Chapter 72
Jack
"Ha! Ha! Ha! One of our most promising recruits!" The Boss throws his head back, laughter thick with smoke and rot.
The air in the club is a stew of stale cigarettes, cheap liquor, synthetic highs, and something fouler—sex bought, not given. I keep my hands clasped behind my back, knuckles white. Not from fear. From restraint.
This stench is normal here. Expected. I stare straight ahead as he guffaws, two young women clinging to his sides like ornaments—naked, glassy-eyed, trembling. Fading bruises bloom across their ribs and thighs like wilted flowers.
My stomach knots. Disgust coils hot in my chest, but I swallow it down. He holds the power. And power here doesn't negotiate—it executes.
"Serves those bastards right," he says, nodding at the box I handed him. Inside: three thumbs. Proof. Payment.
I hated doing it. I always do.
