Chapter 18 - Threatening the families

Ever since the presumed drownings of members of their family in the Mediterranean over a month ago, the Al-Tayeb family and their wider clan had been in mourning. The loss of so many menfolk hit them hard, and despite sympathy from others, the bills had been rising. The tragedy had become a disputed footnote in the ongoing migration crisis. Yet, one group that stepped in was “Mawaa Atfa,” a children’s charity originally started during Yemen’s civil war and now revitalized. The tragedy of the boat drowning had seemed to energize the charity which had been dogged by accusations it had been a front for arms smuggling and corruption in Yemen, not that the Libyan families cared much to investigate.

A senior figure in the charity was one Faris Rahma, a devout American muslim born in Syria and raised in the US, whose heart was wrenched by the tragedy that had affected so many families. Rather than encourage the families to take such dangerous crossings with women and children, he offered paid travel to Turkey, without the need for visas, for children and elderly people, focusing on the families worst affected by the tragedy.

Muammar Al-Tayeb, only fifty, had eleven children, but now, after losing his daughters Fatima and Zara, only nine remained. Several of his sons were now in Europe. Reluctant to uproot his family and wanting nothing more to do with travel, Muammer was nonetheless driven to leave when his store burned to the ground one night. He felt it was a sign from God telling him to go.

He was comforted by the fact that they had accommodation in Istanbul. The baffled owner of a hotel next to a mosque had been offered a decent amount of money to put up families of refugees. Being devout himself, he assured Muammer Al-Tayeb that his family would be safe.

Edward Pembroke was nothing if not a gambler, but even he could not believe he was taking such risks, and spending so much capital. He anxiously checked the passport photos put forth for the children and women to match them against the family photos supplied under duress by Fatima. He did not want to pay a small fortune to put up ugly unwanted Libyan refugees in Istanbul.

But a greater part of Pembroke was seized by his vision and the need to show Zara and the others that he truly controlled not just them, but their families. He wanted each of his girls’ entire universes, their inner sanctuaries, to be enveloped in fear of what he could do to them.

In recent weeks, the families with the prettiest daughters had received the worst misfortune, all at the hands of one misfit: a Cameroonian refugee who dreamed of becoming a rap artist in Europe. His so-called “thug” credentials had attracted enough interest for a mysterious stranger to offer him money online to burn down certain premises.

The down payments of the Crown Prince were running low, and Pembroke had used old contacts to borrow some money from Turkish underworld contacts. A few mentions of the right people that Kwame had intimate knowledge of, let it be known that Pembroke was into drugs, and would be good for his money.

But Pembroke was getting nervous. He needed to complete his round-up for the Crown Prince, and the training. And he needed to find new buyers, he was getting asset rich and cash poor. But he was also nervous about the value of his girls. Outside of one buyer, his other girls were only worth what others were willing to pay for them and this was a new, hazardous and niche market to sell into.

Pembroke tried not to think of such pressures as he took in the delights of the performance in front of him at the complex.

He sat on a comfortable sofa, watching Mrs. Al-Haraz, clad in a spandex high-waisted body leotard, lead the nine naked girls in a high-tempo aerobics class. Sweat glistened off the girls’ hard bodies as they struggled to keep up. Camille effortlessly followed Mrs. Al-Haraz’s movements as soon as she did them, feeling a sense of self-respect in being able to show off her acrobatic skills, impressing everyone.

Anna and Charlotte were also doing well, performing each move perfectly in tandem. They exchanged smiles with each other, their bodies moving in sync. Their legs kicked high, and they bent low, shedding their inhibitions more easily than the other girls, despite knowing their assholes and pussies were displayed obscenely to the gawking men.

The Swedish sisters tried hard but often got the moves wrong, prompting angry barks from Mrs. Al-Haraz. She would dance close to them, delivering a sharp smack on their ass before moving back to her instructor position, leaving the poor girls’ faces flushed with exhaustion, heat and humiliation.

Sabine and Fatima were trying, but their efforts often resulted in comedic blunders. They tripped over each other, prompting laughter from the audience. Their desperate attempts to get up and follow the moves only added to the spectacle, their faces red with a mix of exertion and fear of being punished for being the worst performers.

Elena and Holly felt it the worst. As the two recent arrivals, they still clung to their dignity, and the shame of having to perform like this in front of the giggling audience and the angry instructor infected them. Their movements were stiff, their faces etched with a combination of humiliation and determination.

All girls tried not to catch the eyes of their Master who lounged back laughing at their pathetic attempts to dance. He detected some tears mixed with the sweat on Fatima’s face. Perhaps she was thinking of her extended family who Pembroke was planning on abducting, or her daughter, or Zara?