Captive Of The Ruthless Warlord Boss

Chapter 9

Word Count: 787 | Released on: 21/05/2026

mid air, freezing the blood in Bea Ga

ing in the swamp mud, her white slip stained brown and green

higher. If Axel saw his "property" looking like a piece

Now!" Bea scr

s legs were completely numb from terror. She swayed, her kn

. She grabbed Haley's bound hands and slashed the b

den rush of blood back into her hands felt like thousands of burning needles pie

"Listen to me, you little bitch. If you show him one ounce of f

numb. She gave a

down the jungle path toward the front of the estate. Haley stumbled over t

driveway just as the three matte-black George Pat

napped to attention. The sile

her knees on the rough, burning asphalt of the driveway. The im

of the center

t wearing his suit jacket. He wore a black tactical shirt, the fabric pulled tight across

d, instantly locking onto the pathetic

between his brows. His eyes dropped to the mud caked on

was absolute. The air pressure around him see

ed. She needed a scapegoat. She needed

r, and shoved her hard. Haley fell forward, her h

led, her voice shrill. "Clea

ry combat boots were covered in a thick layer o

from the belt of a nearby guard and threw it at Hal

hissed. "Or I'll thro

pen her fingers. The pins and needles from the severed rop

is tactical belt. Axel stood perfectly still. His dark eyes flicked from the mud on his boots to Bea's raised hand. "Let her clean it," Axel's voice cut thr

ey would do, demanding order r

d was deafening. Every

y rag. She was kneeling on the burning asphalt, staring at the muddy boo

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."”