Fierce Bitches (Crime Factory Single Shot) Read Online Free PDF Page A

their new home, a brothel inside an old warehouse and servicing a port and nearby industrial compound.
        They were moved every few weeks. New brothel in a new town. A new madam, and new clientele. Sometimes they knew the other girls and boys. Occasionally, they went back to previous homes. They had each other and that was all. It had gone that way for three years until a rich gringo had taken a liking to Lupe and bought the two of them outright.
    *
    She sleeps wrists bound together and secured to the underside of the pickup truck. She curls up beneath the vehicle, which provides some shelter against the wind. Still an hour before dawn, she awakens to a man kicking her foot. The third-shift guard, well into a bottle, deciding the night is just too long to go without some entertainment. She crawls out from under the truck and gets on her knees. The man unfastens his trousers and produces his cock, which is filthy. The stink emanating from his crotch puts the rest of him to shame.
        She gestures toward his tequila bottle with her head and implores him with her watering eyes. He shrugs and puts it to her lips. She takes in a mouthful, swishes it around and spits it into his lap. She uses her hand to clean him off which also produces an erection. He giggles at the trick and puts his head back to take another drink.
        After a few moments he begins to lose his erection, but doesn't notice until it dangles limp and useless between them. He slaps at it and gives it a tug. When that has no effect, he slaps her instead. She knows that, given enough time, this may produce the desired result, but rather than find out, she curls up immediately and rolls under the truck to avoid further abuse.
        He stoops down and grabs her ankle, but she kicks free easily. He swears at her and grabs again. Again she kicks free and he says that he will be coming back with his knife. His gun is a useless threat while they are surrounded by sleeping men. He struggles to rise and then staggers back to the tents. She watches his feet disappear into the darkness. If he comes back with a knife, she will have to make some noise and hope that one among her captors might object to him carving her up, but there is hope that he will merely pass out and forget about her. She keeps her eyes riveted to the spot she'd last seen his feet and concentrates on the sounds of the night.
        She hears them before she sees them. There is a shuffling, a pause and then another. Feet moving quickly. Fabric rustling, and a hushed alertness in the air. There is a muted flurry of sounds and then a light comes on inside the nearest tent. The sounds stop. Everything goes still. She can feel her stomach shrinking and her heart expanding. She fears that her beating pulse can be heard ten feet away. A man inside the nearest tent sits up casting his shadow with a lantern. He listens to the emptiness of the night before beginning to dress and pull on his boots.
        Then she makes out the fluttering shadows. They hover around the edges of the camp, robed and hooded. They seem not to move and never to be still. Illuminated by the moon and the light from the tent, the wind manipulates their robes like flame. Their faces are concealed in the dark void of their hoods and each holds a knife ready.
        She presses herself flat against the ground and hides her eyes. There she sees her future and her past etched into the dirt. Her whole life is written. Already fact. Already history. Already forgotten. From dust she had come and soon she will return. The taste of the grit on her tongue makes her feel close to her son for he too is made of earth and can therefore make a home wherever he finds himself. She prays quickly and silently for him, for strength and for mercy. After an interminable ten seconds, she looks up again.
        At an inaudible signal the shadows move as one. The camp is entered and the slaughter begins. Inside the lighted tent she sees one