Page 136 of At Her Pleasure
The man grinned. Same old Mickey. “Kat Greenwood?” His gaze shifted to the woman.
She gave Bert a thorough up and down. Then ignored and dismissed him. Bitch. But as long as her money was good, who the fuck cared?
Mickey confirmed her identity, so Bert waved them through. Even if she was a buyer, Miss Uptight Bitch was in for a surprise if she gave the big boss attitude. Though it was the first time Bert had ever seen him face-to-face, it was clear he didn’t take that kind of shit.
Bert didn’t bother to hide an unpleasant grin. Greenwood goosed the Mercedes forward, spinning the back wheel so dust shot into his gatehouse. As he cursed her, she tossed him a smile in her side mirror.
Cyn returned her attention to the road ahead, though she caught Mick’s approving look. A deliberate reassurance for her, she was sure, because this was the easy part. The tough, impossible-to-rattle bitch was a role she’d played for a long time.
When Mick had returned to the motorhome, he had a changed walk and attitude, which indeed turned him into a different person, though nothing about his basic physical features had been modified.
He’d helped her change her look, too, but physically as well as mentally. Hair dye, makeup applied to subtly alter the shape of her face, different jewelry and clothing choices, made Cyn see a stranger in the mirror. As he tested her knowledge of the folder contents, over and over, she fully transformed into Kat Greenwood. He sprang all sorts of scenarios on her to test it, knowing the folder contents well enough to play the role himself—if he’d had a vagina and the figure for it.
He’d told her if ever they were in a precarious situation, he’d give her all the information she needed. He’d proven he meant those words.
She pulled up in front of the warehouse as a man there pointed to where he wanted her to park. Because her preparation had included a detailed description of all the players, she knew the man who opened her door was Hector Salazar.
“Hola, Señorita Greenwood,” he said. “It is a pleasure to have you here.”
She ignored him the way she had the gate guard, refusing his hand out of the car as she emerged and moved around him to survey the area.
Hector coordinated with those who brought the “product” in through Mexico. Such language established detachment and protected the traffickers from listening devices or being overheard in public areas.
Hector got compensated on both ends, by the families and individuals wanting into the country, and by the organization who paid him to dupe them into believing they were coming for legitimate work and a chance at a new life. He was also in charge on site until they were distributed to their buyers. Once it arrived at the compound, the product was sorted. Men and older, less attractive but able-bodied women would go to labor jobs across the country. They would be told they could earn their freedom by working off the debt they still owed, because the “costs” of getting them here had somehow doubled. Or tripled.
The younger men and women were sold into sexual slavery. Some would be placed in wealthy homes under the guise of domestic labor, cooking and cleaning services, or nanny work. Others would go straight to underground brothels and rarely see the light of day or any freedom again.
This outfit didn’t deal with pre-pubescent children, a dubious blessing. Mothers and their offspring under a certain age were sent to other locations. The separation from fathers and older children gave their captors additional leverage. If those here didn’t do what was required of them as domestic or manual laborers, or as sex workers, those absent family members would suffer.
She saw Mauricio Condes, who handled contracts with buyers. His brother, Javier, was in sales, finding those buyers. The armed men sitting or standing around the property, passing time playing cards or kicking around a soccer ball, handled a variety of tasks. Feeding, watering. Beating, violating or conditioning as needed, under Hector’s direction, to teach obedience.
By process of elimination, she’d found the man this whole meet was about. He waited inside a courtyard formed by two of the outbuildings. The tall man had patrician looks, silver hair and an expensive but way-too-warm suit for the weather. He’d dealt with that by sitting under a pavilion tent with a woman fanning him. A naked woman.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
The girl, probably around sixteen years old, had dull eyes, shiny hair, and a firm body. A standing mechanical fan with a mister added to the air movement. In front of the man was a table with a decanter and three tumblers, one already poured. He was sipping from it.
He rose at their approach, nothing if not courteous. She affected an annoyed look at the naked girl, then glanced at Mick. He shrugged.
She stalked toward the pavilion. Mick kept to a sauntering pace, but she caught the look he sent to Hector, as if to say, “Women? What can you do?”
Hector made a muffled snort of agreement.
“Miss Greenwood,” the man at the table said politely, in perfect but accented English. She had no illusions about how far his courtesy extended. Only to the heights of the stack of money he expected from their association.
“Ms.,” she corrected. “I’ve divorced three husbands for being weak jackasses. I’ve earned the title.”
Amusement glittered in his gaze. He turned to Mick. “Mr. Cosgrove, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You’ve proven very useful to our operations.”
Mick inclined his head. “You make money, I make money, and the world keeps turning. We don’t anticipate keeping you long, sir. Miss Greenwood—”
“Ms.,” she snapped. “Or Señora. As you well know. And it will take as long as required to assure myself this operation will provide my customers what they need.”
Hector stepped forward, a point in a triangle between her and the other man. “Señora Greenwood, Señor Rodriguez is here as a courtesy. He appreciates your business, but you represent your employers. You are not the big fish, señora. You only represent the men who are.” He flashed his teeth. “So don’t be a puta.”
One of Rodriguez’s men moved to her left side to reinforce the threat. Cyn narrowed her eyes at Hector. “Fuck you and your whore of a mother.”
Hector gave the man a slight nod. When he reached for her, Cyn backstepped, elbowed his gut and brought her knuckles up to the bridge of his nose. When he stumbled, she pivoted to seize his wrist, wrenching the hand so he dropped to his knees. Though he tried to shake the grip, he was unsuccessful. She made her hold more painful. She’d break it if he kept moving.