Chapter 1: In The Mountains: Paxton and Tennessee.
Chapter 1: In The Mountains: Paxton and Tennessee.
As life went for s*x workers, Paxton figured he didn't have it all that bad. Still… if he could get out of this, he would.
He hated new clients.
The limo slowed, and Paxton's abdomen knotted in a tight ball of fear. He hadn't slept in two nights worrying about this meeting, and now besides feeling exhausted, his stomach swirled with nausea. As they pulled alongside a brick building, the two men sitting across from him didn't look up from their phones. God, he prayed the new customer wasn't horrible or liked to hurt people just because he could.
Nervous, Paxton spun the gold bracelet around his wrist and fingered the tiny decorative key on the band. The bracelet was the equivalent of a shackle. The jewelry was simply there to remind him of his owner. Keyon had all his escorts wear the identifier. At this point, even the cops knew who Paxton's boss was and where to drop Paxton if he ever got caught. He gripped the key tighter.
After a few minutes passed, the two guards with Paxton finally looked at him. They glanced at him like they forgot they were dropping him off with the man who bought Paxton for the night. Keyon, Paxton's owner, never let any of his people leave the mansion without at least two guards. Keyon told all the pros that the bodyguards were for their protection. Ha. Paxton knew the men were there to make sure that Paxton and his coworkers didn't run.
“Is this the right location?" one of the guards asked the other. “Looks sketchy."
The bigger of the two men shrugged and then motioned for Paxton to get out of the car.
Shrugging as well, Paxton got out of the limo and smoothed his tailored suit. As he looked around, he agreed that this location did appear sketchy, especially compared to the typical places he was left to meet a client. Currently, Paxton met with four regulars. Two of the old men had Paxton delivered to their hotel rooms at the top of expensive hotels. He was always there at seven p.m. on the dot. One old guy had Paxton taken to his beach house and always at nine p.m. The last man always had Paxton left at his hunting lodge at eight-thirty. Never in his years of doing this job had Paxton met a client behind an abandoned K-mart next to a dollar store at four in the afternoon.
Another limo similar to the one that Paxton had recently gotten out of pulled up next to them. An older gentleman in a black three-piece suit got out with two thugs that looked armed. At the same time, Paxton's driver got out of their car and leaned against the bumper.
While everyone eyed everyone else, Paxton scanned the older man. His name was something-something Bentley the fourth. This new client was handsome enough for being in his seventies. Paxton figured he could stomach this guy for however long he had to work. Besides, he knew it wouldn't matter if he thought the customer was ugly or he didn't want to do whatever weird s**t they were into doing. Paxton would have to do it. Keyon would kill him otherwise.
“Are you Paxton?" The elderly man slipped his hand into his vest as one of his men walked over to stand next to Paxton's limo driver.
“Yes, Sir," Paxton said as meekly and as politely as possible. These men paid for Paxton to be submissive and follow their rules. Paxton was high-end and trained to fit in and be whatever they wanted him to be. And maybe Paxton was good at following orders which was why Keyon always sent him exclusively for these jobs with older men.
“Are you Mr. Bentley?" Paxton's guard asked. Both guards looked perplexed, and Paxton had warning bells in his head. Didn't they have a picture of the man who bought Paxton for the night? That was the norm.
“I certainly am." The older man pulled a gun and smoothly shot the guard standing next to Paxton. The other thug with Mr. Bentley stabbed the second guard standing at Paxton's side. They didn't even have time to draw their weapons.
As blood splattered his silver suit coat, Paxton jumped backward. He turned as his guard staggered and collapsed into Paxton's arms. Shaking, he let his huge protector crumple to the ground. This guy just killed people in broad daylight. Fumbling in the guard's pockets, Paxton hunted for a cell. Now was the time to call for help.
“Get in the car, Paxton," his limo driver called as he dove at one of the criminals. Paxton nodded as his fingers closed around a cell.
As Paxton reached for the vehicle's door handle, Paxton's limo driver slammed against the door. More blood sprayed on the glass. The man was shot like all the rest.
“Grab the hooker," Mr. Bentley spoke as if they could be in a boring office meeting.
“Not so fast, baby." The tallest of Mr. Bentley's crew snatched Paxton around the waist. He pried the cell out of his hand and threw it at the brick wall. The cell shattered into pieces as Paxton gulped down his fear.
“I don't have—" Paxton was at a loss for words to get out of this.
“Don't worry." The criminal holding Paxton pressed his lips to his ear and laughed. “We got all the time in the world."
“I don't know what you want." Paxton struggled, and though he was fit, kept that way by Keyon, he was still no match for the muscles holding him like an iron vice. “Please let me go. I won't say anything. I swear. I don't have money. I don't have anything."
“You don't have money, but you do have something I want." The older man stepped up to Paxton and ran his finger around the collar of Paxton's white shirt. He then stepped back and looked at the two men with him. “Mike," he addressed the man holding Paxton first. “Search everything, and when you find it, call me." Mr. Bentley waved to the guy who shot the limo driver, and then he eyed the dead men at his feet. “We will take these bodies and handle the disposal. You can take care of the limo and kill the escort."
Paxton's blood ran cold. What was this? They didn't travel with anything of value. All Paxton had was the clothes hanging on his shaking frame and the decorative key around his wrist that signified Keyon owned him. The dead guards had even less. They were tattooed with a key on the back of their necks and only had their suits, cell phones, and guns still in their holsters.
Still struggling. Paxton tried to come up with a plan to escape this new hell. All the while he fought, the man holding him chuckled. Mr. Bentley and his other helper got the three dead men into the trunk of their car and then got into their limo. While Paxton was still reeling, they drove away.
As soon as the car was gone, the guy named “Mike" shoved Paxton toward the limo. He hit the side door as Mike pressed him flat with all his weight.
“Let's get some of that energy out of you." Mike's warm breath huffed on the back of Paxton's neck. When Mike started to open the limo door, Paxton broke free of the hold. He dashed madly, but he didn't get far. Mike lunged at him and yanked him backward by his collar. Paxton hit the cement. When the air was knocked out of him, he gasped. With brute strength, Mike flipped Paxton onto his back. Fists raised, Mike stuck him in the stomach. Paxton wrapped an arm around his middle and groaned as the pain lambasted him. Before he even gained a steady breath, Mike struck him again. The next hit landed knuckles to Paxton's face, and the strike had him seeing stars. Mike hit him again and again until Paxton couldn't see for the blood in his eyes.
“If you don't just take it, I'll kill you."
Paxton was sure that he was dead anyway.
This time when Mike flipped him over onto his stomach, Paxton didn't fight. Once he was on his belly and pressed into the rough gravel, Paxton tried to devise a way to escape. He tried to rise to his knees, but Mike pressed him flat to the tiny rocks as the man started to loosen his pants. When Mike's pants were open enough to free his d**k, his hand began to loosen Paxton's belt. He yanked the belt out of the loops and then used the thick leather to tie Paxton's hands at the small of his back. Next, Mike got Paxton's pants down to his knees.
Gasping at the pain and still fighting to free himself, Paxton prayed to whatever God might care about s*x workers. The sound of Paxton's underwear tearing seemed loud in the alley, and though he thought it was useless, he struggled anyway. As soon as the afternoon air whispered across his exposed skin, Mike rammed his fingers between Paxton's ass cheeks. He hollered at the pain and the invasion and again worked to wriggle free. Gasping, he got another punch to his ribs for his efforts. The next hit was to the back of his head, and Paxton's face nailed the ground.
Paxton was about to give up when he heard footsteps. His eyes lifted to huge steel-toed black boots that led up to thick hairy calves and then to the barrel of a shotgun.