Chapter 65

Edward Pembroke felt confident striding into the illustrious “L’Ambrosia” restaurant in Mayfair, central London, being shown to his table while still wearing his clothes from New York earlier in the day. A bit of plastic surgery had helped him feel more at ease about hiding from his past life here, but even the clothes and confidence from his new riches disguised him just as much.

“Ahmed, a pleasure,” he greeted, extending his hand to the tall, impeccably dressed Arab man. Ahmed Al-Masri exuded an aura of class, elegance, and power, his tailored suit a perfect complement to his commanding presence.

“Edward Pembroke,” Ahmed said coldly. “Sometimes I forget I created you.”

“Come on, Ahmed, we can still enjoy the food here,” Pembroke winked, “as long as it’s on the Azmarian government’s account.”

“You lead me to our main topic, Eddie,” Ahmed said unsmilingly. “It’s about your enterprise, which I rather worryingly think of as our enterprise, given its highly illegal nature.”

“Ahmed, I have supplied the Crown Prince with ten girls now, and many other members of the Royal Family. They are very attached to my services, and of course, I have branched out.”

“I knew it would cause a headache sooner or later,” sighed Ahmed.

“You said you had news about the old King?” asked Pembroke, eyeing the menu.

“He is ninety-six years old, throat cancer, a month to live, hardly unexpected,” Ahmed said dryly. “The Crown Prince is terrified of finally getting a job for the first time in his life.”

“It’s a constitutional monarchy, though?”

“Not like here. The old man lived long enough that people just accepted things like eunuchs and what are basically slaves in the palaces. The rumors of white slaves are just that—rumors, but if anyone finds out the King of Azmaria has white English and French slaves that were kidnapped from the streets years ago, it would cause an international incident or war and the end of the monarchy.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you thought of that when you asked me to provide the girls.”

“Well, the old King held everything together,” said Ahmed. “The liberals have been waiting impatiently for this moment, and the Crown Prince is good for bossing around slaves inside his dungeons but nothing else. The palaces are going to be opened up for inspection and auditing, and the Prime Minister wants to launch inquiries into behavior going back 50 years.”

“Oh dear,” Pembroke said. “I’m sure the Crown Prince has been rather naughty.”

“It’s me as well. I don’t give a fuck about the Crown Prince, a disgusting coward of a human being,” snarled Ahmed. “We just need to cover things up, and sadly some fun traditions have to end. Sex slavery being number one on the list.”

“I presume the lovely girls within the Crown Prince’s harem, who have done so well to stay alive, will shortly be given the chop?”

“Yes, the Crown Prince broke down in tears, not because he wanted to save their lives but because he was terrified he would lose his toys. He begged for another month with them, before the last possible day, and then they are to be disposed of, quickly and without trace, along with his loyal staff, some of whom have been with the Royal Family for half a century.”

“Well, sounds harsh,” laughed Pembroke. “But Ahmed, my dear fellow, while I am sad to lose such a wonderful client, there is such a feeding frenzy all over the world now for my kind of product. I have not let you down, none of my girls have escaped, nor have they even been suspected of being sex slaves, they just...” pfff “disappear. You can trust us. Surely we can continue to serve the world with our product?”

At that moment, a young woman approached—beautiful, with brown hair and an elegant face—a college student, in a smart pencil skirt and blouse to take their order.

The men smiled at the young woman and gave their orders. “There are millions of men who would pay for that girl to disappear into their own private dungeons, Ahmed. It is a crime against human nature to try and stop people like me from taking her!”

“You have made your money, Eddie. Enjoy yourself and disappear.” Ahmed sipped his water. “Let someone else take her. You are connected to us at the hip. We set you up, we give you passports, we take a commission from sales. We cannot let you continue. So I am sorry, but you need to stop.”

Pembroke sighed. He guessed Al-Masri was right. He should stop; it was only a matter of time before he was caught. But it was such an addictive business as he looked at the wealth of the clientele and the poor, beautiful young women serving them.

“So you want me to sell up and disappear into the sunset?”

“A little more clear cut than that, Eddie. Not so much an ‘everything must go’ as an ‘everything must die.’ We don’t want more products going on. We are prepared to offer you a lump sum to compensate you for the loss of profit, but we would prefer your girls to be terminated immediately and end up as ashes rather than remain around for years. Of course, we do not expect you to recall your existing products; we long accepted that risk. Oh, and cease all your current operations.”

“That’s a pity,” said Pembroke. He was thinking of Jessica Miller, and how he had spent weeks leering at her over social media and candid photos, trailing her as she walked to and from school each day in her uniform. Just fourteen, she had been a highly desired target, and now he would have to inform the buyer that the operation would have to be canceled, and young Jessica would make it to school tomorrow after all, never having any idea of the stroke of luck that had just intervened on her behalf. He also thought of Susan and Matilda Potter. Oh well, he could still have some fun with Susan, he smiled, though it would have to be entirely consensual and end with her going back happily to her family. He sighed ruefully.

“I am surprised you haven’t been caught already, Eddie,” remarked Ahmed dryly. “You’ve sailed too close to the wind. I was quite concerned when I heard that Amanda Bridgerton had committed suicide by jumping off a cliff, yet her body was never found.”

“Oh, that,” Pembroke smiled. “Well, I told you, the poor girl had a traumatic few years. The rape, the trial collapsing when the accused disappeared,” he winked, “and the videos of her naked being circulated endlessly. It was hardly unexpected that she would kill herself.”

“You made it personal, Eddie. I presume she recognized you at some point?”

“Yes, she did, but don’t worry, it was a special arrangement,” Pembroke said, sipping his water again. “She was sold directly to a specialist client of mine. He has a high turnover of products, if you know what I mean. Only the naughtiest girls get sold to him. In fact, it’s a shame you’re not giving me more time to get rid of my stock. He would be an ideal purchaser for a mass end-of-life sale.”

“No more sales, Eddie, and no more abductions,” Ahmed said firmly.

“What about my loyal staff?” Pembroke asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Those freaks and degenerates will never be able to get a new job,” Al-Masri laughed. “Eddie, I hope you don’t have any loyalty to them. We both know you have no pensions ready for them. It’s best their employment is terminated—permanently.”

“I suppose it is kindest, in many ways,” said Pembroke wistfully. “Kidnapping, holding, and torturing people isn’t the kind of thing one puts on a CV, and it would probably be better for humanity if such individuals were not in the employment market.” Pembroke sipped his water again. “And you’re right, I had vague suggestions for a pension, but as yet, my salary outgoings are remarkably low. They probably expect a reward at the end of employment. Yes, from a business point of view, a permanent cutting of ties would be better for all of us.”

“I will be inspecting your complex soon, Eddie—in about ten days. By then, ‘Bereketli Yemcilik’ should be insolvent, and their complex should have suffered a catastrophic fire. There should be no trace of employees, and undeniable evidence that all the people we’ve discussed are no longer among the living.”

At that moment, the waitress returned with their food. She was beautiful, with a bright smile and an air of happiness, completely unaware that she was serving such evil men.

It had been a difficult week for Edward Pembroke. Far from the glamour of New York and London, he was back at the complex, fielding furious calls from clients about aborted abductions. Pembroke had, in a bid to placate them, merely insisted the operations would be delayed.

And they might well be. Pembroke was keeping notes and potential clients. He watched Jessica Bridgerton’s TikTok profile, frustrated that she was with her parents and not currently being branded by Mrs. Al-Haraz, but he promised himself that her time would come, once he had set himself up somewhere else, perhaps as a lone sole trader.

He had explained to the staff that there needed to be modifications to the complex in anticipation of a major government inspection, so there could be no more girls, and the existing ones had to be sold quickly to handle the inspection and renovation. He did not want to tell anyone that the complex would soon be burnt to the ground and that his staff had only a week to live.

However, in direct contravention of Ahmed’s orders, annoyed at having to obey him and eager to make money, Pembroke instinctively set up a fire sale. Prices were lower than usual, and he winced as Isabela, who had only just arrived, was sold for the paltry sum of $50,000 to a loyal customer who had set up his private island off the coast of Scotland. He told himself it was better than disposing of her for nothing.

He was not stupid; he knew that it was not just his staff and his girls that Al-Masri and others in the Royal Family wanted dead. He was a liability, and he wanted as much money as possible because he planned to disappear from Al-Masri as well as from the rest of the world soon. And while he cringed at the low prices the girls were sold for to the lucky buyers, he at least consoled himself with the fact that no commission was being paid on the sale prices.

The days went by and a feeding frenzy started after rumors abounded that Edward Pembroke was selling up. He was contacted by Kenji Takahashi, a Japanese porn baron and gangster.

“Edward, my old friend, I hear you are offering good prices!”

“Kenji, you old devil,” Pembroke sighed down the phone, “you’re going to take advantage of me, I suppose?”

“Hehe, well, I thought now might be a good time to indulge my even wilder tastes.”

“Do you still have the girls I sold you?”

“Oh, Miriam and Linh?” asked Kenji. “Yes, still here! Good girls, very obedient, still very young, and I am very fond of them, which is why I wanted new fresh stock for what I desire.”

“Those girls will have you around their little fingers,” laughed Pembroke.

“Oh, don’t worry, I still keep them in line. Linh can barely sit down at the moment; I whipped her like a dog across her ass last week, just for fun!”

“Good to now you are not going soft in your old age! So how can I help?”

“Well, I’ve got a pet tiger, and I’ve always had this wild idea of pitting him against a real live human. You know, a woman with a fierce spirit, preferably someone a bit older. I thought I’d keep her around for a few days, have some fun, and then see how she fares against the tiger. Capture it all on film for posterity, that sort of thing. Do you have anyone suitable?”