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  1. Trafficked Love Ch. 1
  2. Trafficked Love Ch. 2
  3. Trafficked Love Ch. 3
  4. Trafficked Love Ch. 4
  5. Trafficked Love Ch. 5
  6. Trafficked Love Ch. 6
  7. Trafficked Love Ch. 7
  8. Trafficked Love Ch. 8
  9. Trafficked Love Ch. 9
  10. Trafficked Love Ch. 10
  11. Trafficked Love Ch. 12
  12. Trafficked Love Ch. 13
  13. Trafficked Love Ch.14
  14. Trafficked Love Ch. 15
  15. Trafficked Love Ch. 11
  16. Trafficked Love Ch. 16
  17. Trafficked Love Ch. 17
  18. Trafficked Love Ch. 18
  19. Trafficked Love Ch. 19
  20. Trafficked Love Ch. 20
  21. Trafficked Love Ch. 21
  22. Trafficked Love Ch. 22

Trafficked Love Ch. 21

Categories Fiction, Cruelty, Discipline, Domination/submission

Author: ObedientAngel

Published: 21 November 2017

  • Font:

Chapter Twenty One: Whore’s Intent

Rich slowly made his way down the stairs. His head was pounding from the alcohol the night before. Wincing in the harsh lights of the kitchen, he found Angel folding laundry at the table.

Another girl, a brunette with long slender legs, tanned olive skin, and a shapely ass, was washing dishes at the sink.

Angel glanced up at Rich, his hand rubbing the side of his head, a pained expression across his face. "Brynn, coffee. Black."

Brynn turned from the sink, glancing at Rich before drying her hands on a dish towel and promptly poured coffee in a clean mug.

Rich plopped down at the table as Brynn timidly set the mug down in front of him.

"You look like shit," Angel noted.

"I feel like shit."

"You were pretty drunk last night."

"What time did you get in?"

Angel shrugged and continued folding laundry.

Rich rubbed his head with both hands, groaning softly.

Angel glanced up at him again, still folding "Brynn, upstairs in the medicine cabinet. Two Tylenol."

"No," Rich abruptly argued, his voice stern enough to make Brynn jump and Angel stop folding and give him a surprised but annoyed look. "I'm fine, thank you," he said in Brynn's direction.

Brynn looked at Angel for confirmation, who shrugged and when back to folding.

Rich glanced back and forth between the two girls, "what, she your bitch now?"

Angel glanced up at Rich, not saying a word.

Rich stood, the expression on his face had changed from pain to frustration. "Who's running this shit, huh?" He slowly rounded the table in Angel's direction. “I woke up to a call from Riggs. He said you mouthed off to Bishop?”

It was a question she didn't need to answer.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?”

Angel continued folding laundry, silently.

Rich reached out suddenly, grabbing Angel by the throat, pushing her back away from the table. “What game do you think you're playing girl, cause it's not smart.”

Angel tensed in his grasp. She saw Brynn out of the corner of her eye. The girl had stopped with the dished, and was watching the two of them with wide doe-eyes. Angel looked Rich directly in the eyes.

“Look down,” he ordered.

She did not obey.

His grip on her throat tightened, “look down, whore,” he commanded more sternly.

She kept her gaze on him, her eyes narrowed and the flash of anger Rich had only seen a few times in their lives together, lit her dilated pupils.

Was that a twinge of fear she saw on his face?

He released her, only to give her a hard, backhanded slap across the face. It was hard enough that she actually stumbled backwards. She turned to him, glaring coldly at him.

“I said look down, whore!” He grabbed for her, catching her by the wrist and throwing her forcefully to the floor. He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head up to look at him before giving her another hard slap to her cheek. Then another, and another.

“Please stop!” Brynn cried, tears swelling in her eyes. When Rich reached back to smack Angel again, Brynn grabbed his arm in both of her hands, trying to pull him away.

Rich tossed her easily away from him, with one hand. He gave Angel another hard smack to the face, before pulling her nose to nose with him, by the hand in her hair. “Look down,” he commanded through a clenched jaw.

Angel looked him in the eyes a moment longer. She saw the anger in his eyes, and her own eyes softened and she lowered her gaze to the floor.

He released her hair, squatting next to her, “no more games,” he growled.

Angel swallowed hard, but said nothing.

Rich stood and moved over to Brynn, who was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, and tears streaking her face. He grabbed her by the hair, and backhanded her across the face. She yelped, her hand darting to her now red cheek, more tears falling.

He turned her face to look at him, “you ever put your hands on me like that again, I will kill you.” She sobbed in response, her body trembling in his grasp. “Look down, girl.”

She quickly lowered her gaze, still sobbing as he firmly held her still.

“You don't ever look a man in the eyes. You don't get that privilege.”

She nodded, sobbing too hard to speak.

He pulled her to her knees, pressing her face to his inner thigh, “I own you, not her.” He grabbed her by the hair and gently turned the girl to look at Angel. “Look at her.”

Brynn sobbed into Rich’s thigh, slowly raising her gaze to look at Angel through her tears.

“Look at her. She is nothing. She doesn't own you. She's just a stupid whore who doesn't know her place.” His words were like venom, and Angel couldn't bring herself to look at either of them. He wasn't wrong.

Brynn buried her face back in Rich’s thigh, she reached up and clung to his leg as she continued to sob. He released her hair, and gently petted her as she cried.

Rich snapped his fingers at Angel, who glanced in his direction just enough to inform him that she was paying attention. “Go clean your face, whore.”

He dismissed her.


Angel’s hands shook as she lit her cigarette. It was late, and Rich had Diamond drop Angel off on her usual corner. She inhaled on her cigarette as she sat on the ground, her back against the brick building. She pulled the cigarette from her lips and took a ragged breath. Her eyes began to sting, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, but more soon followed it, and she gave up fighting them.

She whimpered, resting her forehead to her fishnetted knees, and quietly cried. Her body shook with her crying and she let her tears drip down and create a wet spot on her shorts.

She was cracking. She had been in this life for as long as she could remember, and she was finally cracking.

“What are you doing here?”

Angel quickly looked up. A police officer was standing in front of her, one hand on his holstered gun. Angel wiped her face, rubbing the tears away.

“You can't be loitering here. I need you to get going.”

Angel sighed, putting her cigarette back in her mouth. “Sorry, just waiting for my ride.”

She stood, and the officer took a step back to give her room. He gave her a good look over, no doubt taking note of her skimpy attire.

“I'll give him a call, see where he's at.”

She reached into her pocket for her phone, still watching the officer, with his hand on his gun. She quickly dialed Rich's number, and put the phone to her ear. It rang for a bit before going to voicemail. That was unusual. Rich always answered his phone.

“Um, hey babe,” Angel said timidly in the phone, her eyes still on the cop, “I was just wondering how close you were, I'll be waiting for you.” She hung up.

The officer raised an eyebrow.

“I'm sure he's on his way.”

The officer gave her an annoyed look, “well you're going to have to wait somewhere else.”

Angel nodded, “yeah, no problem,” she tried to give him an innocent look, “sorry officer.” She turned and tried to keep her pace calm as she walked away from him. When she thought he had drove off, she circled back around. This was her usual spot, where clients knew to look for her.

A flash of red and blue lights caught her eye. The cop hadn't left, just moved his car. Angel fumbled, pretending to search for something as the cop got back out of his car and walked over to her. She glanced up at him, “I lost my ring.”

The officer raised an eyebrow and watched her pretend to search, “you weren't wearing a ring.”

Angel fumbled again.

“Why don't you come with me?” He took a step towards her, and she tensed.

She watched his hand, still resting on his holstered gun. Now was not the time to talk. Now was the time to cooperate. “Are you arresting me?”

He shifted his weight to one foot, “are you going to be nice and cooperate, or are we going to do this the hard way?”

Angel swallowed hard, “what do you need from me, officer?”

“I need you to turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

Slowly, still tense, she turned to face the wall, placing both hands on the brick. The officer took a step closer, nudging his foot between her boots. Instinctively she spread her legs.

She glanced back at him, quickly, seeing him move his hand from his gun, before putting both hands on her shoulders. “Want to tell me what you're really doing out here?”

“Waiting for my ride,” she responded quietly as he patted her down.

“I've seen you out here on multiple occasions,” he reached for her wrists, gently but forcefully twisting her arms behind her back, “lying won't get you far now.”

She heard the scritch of handcuffs, then felt the cold metal on her wrists. “What am I being arrested for?”

“Loitering with intent to solicit,” he continued, robotically reciting her rights, but Angel had tuned him out. Her mind was elsewhere as he led her to his cruiser, opened the door, and with one hand on her head, the other on her cuffed wrists, pushed her into the backseat.

When he shut the door behind her, she rested her head on the glass window, leaning forward on the plastic seat to not put pressure on her cuffed wrists.

“You know, you don't have to be out here doing this. Don't you respect yourself? He questioned as he drove.

“Please don't pretend like you know me or my situation, officer. All you see is a pathetic girl with no self worth. But there's so much more that you don't know and would never understand. It's not as easy as just going in home to mommy and daddy and being happy again. We don't get that option, Sir.”

He didn't say much else on the ride to the station.


She had been fingerprinted, and thrown in a holding cell, and it seemed to have been hours since she was first brought to the station. This was her first time being arrested, but she'd heard stories from other girls, so she was calm with her knowledge of what happens next.

She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them, closing her eyes as she waited.

The door clicked open, “Angel Price,” a man’s voice called tiredly.

Angel glanced up at the bald man, leaning on the doorframe in his blue police uniform.
“Let’s go,” he added, annoyance in his voice.

She stood, and followed him out of the cement block cellroom. He led her down the hall to another room. Inside was a long table and two metal chairs. He ushered her to the far chair, and she sat down silently, her cuffed hands in her lap.

She was alone in the room for a while before the door clicked open again, and a man in a suit jacket and tie sat down across from her. He had a Manila folder in his hand, its contents she couldn't see. He also held a notepad underneath the folder. She looked him up and down. He had dark black hair that was gelled back, a hooked nose, and dark eyes. He pulled a pen from his inside jacket pocket and wrote something in the folder.

“Angel Price, is that a nickname?”

Angel didn't respond.

He glanced up at her momentarily, then back to the folder, “loitering with intent to solicit. No prior charges. No photo identification present.”

He glanced up at her again, “Angel, what's your birthdate?”

She stayed silent.

He waited a second, giving her a chance to respond. When she was still silent, he shifted in his seat, leaning back and looking at her harder, “look, I just need to fill out your file. I'm not your enemy here, and none of these questions are going to get you in trouble. Now, what is your birthdate?”

“I don't know,” she said softly, looking down at her hands.

He was quiet for a moment, “you don't know,” he stated, slightly annoyed, “alright, how about an easier one, how old are you?”

“I don't know,” she responded again.

He sighed in annoyance “come on, don't be difficult, you seemed like a nice girl.”

Angel’s head snapped up, her eyes angry and cold, “I don't know” she snapped coldly at him.

He raised his eyebrow, “the hell am I supposed to write down then, huh?”

Angel shrugged, “that's not my problem.”

He huffed, almost like a laugh, “best guess, I'll say you're in your early twenties.”

Angel looked back down at her hands.

“I'm guessing you don't know your social security number.”

Angel was silent.

“Do you work at a business of some sort? Or just street work?”

“The Private Dancer club off of Trabue.”

The man took a moment to write in her file before looking back up at her, “and what do you do there?”

Angel glared up at him, “I work.”

“With your clothes on or off?”

Angel’s glare hardened, “on,” she growled.

Again, he wrote in the file, “and where do you live, Angel.”

“At home,” she responded, annoyed, “look, I’m supposed to get a phone call. I’d like to make my call now.”

The man gave Angel an equally annoyed look, “I need you to answer my questions first.”

“My phone call, please.”

The man rolled his eyes before standing and leaving Angel alone in the room.


Rich did not answer. He did not answer the second time she called either.

When the same suited officer returned, asking if she was now ready to cooperate, Angel swallowed hard. He sat across from her again, repeating his questions, and she provided the same answers.

“Angel, where do you live? Do you at least know that?”

“Off of Dakota Avenue.”

The man quickly jotted it down in the folder, “there we go! That’s some progress! Now, who do you live with?”

Angel was silent. She did not want to get anyone else in trouble, and if police started snooping, it could cause problems.

“Angel, come on, we were getting somewhere,” the man urged.

Her jaw clenched, and she closed her eyes a moment before, “I want to talk with Dante.”

The man watched her a moment before asking “who?”

“Dante,” Angel looked the man in the eyes, “he’s one of you.”

The man’s brow furrowed before he asked “you know his badge number?”

Angel’s jaw clenched again, “how am I supposed to know that? He’s a cop. One of you guys. Don’t you keep track of your fellow cops?”

The man leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, his brow still furrowed.
“Look, he’s been working some case out off 23.”

When the man still didn’t respond, Angel added, “tanned skin, brown eyes, bald? He’s about six feet tall, facial hair, nose hooks slightly at the end?”

There was a knock on the door behind the man, who was still sitting, arms crossed and brow furrowed. There was a pause before the man stood, file in hand. He opened the door and exited quickly, shutting the door before Angel could see who was on the other side.

Angel rested her head on the table, sighing softly in frustration. If Rich was refusing to answer her calls, and no one could bring Dante to her, she would be forced to stay here until a judge decided her fate. Clearly she had no money for bail, and there was no way should could get it without contact to someone outside.

Angel tried to force herself to relax. She wasn’t going anywhere fast, and she had no control over it. She closed her eyes. The cold table felt good on her hot face, as she forced herself to blink back the tears that threatened to fall.

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