Trafficked Love Ch. 17 - Sex Stories

Trafficked Love Ch. 17

... upon the annual, or slip through the front door. Angel gave Dante a quick look over, and a huff that could easily be mistaken for a chuckle, escaped her lips as she realized the irony of the situation. The annual was set up, and operated in a way to specifically keep people like Dante out, and yet here he was, sitting her with her. Either Dante was just that good, or the system that controlled the life was just that fragile. Angel would bet money on the latter. “A roach,” she informed in a voice just above a whisper, “they’re the guys who do the dirty work. They collect the girls.” Dante raised an eyebrow. “They lure girls into the life by promising them bright futures of lavish living. Or they take in runaways, or foreigners looking for help to cross the boarders.” Dante looked back at the two men, absorbing the information. “Or they kidnap them.” Dante’s jaw tightened. It was to be expected in this life, and it was a harsh reality that the majority of these girls were probably taken from their homes and forced into this. Angel watched him as he nodded, thinking about what she had just told him. She then nodded in the direction of a small cluster of men and women. “Those are merch’s. They buy, sell, and trade the girls. They’re also responsible for the transportation of girls until they are bought up.” Dante looked over at the group, then towards another group that Angel was now looking at. “They’re trainers. They train girls, usually for other pimps. They’re paid well, but ...

... most of them end up running houses as well.” “Houses?” “Whore houses. Brothels.” Dante nodded. “Them over there,” she nodded towards a few men by the 360 stage, holding cash out towards the dancers, “they’re tennis shoe pimps.” “What?” Dante sounded as if he didn’t believe her. “They’re low pimps. They usually only have one or two girls, and they’re almost all using. They don’t make much, and what they make goes to get their fix.” Dante looked over the men, they were fairly sickly looking, their drug habits were clearly not kind to them. “Above them you have players, who usually work for higher up pimps, called macks.” Again Dante nodded. “Bishop’s a mack” Angel whispered, staring in his direction. “Bishop is the mack.” Dante looked over at Angel. She seemed to be lost in space, and her voice seemed to trail off. “He owns this lifestyle. He runs it. It’s his kingdom. And we’re all pawns…” +-+-+ Back at the station, Dante had just finished informing his partner about the annual. He had explained the hierarchy of the men in the lifestyle. It was new information, and it would be critical to know. John nodded and took notes as he spoke. “Were Rich and Frank there?” “Yes.” “Where would they be in this chain of command, Aaron?” He almost didn’t respond, not recognizing his real name. But John’s second question of “Aaron?” made him realize that the question was directed at him. “Yeah, um,” Dante thought for a moment, then pointed at the pyramid he had drawn on a scrap piece of paper ...