Bruno
We walk down the luxurious corridor of the hotel, and my eyes drift to Sarah while she stares at the floor as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Just as I taught her.
I'm more anxious than I should be, my worries are sailing between Sarah’s wellbeing and how the fuck I'm going to get to Dante.
Never in my fucking life have I gone this blind into a mission, but what else could I do? Razzag’s compound is hermetically sealed, there’s no information coming out of that place, and the little I got cost me millions.
The elevator dings, the doors open, and we get on it. Sarah keeps her posture and as we practiced, she doesn't look up, unless I order her to.
We reach the lobby, and I am the one who steps out first, as a master should, I must lead the way. I pull the strap sharply and she immediately starts walking. No one is watching, or at least not that we can tell. No one is outraged or shocked by the show we are putting on; everything is business as usual. Some men look over their shoulder, not out of shock or disdain but envious of the beautiful object I possess and I if it weren’t for our appointment with Razzag I would tear their eyes out.
The valet is already waiting for me, keys in hands, and engine warmed up. He hands over the keys to me as I approach him without saying a word. He doesn't open the door for me, nor for Sarah, he knows it's my job and that it would be very disrespectful of him to do so.
I hate this.
And the worst part hasn't even started yet.
I'm leading Sarah into the car. Devoting my full attention to her needs. I'm in charge of sitting her down, fastening her seat belt and making sure she's safe.
Why? Because she's mine.
She must do absolutely nothing by herself, for a very simple reason, her body belongs completely to me, I am the owner and I do what I want with it.
I pull the seat belt over and bury it between her perfect breasts. My basic instincts are on, I could even take her right here, in public if I really want to or stick my nose between her tits and lose myself forever. All of it is perfectly acceptable. No one would bat an eye or do anything to stop me, nor would I appear in the newspaper with the headline as: "Sexual Misconduct".
Debauchery is not an offense here.
During the trip, neither of us say a single word, we can, but neither of us wants to take a risk, anyone could listen to our conversation, besides, there is nothing to say with words, we are both connected on a much higher level than that.
As soon as we arrive, we can see that there’s a great event taking place behind those walls, it looks like the Oscars’ fucking red carpet, not only for the staging of it all, but for the constant exhibition of the most expensive cars in the world, lining up to enter what would be horrific for many people. Not for these folks though, this is their world, they naturalized this atrocity.
My senses kick in and I analyze absolutely everything.
I have to be one step ahead.
Always.
The thing that stands out the most from the impenetrable wall are the imposing double-door Gothic gates. The guards at the entrance scan the invitation card of every guest. I re-analyze it in my hands, with suspicion and disbelief. If they're scanning these invitation cards made of paper, it means they have found a way to print some sort of code into it. I look at it from one side and then from the other; I slide my fingers on it, trying to find a bump, something.
Nothing.
As soon as I pull the car over, a guard dressed in a suit, with his eyes hidden away behind sunglasses, bows in my direction and stretches out his arm so I can hand the invitation over to him. With a small hand scanner, he slides the optical laser over it.
“Welcome, Mr. Cox.” He firmly says.
Even my name showed up.
Impressive.
I barely had a taste of their technology. If I wasn’t worried before, I am now.
Fuck.
