Hey everyone; the rest of the story is truly going to pivot off of this chapter, so you won't want to miss it! I promise you; the story is only going to heat up from here. Thank you guys so much for sticking with the story thus far; your patience will certainly be rewarded.
I love the critiques you guys send; Chapter 2 had a few dedicated readers comment about the immediate fate of the freed women from the auction house. It was a detail that I didn't even think of! I'm not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that you guys are helping me to hone my beloved craft. Keep it up, mis amigos! Whether it's via comments or private feedback emails, I love hearing from all of you. Drop me a line sometime!
As always; this is purely fiction. Consent is necessary. Obey the law. But hey, you savvy folks already knew that...
It was a Tuesday night at Feminine Imports, and Steve had felt accomplished. The previous night was another office sleep-in for him, though it was well worth it. He stayed up for nearly 19 hours straight assembling new financial projections; this time factoring out the Norlangarth Auction House account. He stopped only to put out a metaphorical fire with the business, then he went right back to his office to assemble new projections. As much as he didn't want to seem desperate for capital, the reality was looming; he was facing pressure from the market to expand, lest he lose his grip.
However, Steve managed to assemble new projections and he fired them off to Red Valley as the sun had started to set. He took a look around and exhaled; a brief moment of victory. There were no last-minute orders, no driver distress calls, no more meetings with clients to call into.
Do I
Steve started to think to himself
actually get to sleep in my own fucking bed tonight?
The thought filled him with glee. Before he became an entrepreneur, he never thought that this would be something that he'd look forward to. Steve locked up his office and whistled as he trotted down the stairs. His three drivers and Carlos had long gone home for the day, and Steve took the once-over on the company premise to ensure that everything-and in the case of the slaves to be transported the next day, every one- was properly locked up.
Satisfied that the business was secure for the night, he jumped in his compact car and drove home as dusk settled. Steve pulled his car into the driveway and once inside his home, he locked his front door and wedged a doorstop underneath the crevice of the door.
Can never be too careful
Steve thought to himself.
Steve opened his freezer and pondered which of the frozen pre-portioned meals he should eat. Given the long days that he spent at his office, meals he prepped on Sundays typically sat in his freezer for longer than a week. Steve was glad that he finally had a change-of-pace; something besides chemical-laden burritos for once.
Chicken, broccoli and brown rice? Or ground turkey and sweet potatoes?
Steve deliberated before opting with the latter.
He popped the frozen meal into his microwave at home and set the timer for five minutes. He stretched for a moment, reaching for the ceiling, and turned his head to crack the kinks out of his neck. The rear door of his house came into focus for a brief second.
Oh yeah, nearly forgot about you
Steve thought. He grabbed another doorstop from his drawer and wedged it into the crevice of the door after turning the deadbolt.
Can't be too careful.
Steve changed out of his work clothes and into a humble pair of baggy shorts from his old high school days. He exhaled as he savored the moment; a peaceful night at home. As much as he loved his company, it felt nice to have a break from the constant motion that being an entrepreneur entailed.
After devouring his dinner and a pint of his favorite lager, Steve perched himself on his bed and opted to spend the last thirty minutes of his night by reading a cheesy spy novel that he was invested in, though rarely had time to actually read. By 9:30pm, Steve opted to go lights-out. The Sandman grasped Steve in his clutches soon after Steve's head hit the pillow. Another welcome change...
RAE
Rae and her crew departed from the safehouse under the cover of darkness; half-past midnight. Just like with the attack on Norlangarth, they opted to take different routes on their way to Steven Sharper's dwelling. The women all dismounted their dirt bikes a half-block away from Steve's home, and had opted to walk the rest of the way there. At 12:45am, they had arrived; the house matching what Google Earth had portrayed. Rae lightly patted Kelly on the ass. Kelly shot back through her blackened visor with a nod.
Kelly ran ahead under the cover of darkness and had slowed her approached to the front door. She shed her backpack and had fished out her lock-picking kit. She went to work on the lock securing Steve's front door. Kelly met much more resistance than expected as her four co-conspirators stood in anticipation.
After two utterly nerve-wracking minutes, Kelly cracks the lock as evidenced by the doorknob turning fully. The busty Latina turned the knob and attempted to push the front door open, however the door wouldn't budge. Kelly started to push the door with all of her might, though the door didn't give way. Kelly took a step back and rammed into the door. Despite the noisy and ill-advised collision, the door still didn't move. The rest of the crew came over to the caramel lock-breaker.
"The fuck are you doing? You'll wake everyone up!" Crystal hissed through her visor.
"It's stuck! It won't move" the fun-sized Miami-native pleaded.
Crystal and Kelly traded nonsensical insults at each other on Steve's front porch. After a few tense moments, Rae violently grabbed a shoulder on both of them; her iron-grip conveying her anger.
STEVE
The loud collision startled him out of bed. Steve was ordinarily a heavy sleeper, though the chronic stress of owning his own business had changed that in recent years. Thus, the loud impact was enough to motivate him out of bed. The sound of a loud thud against a wooden door.
What the fuck was that?
Steve thought to himself, knowing that this was not something that could've been easily rationalized away.
Steve's mind had started to race with possible
what-ifs