Having been born into the lifestyle, it was only natural that Rich was now deeply immersed in it. He had been born to a prostitute, and no one ever knew who his father was. He was raised by his mother, his mother’s pimp, and the other girls the pimp managed. As a small child, the girls happily played with him and watched over him, and although he knew who his biological mother was, none of the girls acted more like a mother figure than the rest. He simply bounced from one girl to the next.

As he grew older, the girls lost interest. He watched girls come and go, watched them as they sold themselves, got high on drugs, were beaten by pimps or clients, and struggled from one day to the next.

Money was scarce, since what money the girls did make, always ended up going towards the drugs they seemed to need to survive. There were many times he went to bed hungry, dirty, and alone.

When he was deemed old enough, his mother’s pimp began to teach Rich about the life, and the “game” of pimping women. He started to see the darker side of the life. But this was Rich’s life. He knew nothing different, and therefore had no motivation to be anything different.

By the time he was a teenager, Rich had two girls working for him. Each had been in the life for a long time, and the effects of that living was wearing them thin. A year or so later, Rich lost one of his girls to a drug overdose, and the other was beaten by a client so bad that she could no longer work. Unsure what to do with her, another pimp gave Rich the contact info of a man who took “used girls.”

And that’s how Rich met Frank.

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Rich and Jessica sat in the car silently. They both knew what was coming, and yet, they were both very new to it all.
Rich had never sold a girl before, and Jessica had no clue what was to come. She couldn’t work anymore. Her last client had beaten her senseless, and after two weeks, her body still twitched and shook uncontrollably. Her thin frame was still darkly bruised from the ordeal, and her mouth sagged in one corner. The yellowish bruises on her inner arm from the years of drug use, and the blister on her upper lip just added to the obvious life she lived.

Rich looked over at her. She was the first girl he’d had. And he had done his best to take care of her. How could he have known what that man was going to do to her? And now, there was nothing he could do except sell her. This life was all she had ever known, and Rich knew she wouldn’t last without a pimp. But Rich couldn’t keep her; she couldn’t work. Not like this.

Riggz, a fellow pimp that Rich had befriended, had given him the phone number. Not knowing what else to do, Rich had called. Now they were meeting a man named Frank in a deserted parking lot, out in the middle of nowhere.

Hearing the engine of another car, Rich looked up to see white utility van pull up a few yards away.

The driver sat, watching them. Rich watched him back.

Deciding to take the initiative, Rich unfastened his seat belt, opened the door of his truck, and slid out. “Stay here,” he mumbled to Jessica, knowing she did not even have the strength to undo her seatbelt.

Rich shut his door, and began walking towards the van. He watched as the driver got out of the van, and walked towards him.

The man was slightly taller than him, and lanky. He had a strawberry blond beard that he clearly kept well groomed. He had long hair that was pulled back into a braid, that trailed down his back. He wore blue jeans, and a stained grey shirt that had the logo of some automotive repair shop. Rich could see gun in a holster on the man’s belt, along with a knife and sheath.

The sight of the weapons made Rich tense, but he continued towards the man, until they were within earshot of each other.

“Where’s this girl?”

Rich motioned toward his truck “in the truck.”

The man gave a quick nod then walked past Rich, toward the truck in large strides. Quickly, Rich followed.

When the man reached the truck, he promptly opened the door to look at the girl. Slightly taken back by the man’s boldness, Rich held the door as the man pulled Jessica from the truck.

Unable to object, Jessica laid limp and shaking in the man’s arms. He attempted to stand her upright, but Jessica’s shaking and twitching quickly got the best of her, and she slid down the side of the truck, to the ground.

The man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, held together with a rubber band. He handed the money to Rich, who took it silently, and leafed through the bills.

“She ain’t worth that, but I know she’s your only one. A grand for your loss.”

Rich put the money in his pocket and shut the truck door as the man picked Jessica up, and tossed her over his shoulder.

Rich stood with his back to the man, as the man began walking away. He closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to calm the sorrowful emotions that were washing through him. He truly cared for the girl, but he had no choice. This was for the best.

“You ain’t been doing this long, have you boy?”

Rich turned to look at the man.

“Can’t get attached to them like that. They’re just tools of the trade.”

Rich said nothing.

The man turned to look at Rich, his eyes narrowed as he thought for a moment. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a call in about a week. Why don’t you come down to my place, and I’ll school you a thing or two.”

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After six months of working along side Frank, Rich had made up his mind as to how he wanted to run his own business. He had begun a list of rules, and he planned to enforce them with his own girls when he’d gathered them.

Firstly, there would be no drugs. Rich had seen enough girls drugged out, and addicted to last him a lifetime. They didn’t work well, they looked terrible, and clients didn’t care for them. They had no motivation other than to get high, and they had to be high to function at all. It was also expensive to keep up with their drug habits. That was money out of Rich’s pocket just to keep the girls functioning.
The same would go for alcohol. To Rich, alcohol was just another drug and would be treated as such.

Rich had watched Frank break numerous girls. He would beat them senseless, humiliate them, terrorize them, and even torture them. Rich had watched Frank’s methods, and he was never comfortable with it. The girls feared Frank. They feared for their lives. They acted out of that fear. Nothing they did was genuine or with any intent other than to survive Frank’s wrath, because he showed no mercy. In fact, when he had gone so far as to beat and torture one poor girl so bad that he cracked her skull open, he had simply sighed, held her head between both of his hands, and swiftly twisted until the loud crack of her neck rang through the basement they were in. The other girls, chained to the wall or caged, cried out. Some screamed, some sobbed, others cowered back in fear that they would be next. Frank dropped the girl’s head, blood splattering a bit from her open skull, and turned to kick a girl here or there to quiet their screaming.

Rich’s stomach had churned so bad, he thought he was going to be sick. But he stomached the feeling and helped Frank drag the lifeless girl upstairs and outside.

And that night, as Rich stood beside the bonfire Frank had set to get rid of the body, Rich decided he would never break his girls. He would be stern, yes, and punish them if they needed it, but he would never break them. Maybe they would respect him, and even want to work for him, if he showed them a bit of respect in return.

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“I’ve got something for you. A bit of a going away gift.”

Rich had stopped his hosing of an empty cage in the basement of the old house that Frank used to house and “train” (or torture) his girls. He turned to look at Frank as he leaned against the support beam at the bottom of the basement stairs.

“Tonight,” was all Frank said, and turned back up the stairs.

Unsure of what was in store, Rich finished cleaning the empty cage, before leading a scared, shaking and naked girl back into it. Rich never liked the condition Frank kept the girls, but they were his, and so Rich had no say in their treatment.

He tried to keep himself from thinking about the girl in front of him, as she cowered away from him and whimpered in fear. It took every bit of strength he had to keep from reaching out to give the girl a gentle touch of kindness. Frank didn’t like kindness. He believed kindness made him seem weak, and made the girls soft.

So Rich shut the cage door and turned away from the girl, suppressing his every instinct to leave the cage unlocked.

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That night, after a few drinks, and listening to Frank yell at the TV show he was watching, Frank finally looked over at Rich, who was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, but not paying any attention to it.

“You’ve been here about a year, and I know you’re itching to get out on your own.”

Rich didn’t respond.

“Its hard to get out if you ain’t got product.”

Rich took a sip from the beer he was holding, still staying quiet.

“I got something for you.”

Frank stood, causing Rich to look over at him, wondering what the man was up to. He watched as Frank staggered out of the room and upstairs.

After some thumping around upstairs, and some mumbling that Rich couldn’t hear well enough to understand, Frank returned, dragging along a very thin, very pale, and very naked girl.

Rich recognized the girl. She was the youngest of Frank’s girls, and Frank kept her as his “private play-thing.” Rich had only seen her once or twice out of the entire year he worked for Frank. She had dark brown, almost black hair that hung down to her mid back, and brownish green eyes that held a light within them, even after having been tortured by Frank for so many years. Rich knew the girl grew up in this life, under Frank’s rule. She probably didn’t know any other life than this. Rich also knew some of the tortures the girl had survived through, not because he witnessed them, but because Frank had bragged about them. She should have died a long time ago. His tortures should have killed her years ago. She defied all odds, and that was the light in her eyes.

“She’s yours now.”

Rich shook his head slightly, breaking his thoughts to comprehend what Frank just said. “What?”

“I said, she’s yours now. I’m giving her to you.” Frank grabbed the girl by her hair and practically threw her at Rich. “She’s a lot of fun to play with. Fully trained, and ready to go. She’ll do anything.”

Rich caught the girl as she went tumbling to him. She tensed in his arms, and he could feel her resisting the urge to pull away from him. He set her on the floor, and she pulled her legs under her body, to kneel at his feet. Rich gently moved a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. She wouldn’t look him in the eyes, but he looked her over, noticing her bruises and the scars that littered her body.

“What’s her name?”

Frank huffed, then took another swig of his beer before yelling again at the TV.

The girl had no name. Frank never named his girls. They were either numbered, or referred to by derogatory names.

Rich thought a moment, still looking the girl over. She had to be no older than eleven or twelve. She was fragile, and despite the hell she had endured under Frank, she was innocent.

“Angel.” He whispered, only loud enough for the girl to hear.

He smiled, looking at her once more. Then his smile softened as he noticed she was watching him.