Captive Of The Ruthless Warlord Boss

Chapter 7

Word Count: 905 | Released on: 21/05/2026

ow, cutting a pale line across the concrete floor. Haley woke up shiver

er twenty-four hours, felt like dead weight. The skin around her wrists

sandpaper down her esophagus. The hunger in her stomach

The rhythmic squeak of a metal cart wheel rolling

eavy iron door was kicked open. Haley flinc

topping a few feet from her face. On the tray sat a small, hard piece of black bread with a

without a second thought. Now, her eyes locked onto the moldy crust, her pupils dilating.

spered through the slot. It was a thick,

he floor, trying to sit up so she could reach the tray with her mouth. But her shoulder

She looked at the bread. She looked at

ike a snake, dragging her torso across the dirt until her face was inches from the

of her mouth, tearing the delicate tissue. She chewed a

the tin bowl. She tipped it slightly with her nose and lapped at the cloudy wat

American girl eat off the floor. A flicker of pity crossed Marisol's

ad against the cold iron of the door. She needed information.

down the hallway. "Quiet

ssing her face closer to the slot.

handle of the food cart. "You should be gla

th caught. "

pered, her voice tight with fear. "Sold

ley's mind. A cold sweat broke out on the

lash of deep, unresolved grief crossing her dark eyes. "My younger sister... she was brought here two years ago. She didn't have a tag. They threw her to the cartels. I could

blow. She belonged to him. The map.

esperation leaking into her voice. If she

un shipments. Bea locked you down here to break you b

ing her out of spite, using Axel's absence

there?" Cody's harsh shout ech

cked the metal slot sh

on the floor, the taste of mold and blood in her mo

ying reality, but it was also a shield. She just

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."”