Captive Of The Ruthless Warlord Boss

Chapter 5

Word Count: 917 | Released on: 21/05/2026

utting off the blast of cold air. The suffocating weight o

r silk blouse. Then, she turned her head slowly, her eyes locking onto Haley, who was still k

three quick strides. Her hand shot out, her fingers twisting violently int

alp. Tears instantly pricked her eyes, but she

y perfume was nauseating. "If Mr. Sterling wants to use your body, y

in panic. "No, he jus

old rings tore the skin on Haley's cheekbone. Haley's head sna

s. "You think a man like that cares about a piece of

ttled heavy in her chest. There was no reasoning with this wom

ding near the stairs. "Take her down to solitary in C-block. I wa

d her to her feet. He twisted her arms behind her back, pulling her wrists together. He pulled a length

rd. Her legs were numb from kneeling, h

e dense jungle at the rear of the property. Hidden behind a wall of thi

st of cold, damp air smelling of

m, sickly yellow glow of caged bulbs spaced far apart on the ceiling. Water seeped th

ors lined both sides. From somewhere deep in the darkne

e doors, tried to memorize the turns, but the sh

on key into the lock. The mechanism turned with a loud, grinding clank.

tch-black room, hitting the hard cement floor shoulder-first. The rou

ve frame blocking the dim light from

. The lock engaged with

essing against her eyes. The air in the cell was stagn

rists all pulsed in time with her racing heart. The last thread of her composure

oat was raw. When the tears finally stopped

tugged at the ropes binding her wrists. The hemp fibers dug deeper into

High up on the wall facing the door, a fain

her toes feeling the cold cement. She reached the wall and pressed her b

ow, no bigger than a shoebox,

the estate. Several large floodlights were mounted on wooden poles, sweepin

Chapter End

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Captive Of The Ruthless Warlord Boss

Dionisio Wambold Mafia

“Betrayed by my own uncle for a stack of hundred-dollar bills, I was drugged at the Miami airport and trafficked to a heavily armed mercenary compound in the Darien Gap. Stripped of my dignity, I was scrubbed with industrial bleach and graded as an "A-class asset." I was supposed to be a gift for Axel Sterling, the ruthless warlord who owned the estate, but he took one look at our trembling line and coldly declared he had no interest in women. To vent her frustration, the estate manager, Bea, decided to make my life a living hell. She locked me in a pitch-black solitary cell, starving me for days. She dragged me out only to force me to watch runaway girls get torn apart by massive mastiffs and swamp crocodiles. She wanted me completely broken and begging, a mindless toy ready to submit the moment the warlord returned. Sitting in the freezing mud, covered in blood, I was pushed to the absolute brink of madness. I couldn't understand why I was being kept alive while the others were sold off to the cartels. Was it really just because I had recognized a fake 1792 colonial map in his foyer? When Axel finally returned, Bea shoved me onto the burning asphalt, throwing an oil-stained rag at my face. "Wipe them clean! Or I'll throw you back in the pit!" She hoped my clumsy panic would trigger his extreme OCD and get me killed. But I didn't cry, and I didn't beg. Recalling my university antiquities restoration classes, I treated his mud-caked combat boot like a priceless 16th-century manuscript, perfectly lifting the dirt without a single scratch. The warlord stared at my filthy, battered body, his dead eyes finally sparking with a dark, calculating interest. "Stand up. Come inside."”