Chapter 45: Keep Your Pimp Hand Strong
None of them said anything at first. Almost as one, the girls looked to Razia, who was frozen in place. The pimp, Darriq, if she remembered correctly, wore a satisfied smile on his face. The hired muscle he brought with him shifted in place, waiting for an answer.
“Anyone? Anyone at all?” Darriq drawled. “Let’s try this again. Where is the fucking moonkissed who broke my arm?”
This was all Razia’s fault, and she knew it. She and Quentin went out with the intention of making a splash, and instead they made waves. It was a wonder it took this long for it to come back and bite them in the ass. She cleared her throat and spoke up. “He’s not here tonight. If you want, I can go get him.” Please accept my offer, she thought. Please please please.
Darriq thought about it for a second before shaking his head. “Naw,” he said. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure one of you can deliver a message for me.” His smile turned nasty.
Razia looked past him. All the other patrons were gone, and now that she saw them near each other she noticed the bartender’s resemblance. They must’ve been brothers, and the other one had a place he could guarantee they wouldn’t be disturbed. No one was coming to save them. “You had Lynne lure us here so you could get revenge,” said Razia.
Beside her, Lynne shrank. Darriq came closer, throwing his good arm over her shoulder and pulling her in close. “Right you are. Lynne made a mistake and now she’s making it up to me like a good girl. Aren’t you Lynne?” Lynne nodded quickly. “Good girl,” Darrq patted her cheek roughly. It wasn’t quite a slap, but the message was clear. “And now here you are. Which of you is his main bitch?”
There was no way out of this. If Razia somehow managed to run, jump out the window, make a distraction, whatever, he would just go after the others. This was her problem. It didn’t make her heart race any less, or stop her from being afraid of what was to come. But she’d been promised worse by better. She cleared her throat.
“That would be me. I’m Quentin’s main bitch. What message do you --”
Before Razia had a chance to finish her sentence Darriq pulled away from Lynne and backhanded Razia with his good hand. She stumbled and caught herself on the table, swaying. The pain came later, hot and humiliating. “That’s a good start,” said Darriq. “Not the message I wanna send, but it does make me feel better.”
He let out a laugh, and the men around him chuckled darkly a half second later. Razia touched her lip, where there was a small smear of blood. Steeling herself, she stood back up and gave him an unimpressed look. “Not sure I can deliver it with the same oomph, if it’s all the same to you.”
That got her another slap to the face. She was ready for it this time, and it didn’t hurt half as bad when she steeled herself for it. She stumbled again, but Samantha caught her. Her friend gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze as she straightened up. She was afraid too. A quick glance told her everyone was terrified of what was about to come. Everyone except Isa, who masked her fear with a disgusted sneer.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” said Darriq, almost pleasantly. “I’m not giving you the oomph the message deserves anyhow. That fuckugly bastard got my good arm. Do you have any idea how hard it is to run a business when some disgusting freak shows up, takes your spot, and busts your fucking arm up? Lynne’s not the only faithless bitch to leave me behind after that.”
“To be fair,” said Razia, ready to be hit again. “We were there first.”
Darriq did not disappoint. The world blanked for a second as his hand connected with her face. She tasted blood as she ran her tongue over her lip.
“Does it look like I care if you fucking cunts were there first?” Darriq screamed into her ear. That hurt worse than the slaps. “That’s my spot, whenever I want it.”
“Then why did the bartender rent it to us? Didn’t look like he was going to give it to you when you got there. I’m pretty sure the stage was --”
“Hit her,” Darriq commanded one of the men. He drew his fist back and the next thing Razia knew she was on the floor and the world was spinning. She tried to get up but her legs weren’t cooperating. After several long, embarrassing seconds she managed to force herself to a sitting position. Her face throbbed violently.
Samantha shifted in her seat but didn’t get up. “Please,” she said in a tiny voice. “Please don’t mouth off to him Razia.”
She shouldn’t have spoken up. Darriq’s face lit up and he sat sideways on the table, cupping Samantha’s chin with his good hand. “Isn’t that sweet?” He cooed, squeezing Samantha’s cheeks. “You should listen to your friend, Main Bitch. Sounds like she’s smart enough to know when she’s in a spot of trouble. Don’t you, pet?” She squirmed, but Samantha nodded emphatically.
Darriq stroked her cheek, cocking his head to the side as if really seeing her for the first time. “How on earth are you not his head bitch?” Darriq asked, whistling. “Redhead, big tits, looks like fucking you would be like fucking a fluffy cloud. What’s not to love?” He leered, leaning in close.
Tears filled Samantha’s eyes and she shook violently in his grasp. That only fueled his sadism. Darriq leaned in close, tilting her head up to force her to meet his gaze. “All those looks, maybe you’ll be smart. What do you say you come with me and save yourself some trouble? You know, you were the only one Lynne asked me to not hurt.”
Samantha made a wordless, helpless noise that wouldn’t have been out of place in a trapped animal. Her eyes darted over to Lynne, who looked away. Razia surreptitiously put her hand on Samantha’s ankle and squeezed, trying to lend whatever strength she could via touch. It must’ve worked, because Samantha shook her head, making Darriq release her. “N-no, I’m Mr. Q’s girl. Sorry.”
Darriq didn’t release Samantha’s chin so much as throw her away from him. Samantha cringed away, hunkering down and staring at the table. She was shaking, but so far wasn’t crying. That was good. The moment Samantha started crying, it would invite the others to break down, or Razia to give in to her worse instincts and get herself hurt worse.
“Fine,” said Darriq. He straightened up and some of the mirth left his eyes. “Out of respect for Lynne who set this up, I won’t punish you for refusing me. But you watch your ass, girl.” Samantha nodded frantically. “Good. Now, about that message I want to deliver…”
“Wait,” said Jenna, looking confused. “I thought you already gave the message. To Razia.” She nodded over in Razia’s direction. Razia shook her head insistently and regretted it instantly as pain bloomed from moving.
“No, that was just for my personal enjoyment,” said Darriq brightly. “A secondary message to the main message, if you will.”
“And what,” said Isa, sighing as if this was all a terrible inconvenience to her, “is the real message?”
Darriq looked over at the men he’d brought, who seemed content to stand there and look menacingly for the moment. He smiled at them, and they smiled back. “The real message is that he’s a disgusting, diseased son of a corpse and he wronged me. And so I’m going to wrong him right back. If that fucker thinks that he can disrupt my business and try to take it over, he’s in for a rude awakening and so are all of you.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“He hurt me and it’s affected my business. Justice demands I do the same. So my message to him will be one of you, beaten black and blue and bloody until she’s not worth a qala for an assfuck. Ruin my body and I’ll ruin all of his. So one of you lucky ladies is going to be a whole hell of a lot uglier. Any volunteers?”
Silence. Razia and the girls looked between each other with growing horror. Samantha started crying now, silently with a couple of tears streaming down her cheeks. Isa’s face was blank surprise, Jenna was shaking, and Lucy was completely and perfectly still, as if not moving meant she wouldn’t be noticed. A small whimper sounded from Samantha, and Darriq was all smiles.
“Shh shhh, it’s okay,” he said, stroking Samantha’s cheek. “Not you. Though maybe I should. You’re the clear winner out of the lot of you. But I did promise Lynne. Think you deserve my word, Lynne?”
“Yes,” she cried out. “Yes, your word, please!”
Darriq chuckled and shook his head. “Oh fine. She’s safe for now. Maybe it should be his main bitch. What say you, main bitch?” He smiled down on Razia.
“Yes,” She said, forcing herself to her feet. She’d already taken a couple of hits. This was all her fault, it was only fair that he hurt her and left the others alone. Razia was prepared to accept that, if not happily. “Take me. Let them go, I’ll deliver the message myself. Nothing will piss him off more than hurting me, I promise you that.”
He seemed to consider it, then shook his head. “Nah. You want it too much. Afterwards you’d just be able to act like a martyr and be proud of how you took a hit for everyone else. You get to watch.”
“But --” She shouldn’t have said anything. Once more Darriq just slapped her. It didn’t hurt as bad this time now that she was used to it coming, but it still silenced her. Even her big argument with Piro, while risky to her life, hadn’t come with being slapped around. This was both better and worse than public humiliation. Hell, it was still humiliation on a smaller scale.
Darriq pointed his finger at Isa. Then Jenna. Then Lucy. His finger waved through the air lazily as he hummed to himself. Every so often he would slow down as he considered his options, then move again as soon as it seemed final. He wore a satisfied smile as he drank it all in. He finally pointed at Lucy. “You. You’re young, and quite pretty. Not for long. Boys, make her ugly.”
“No!” Razia cried out, only to get smacked down to the floor again. She scrambled up but Darriq grabbed her by the back of her neck and forced her down on the ground. She looked up to see pure horror on Lucy’s face. The younger girl’s eyes darted around wildly at the men who stirred at their master’s command.
One of them pulled her from her chair and held her up as she fought and kicked to get away from him fruitlessly. Another drew back his fist before driving it into her stomach. She let out an airless gasp as the wind was knocked from her. She had just enough time to register the pain and helplessness before the next punch came to her face. And another and another.
“Stop!” Razia screamed, “stop this! Let her go and hit me!”
“Let her go and hit me,” Darriq mimicked in a weak, whiny voice. “Fuck off. I told you that was my stage. Fuck around and find out, yeah?” He threw Razia back down to the ground. She looked up and watched helplessly as one man held Lucy by the arms and the other two rained blow after blow down on her.
If Lucy wanted to cry out or scream, she didn’t get the chance. As soon as one brutish thug hit her and pulled back, the other was there with the next hit. It didn’t take long for her to go limp in the third one’s arms. It didn’t stop them from hitting her until her face was one big, ugly, swollen bruise. She wasn’t knocked out though. One eye stared pleadingly at Razia throughout the entire ordeal. Razia watched in horror, wishing she could put a stop to it or even just take a fraction of the pain away.
“That’s about enough of that,” Darriq said after a couple of minutes. The man dropped Lucy to the ground. “Now, strip her.”
“What!?” A cold pit settled into Razia’s stomach.
Darriq glanced at her. “I said strip her. Let the cunt walk home black and blue and bloody…and naked. Maybe someone will look past the fucked up face and be up for it. Might even earn enough to go see a physician. See? I’m not an unfair man,” he said, grinning. “You can take my message to your pimp after.”
Razia looked away as they grabbed Lucy. One of the men produced a glass dagger and cut her clothes while the other two pulled the material away from her. Her pale white skin was off color all over her body, and she looked so horribly small. Smaller even than Razia, though that wasn’t the case. Finished, the hired muscle stepped away.
“You sure we can’t have a bit of fun with her?” one of them said. “Not like she’s gonna put up a fight. What better message would there be than a broken whore pumped full of cum?”
“A message where she’s bloodied and broken and not even good enough for us to fuck,” said Darriq, in a talking-to-children voice. “The point is to ruin her. That point is itself ruined if you indulge yourselves.”
Another one piped up. “We’re getting paid enough anyways. I’m sure Mr. Qorals will give us a hefty discount on one of his girls out of gratitude.” He eyed Darriq pointedly.
“Absolutely. You can use Lynne over there for free tonight if you want.”
“What?” Lynne’s eyes bugged out.
“You heard me, slut,” Darriq laughed. “Consider it your apology to me, and everything’s square. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m going to make you fuck them all at the same time.”
Razia fumed impotently. While she only cared so much about what happened to Lynne at the moment, she still didn’t deserve this. Lucy didn’t deserve this. None of her girls deserved this except for maybe Razia herself. Razia couldn’t argue that if she wanted to. She was under no illusions about her chance of winning if she tried to fight. Even if they all stood up and tried to fight it wouldn’t take much to put them down.
The rest of her girls were looking away from Lucy, with only Jenna being brave enough to look down at her fallen form. Naked and on the ground, she was at least still breathing, though it was uneven. She’d live, at least, but her face was…Gods, it was rough. Darriq caught Razia’s attention with a snap of his fingers.
“That’ll be about it, then. Take this ugly lump of meat and get the fuck out of here. Deliver the message to your pimp and let him know that if I ever see him again, it’ll be worse next time. Well? OUT.”
The girls jolted and stood up. Samantha was the first to check on Lucy, tentatively reaching out and pushing Lucy’s hair out of her face. “Gods,” she whimpered. Jenna joined her there, and together they scooped her up and got her to her feet, with her arms around either of their shoulders. She hung there limply.
One of the men was standing in the walkway, blocking their way. He looked at them with a dark smirk and made a show of getting out of the way, gesturing graciously for them to pass. Samantha and Jenna walked out of the tavern, and the rest followed. Razia trailed behind, shock and pain dragging her along as if this was all a bad dream.
By unspoken agreement, they formed ranks around Lucy to try to shield her from the eyes of the city. It was impossible to fully hide her, but they tried. Sharp, fierce looks kept people away as they headed towards the center of the city, vaguely in the direction of home. They were silent for the most part until Isa could take it no longer.
“So. Where the fuck is Quentin?” she demanded. “Why wasn’t he here tonight? Why did this have to happen?” Isa stopped the group, turning on Razia. “What the fuck is the point of paying him if he’s not going to protect us?”
Razia flinched. This was her fault, not his. Though…No, Isa was right to be angry. Razia was angry too, and it felt good. It was easier and better to be angry than to just feel guilty and responsible. People thought anger couldn’t get anything good done. They were wrong. Anger was just fuel, and after this they needed something to keep them going. If they were to stop, it would all fall apart.
“At home, laying in bed feeling sorry for himself,” Razia answered, surprised by the heat in her voice. “He blames himself for not saving Maria.” She forced herself to stop there.
“Maria?” Isa scoffed. “What the fuck could he do about that?”
Razia shook her head.
“See?” Samantha said, voice small. “He does care about us. If he didn’t, then losing Maria wouldn’t matter to him.”
“If he did, then why the hell isn’t he here?” Isa all but screamed. She gestured at Lucy, who was awake but too beaten to do much more than occasionally lift her head and watch them. “What about Lucy? You think his guilt is going to undo the damage to her? The damage, the pain, the fear. This is going to fuck her up for a long time. Where does he live?”
Razia was taken aback. “What?”
Isa let out a rough, humorless laugh. “You heard me. Where does that rat bastard live? I’m going to shove my foot up his ass.”
Razia’s first instinct was to deflect or lie, but then she thought about it. She tried being gentle and giving Quentin some space to grieve and come to terms with the loss, and with what he saw as his personal failure. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe gentle was the wrong way to go about it. “If I tell you where he lives,” said Razia, “then you’d better give it to him.”
Isa bared her teeth in something that could charitably called a smile. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going to tear him a new asshole.”