up with deviants from every walk of life—they were on the speed dial.
They came to them, begging for a taste of their goods.
The deviants would peek their heads out of the shadows and have incredibly eclectic tastes.
Take the latest buyer.
He wanted young pussy.
She had to be blonde, she had to be under eighteen, and she had to fight like a hell cat.
That’s not easy to find.
Specialties like that were…pricey.
If they were going to pick off the menu, they were going to have to pay a premium. Their Russian gentleman was their best client. He bought, used, and was a return customer.
He’d just put in that order, and it was time to make it happen.
While their buyer waited, they were going to make sure he got what he wanted. With the money being dropped, there could be no mistakes.
So, they began searching.
Finding the perfect girl was a science. You just couldn’t grab anyone and try to pass them off as quality.
So, they hit the clubs.
One by one, they would weed through the prospects to find the perfect girl.
It took days.
Weeks.
Sometimes, months.
Their clientele was patient, and this man didn’t mind the wait. He wanted perfection, and he wanted it to be a right fit.
So, they stalked the women out of the ‘Titty Corral’. They had questionable strippers, and they didn’t follow the rules. Luckily for them, the pimp hanging out there, who they had worked with often, had some fine fillies in his stable.
They saw her.
She was a child.
She was perfect.
The deal was made.
The young girl was handed over with the promise of her being ‘used’ for a few nights.
All was well.
As they got her into the car, they asked her if she wanted to make so much money she could retire.
That piqued her interest.
Then they gave her water.
Tainted water.
It had enough drugs to knock her on her ass for a week.
That was what they needed to subdue her. They couldn’t risk her getting away, telling the police or her pimp.
They needed her malleable, moldable, and ready to learn for her new life. She was going to the rich Russian, and she was going to be his toy.
When they took the picture, and sent it off, she was drugged, naked, and being trained.
Immediately, he fell in love.
She was blonde.
Young.
And not long on the street.
She was their perfect candidate, and he wanted her for his own.
The deal was done.
The money traded hands.
Only, there was one problem.
The pimp.
It was time to tie up loose ends.
Sitting in the dark alley, the snoozing treasure in their trunk, they waited for him to start his walk home. As he headed out, taking his pimp stroll home, it was time.
He’d made his money, and now he was going to leave this world. He was no longer of any use, and that meant he had to go.
Besides, would Vegas really miss one more pimp? They were a dime a dozen.
So, it began.
The headlights flashed on, the engine raced, and there was the squeal of tires. Before the pimp even knew what hit him, he was dead.
His body met the front of the car, and he flew over the hood, slamming into the metal dumpster. The sick thud told the tale.
They didn’t look back.
They didn’t slow down.
All they did was head back to the training area. It was time to see what this little girl could do.
Oh, the irony.
If only the pimp knew.
In a couple hours, she’d be going ‘home’. She had a new daddy now, and he was going to rock her world.
Or whatever.
She was only flesh. It didn’t matter.
When the money was paid, and the goods delivered, they had fulfilled the contract. That was what mattered most.
The sex trade was a dirty business, but tonight, they’d given their client what he wanted.
Young.
Sexy.
His.
That’s all that mattered, and the best part?
No one would notice her missing. They never did. What was one more slut on the street, passed off to a foreign gentleman who wanted to use her up?
Nothing to them.
Nothing to anyone.
And that was the beauty of it all.
They were the forgotten.
And no one would ever look for them.
Because they were lost to the night.
* * * G r e y s o n C r o f t * * *
Two Weeks
Later
She had to find her.
She’d made a promise to her little sister that she’d never stop looking for her—no matter what.
When they were separated in the foster care system, she vowed that one day, she’d get her back and they’d have a nice home together.
They’d be a family, and they’d have each other to love. Nothing else would matter, and that was her focus.
She had made that promise, and she was going to keep it despite the odds being against her.
She had to do it.
What were you if you couldn’t keep your word to family?
You were nothing.
Vegas had swallowed her kid sister whole, and it was up to her to dig and find a way to pull her out of the belly of the beast.
She’d do anything for her.
ANYTHING.
Yes, her mother gave them up, tossing them away when her drug habit became far too important. All the while, allowing her disgusting boyfriend to take liberties with both of her daughters to supply her habit.
That was then.
This was now.
She wasn’t that scared girl anymore.
She was stronger.
She was a fighter.
She was going to find her sister, and she was going to bring her home. She only knew the name of the madam she last worked for, but she was getting closer.
She chased her sister from New York to Vegas. She followed every clue, asked questions, and hid in plain sight. She took jobs, talked to the homeless, questioned hookers, and lived her life on the seedy side.
She had to do it!
Someone had to care that she was missing.
Someone had to try.
She’d take jobs, squirreling away every penny until she had enough to work on her sister’s case. She’d bribe street criminals, she’d flirt her way through the men who thought she was easy—just to find her, but it wasn’t working. She’d become desperate. She’d even sleep with someone to get that next clue.
This was her drug.
This was her obsession.
And…
She was losing hope.
As she tried to figure out a way, she was out of options.
To her, there was only one left, and she knew she needed to do it. She didn’t want to go to the madam that had sent out her sister, but she would. She’d pretend to be that person if it meant saving her sister.
What choice did she have?
None.
When you loved someone, you fought for them tooth and nail, and she loved her sister. They weren’t close in age, but they were both fighting their pasts.
She chose not to get lost in it, and her sister…she chose to run to the streets. She thought it would be better. Foster homes sucked.
The men were creepy.
The women mean.
She didn’t want to know what happened to her sister every night when their foster mother went to bed. She already knew. The men of the house always liked the girls.
Always.
It had happened to her too.
To these families, they were disposable, they were nothing, and people tossed them on a whim. They were a paycheck, nothing more than extra money in their pockets—meanwhile the kids were dropped off with all their worldly possessions in a trash bag.
It was a continual horror story.
The five foster homes that deemed her unfit, kept tossing her back, ignoring her pleas for help.
The one family that she really liked…
They tossed her too.
For some people, there was no happily ever after. For some kids, they were meant to be nobody, and that sucked, but she’d come to grips with it so long ago.
She would make up her own world. She’d build her own fantasy out of a shit life that no one deserved.
All she wanted to do was find her sister, get the hell out of that city, and never go back.
Vegas was a horrible place.
She wanted to get away from it as fast as she could. The city sucked you in, and you couldn’t escape. There was no way in hell she’d stick around.
There was nothing there for her.
Once she found her sister, they were getting out of there. She wanted a normal life, a happy little chunk of the world to call her own, and she was going to get it.
There would be a porch swing.
A cat in the window.
Sunny curtains she’d made herself.
Vegas was neon and shit, and she couldn’t wait to escape it.
As she headed down the street to her last possible solution, she wanted to weep.
It was never going to end.
She was never going to find her.
Hope was gone.
Vegas and its inhabitants had sucked her soul dry.
And she wasn’t surprised.
God help the next man.
She was all used up.
* * * G r e y s o n C r o f t * * *
He used her up.
She was perfect.
With her tiny little body, and how she screamed and begged, he couldn’t be happier. She was perfection as he tied her down, used her body, and played with her like a toy.
She lasted almost two weeks with him, and that was delicious. He’d raped her so many times, and still, she fought.
It was a testament to her tenacity, and he was impressed. Not many would have tolerated his sick tendencies and fetishes.
They had to be young.
The younger the better.
They had to be pretty.
He loved to destroy beauty.
They had to be trained.
She had to tolerate all kinds of kinky sex.
She’d met all his criteria, and he was pleased.
While she wept in the other room, after their voracious sex, he found himself smiling.
She was feisty.
She was a fighter.
Now she was broken.
While he’d use her one more time, the appeal…it was gone. While he’d been with her, he thought she might last a very long time. She tolerated his biting, the burning, the cutting, and most importantly, the way he fucked her until she cried.
Then, she gave up.
That spark died.
It disappeared.
Between destroying her body and mind, she’d found that secret place to escape to and hide, and he couldn’t—despite trying—lure her out.
She was done.
Pulling out his phone, he made a call. He reached out to them for one more girl.
“I need someone stronger,” he said. “This one was amazing, but she couldn’t handle me.”
“What happened?”
“She’s not the one. Don’t get me wrong, she was delightful, and I enjoyed her, but she’s given up. I need one with an unbreakable spirit. They are the best ones. I want one who is defiant, who will fight me, but I can still take. I need her to be pretty, but tough as nails.”
“That’s a tough order. The one we found you was a lucky break. I don’t know if we can find another. Maybe you should go older. They tend to…”
He cut the person on the phone off.
“NO! If I wanted old, any street slut would do. My fantasy needs something more. I need them to be young. I don’t care about the hair color or anything else, but I want a child.”
And here was where it got hard.
“I can’t promise…”
“I want what I want. I don’t care if you have to find her in a year. Keep sending me samples. I’ll keep paying. You have to have more,” he hissed.
“You aren’t our only client. I can’t give you every girl. There isn’t an endless supply.”
He didn’t care.
“If you don’t give me what I want, you’ll be shocked to find the cops asking you questions. While you don’t know me, I know you.”
“Are you threatening me?”
He laughed.
Yes, yes, he was.
“Are you cutting me off? I pay you top dollar for pussy. Now, find me a girl who won’t be crying in a week. I need one who can take pain, who likes being my whore, and who I can mark up.”
There was a pause.
“We may have one.”
“Is she young?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes.”
He was pleased. “Then I’ll meet you at the customary spot. I’ll bring cash, and since you didn’t make me wait, I’ll add a little something extra for your trouble.”
He hung up.
Pulling on his rubber gloves, he grabbed the bucket of bleach. It was time to clean up after himself, inside and out. He wouldn’t leave a trace.
She’d be pristine when he gave her back.
Only, she wouldn’t be alive.
No.
He didn’t share his toys, and this one…she was beyond repair. They didn’t make things the way they used to.
Women…they were so…fragile.
He needed these distractions as he planned the destruction coming to Vegas. He had plans.
Only, he needed to calm his mind.
The next one would be better.
He had to have hope.
After all, this was Vegas.
Here, the city never slept, and neither did the debauchery.
Thankfully.
* * * G r e y s o n C r o f t * * *
Director Robert Lee’s
Office
The city was a mess.
The sex ring his people were working on was going nowhere. They couldn’t seem to find anyone. All of his agents, as they went out, were struggling.
It was as if Vegas was blocking them.
The more questions they asked, the more lies they were handed back.
He was in a tricky predicament.
Did he call his boss and ask for assistance or did he give it a little more time?
This had been a mess he’d inherited with the job from Greyson Croft. Since then, it had spiraled out of control.
He honestly wasn’t sure what was going on.
Was Croft behind it?
Was he running this too?
He wasn’t sure.
No matter what he did, sending out wave after wave of agents, they couldn’t find anything to tie anyone to the investigation.
It made him think of the man.
They couldn’t pin any murders on him either.
They couldn’t figure out if he was crooked or not. With each attempt to take him down, they were met with his lawyer.
She was a pain in his ass.
He had a file on her too, and she loved to make cops suffer. She was a bitch on wheels, and no one could get past her to the Crofts’ gate.
For now, they were ‘legally’ trying to obtain information by sitting outside their home.
It wasn’t working.
It was keeping him up at night.
Now, they were barely on the legal side of this case. Before long, they’d have to back off.
He saw it coming.
Pushing the intercom button, he called down to the front desk.
“Is the police commissioner here yet?” Robert asked.
The security hadn’t seen him.
“Well, when he arrives, send Commissioner Raye up. We have a lot to do.”
He stared out at the stars in the sky, and he knew one thing.
They were running out of time.
Vegas was about to blow up.