“They’ll find out what it’s all about when they get married,” Mike said, shrugging. “Have a talk with them as a guy, though. I don’t want them getting so emotionally scarred they’re put off of sex for life. And who else is going to do it? The shooters?”
“Point,” Vanner admitted. “We also placed two mikes in the coffee shop, near his usual table, and I’ve, of course, got his cell phone wired.”
“If Adams ever shakes a leg, get him up to speed,” Mike said. “I’m going to go shopping.”
“Mr. Duncan,” Ahmed Pasha said, sitting down next to him. “A little early for Johnny Walker is it not?”
“The sun’s over the yardarm somewhere,” Mike said, swirling his drink. “Do you live here?”
“No,” Pasha said, lifting his chin and clicking in negation. “But it is a good place to conduct business. Many traders come in here. How are your girls?”
“Almost recovered from the rigors of the trip thus far,” Mike said. “We’re definitely leaving tomorrow morning.”
“I have found one girl that would possibly meet your requirements,” Pasha said, leaning over conspiratorily. “A young Ukrainian girl. Very nice, very pretty. Blonde. Not much in the breast department but unspoiled and very pretty. And they may yet grow; she is quite young.”
“Works,” Mike said, nodding. “Yours?”
“A friend’s,” Pasha said. “I can introduce you, if you wish.”
“Pasha, you don’t have any friends,” Mike said. “What’s your cut?”
“Ten percent,” Pasha said. “Minimum of one hundred euros, cash.”
“You really think this girl’s worth a thousand euros?” Mike said with a laugh. “Right. Pull the other one.”
“Pull the other what?” Pasha asked, confused.
“Sorry, doesn’t translate,” Mike replied. “I was saying that you were not being truthful with me. Girls here go for less than five hundred euros, even the best.”
“This one is unspoiled,” Pasha said, sternly. “She will get you much money where you are going. Enough that you will pay.”
“We’ll see,” Mike said. “Here?”
“I have a room here,” Pasha said. “Two eleven. That is neutral ground, yes?”
“Okay,” Mike said with a sigh. “When?”
“I will call my friend,” Pasha replied. “Perhaps soon after noon.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “I’ll give you my cell number.”
Chapter Twelve
Pasha’s room, as befitted a more or less permanent resident, was much cleaner than the ones Mike had secured. That seemed to be mostly his doing. Whatever his failings as a slave trader, he was apparently quite neat in his housekeeping.
Mike was in an easy chair nursing another Johnny Walker when there was a knock at the door. When Pasha opened it, a man pushed a young girl into the room and then followed it up with a slap to the back of her head to make her step farther in.
“Here’s the stupid slut I was talking about,” the man said harshly. He was at least in his sixties with a red face and nose half hidden by a white beard. He’d make a nice Santa Claus and Mike wondered if he used that to pick up his victims.
The girl was clearly frightened, even terrified. And, yes, very pretty. About five one, long blonde hair and blue eyes. And no more than twelve. She was just starting to get the gangling growth spurt that kids hit at that age and might, indeed, grow some more tit. He wasn’t sure she was even menstruating yet.
“Very nice,” was what he said.
“Strip,” Santa Claus ordered the girl.
“Please,” she whimpered. “I just want to go home…”
“Strip, stupid whore…” Santa Claus snarled, drawing his hand back.
“No marks!” Mike snapped, standing up and walking over. “Girl, I must see what I’m buying. Take off your clothes.”
“Please, no…” the girl begged, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.
“This is how you do it without marks,” Mike said, sighing and gripping the back of the girl’s head with his thumb and forefinger. He applied pressure, hard, and received a gasp as the girl’s knees buckled at the pain. “Take off your clothes, you stupid slut.”
The girl looked at the three hard-faced men and then closed her eyes and began removing her clothing.
When she was fully stripped, Mike walked around her, shaking his head. She had welts on her back, ass and budding breasts.
“You hit her on the breasts?” Mike asked angrily. “With what?”
“My belt, of course,” Santa Claus snarled. “What do you expect me to do? She needs to be trained but I’m hardly up to it anymore!”
“Christ on a crutch,” Mike muttered in English then continued in Russian. “These damned bruises will take weeks to fade! I’m planning on being in Montenegro the end of next week; she won’t be presentable by then!”
“She’s untouched,” Santa Claus snapped. “She’s a virgin. That is worth something.”
“She’s bruised,” Mike snarled. “Two hundred.”
“Forget it!” the slaver replied. “Put your clothes on, bitch.”
“Wait, wait,” Pasha said. “We are friends here. Let us sit and drink tea and talk.”
The girl had quickly scooped up her dress and underthings in her hands but Pasha shook his head.
“No,” he said to her, pulling the clothes out of unresisting hands. “Stand by the chairs; there is much to discuss.”
Pasha poured green tea and laid out a service on the table as the girl stood by, shivering in the cold of the room. Mike ignored her, as did the others.
“You have at least a week of travel, if you are staying off the major roads,” Pasha said, sipping his tea. “This will give most of the bruises time to fade.”
“Not all of them,” Mike said, poking the girl on the ass. “This one cut the skin for that matter. She’ll scar.”
“A virgin,” Pasha noted.
“No proof of that,” Mike pointed out. “She was probably raped by her uncle who sold her to this guy.”
“I took her from an arcade,” Santa Claus replied with a shrug. “These young girls, they trust me because I look like Saint Niklaus. And I did not rape her. Even with the Viagra, sticking it in young pussy like this is too hard. I use the older hookers who are looser.”
The girl had put her face in her hands and was quietly crying when Mike stood up.
“Lie on the bed,” Mike said, pushing her to the bed.
“If you take her here you must pay for…” Pasha said.
“I’m checking,” Mike snapped. “Lie on the bed, on your back, with your knees up in the air.”
“Please,” the girl whimpered through the tears.
“Shut up and do what I said, slut, or you’ll be hurt again,” Mike said sternly.
When the girl was on the bed he stuck his fingers in her pussy and spread it as wide as he could. Even with the dim light in the room he could see the hymen and it was unbreached.
“Virgin all right,” he admitted grumpily. “Get up and put your clothes on, bitch.”
“There, a virgin,” Pasha said, happily. “For that, two hundred is much too little. Fifteen hundred euros.”
“You’re crazy,” Mike said, shaking his head. “No more than three. So, Santa, you ever go over to Romania?”
“No, only the Ukraine,” Santa Claus replied as the girl finished dressing. “Little slut, sit on my new friend’s lap and show him how biddable you can be.”
Mike let the girl sit in his lap and ran his hands over her stomach as she quivered in fear. He was careful to try to skip the bruised areas but she still was quaking, which didn’t help much. He had a very real problem with being the sort of son of a bitch he was playing and the entire scene was turning him on more than he liked. He knew the girl could feel a very solid erection under her pert little ass and he knew that made him not only a Class A son of a bitch but a pervert. Unfortunately, short of castration he wasn’t sure what to do about his little problem. Other than killing bastards who actually let their demons out. Such as the two other males in the room.