Chapter 2

After his meeting with Baran, Pembroke decided to indulge in a jog around Munich’s parks, savoring the city’s vibrant energy. As he ran, Pembroke’s eyes couldn’t help but drift to the women jogging ahead of him. Their slim, athletic figures moved with grace, their yoga pants hugging every curve in a way that caught his attention. He almost wished, in a dark thought, his running route would take them both somewhere quiet and obscure. After all, he would be flying out soon, if some female jogger was subject to a sexual assault, or even just disappeared for a day before her body was found, he would be long gone. But he snapped out of it, these kinds of things were best done well planned, and he had to focus on his lucrative mission here in Munich.

Returning to his hotel, Pembroke showered, shaved, and changed into an impeccably tailored Armani suit paired with a silk tie. He completed the look with a pair of sleek Tom Ford glasses, ready to join his distinguished company for the evening.

The Tantris restaurant in central Munich was known for its exclusivity, catering to the city’s elite, including the likes of Eldar Hasanov. When Pembroke arrived, he was greeted by Mr. Hasanov himself—a short, plump man with balding gray hair, a thin mustache, and dressed in an expensive suit that couldn’t quite mask his lack of physical presence.

Hasanov introduced his wife, the glamorous and statuesque Frieda. She was taller than her husband, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, and she wore a figure-hugging red dress that accentuated her curves, displaying just the right amount of cleavage to turn heads.

Joining them was Heidi, Frieda’s daughter, who arrived with a radiant smile. She wore a bright blue mini dress that highlighted her youthful energy. Her blonde hair was pulled back elegantly, and her blue eyes sparkled with happiness. Slightly taller than her stepfather, thanks to her heels, Heidi’s long, tapered thighs disappeared just before meeting within her short dress ... As she greeted Pembroke, her face beamed with the carefree joy of someone who had no idea of the dark intentions lurking behind this meeting.

“Hello, Mr. Pembroke! I’m sorry to hear you cannot speak German! My husband’s English is still so terrible as well!” Frieda Hasanov greeted him warmly, her voice laced with a playful tone.

“Oh, you can speak English with us,” Heidi chimed in, her smile bright and full of pearly white teeth.

“Of course! Haha! I’m sorry!” Pembroke responded with a polite laugh. “But Mr. Hasanov and I do have some important business to discuss. I think it’s best we converse in Russian. But I promise it won’t take up too much time!”

“Oh, oil talk!” Frieda waved the subject away dismissively. “How vulgar!”

“Well, I do have other interests,” Pembroke replied with a charming smile. “I happened to see your profile on Instagram, Mrs. Hasanov, and noticed you have a fondness for the music of Tchaikovsky. I must say I’m a fan as well, although I would love to debate the merits of Rachmaninoff—I think he’s superior and would like to convert you!”

“Oh,” Frieda’s eyes lit up with interest. “How fascinating! Yes, that sounds much more interesting than oil,” she laughed. “Heidi here has a passion for the violin. She plays so well.”

“Is that so?” Pembroke grinned at the young girl, who looked back at him innocently, her cheeks flushing as she smiled shyly.

“You shouldn’t be shy,” Pembroke continued, his tone encouraging. “Playing the violin is one of life’s greatest skills—one that not many can master! I only hope you also appreciate the music of Beethoven,” he added, referencing his own favorite composer.

Heidi’s blush deepened, and she nodded, her smile widening slightly. “Yes, I do. Beethoven’s music is ... powerful.”

“Indeed it is,” Pembroke said, his grin widening as he saw the subtle effect his words had on her. “Perhaps one day, we can have a more in-depth discussion about it, and you can share your thoughts on the great composers. It’s rare to meet someone so young with such refined tastes.”

Heidi’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and bashfulness, while Frieda looked on, clearly pleased with the conversation’s turn away from the dullness of business. Mr. Hasanov, meanwhile, remained content to let the conversation flow, already anticipating the business discussion he and Pembroke would soon engage in.

A charming, pretty young waitress approached their table, expertly pouring wine for each of them. She moved with a graceful efficiency, her raven black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her name tag read “Elena.”

Pembroke, ever the gentleman, smiled warmly at Elena as she took their orders. “Thank you, Elena. May I ask, where in Italy are you from?” he inquired, his tone friendly and genuinely interested.

Elena returned his smile, pleased by his politeness. “I’m from Rome,” she replied, her dark eyes sparkling at the thought of a large tip.

“Ah, Rome. A city of history and beauty,” Pembroke remarked, his eyes subtly taking in her form, noting how her tight black pants rode up her thighs between her legs, creasing into her crotch, almost showing her camel toe and he wondered if she wore any underwear. He fought the instinct to check out her ass as well.

He made sure his interest seemed purely conversational, masking the darker thoughts that flickered behind his polite smile. Years of experience had sharpened Pembroke’s instincts, and he quickly assessed Elena as yet another vulnerable migrant, likely alone in a foreign country with few connections—an easy target, should the need arise. With just her name and place of work, he knew his associates could find out more about her. The thought crossed his mind that Elena might soon find herself disappeared off the face of the earth along with the two blondes at the table.

As Elena walked away, her figure fading into the background of the bustling restaurant, Frieda leaned in slightly, her voice low and sultry. “You can tell a lot about a successful man like you by how they treat waiting staff,” she purred, her eyes locking onto Pembroke’s with a flirtatious glint.

Pembroke grinned back, raising his glass of Château Margaux. “Well, I am looking forward to the food here. Here’s to excellent company,” he said, his eyes gleaming with a mix of charm and calculation. Mr. Hasanov smiled with satisfaction as he joined the toast, while Frieda clinked her glass with a lingering, flirtatious smile directed at Pembroke, and Heidi, oblivious to the fatal danger she was in, parted her lips and smiled with youthful joy.

---------- Meanwhile, Zeynip and Clare were both out in the hall, positioned in front of the clear glass prison cell that held the other naked captives. The women inside watched the horrific scene unfolding before them, their expressions a mixture of dread and resignation, knowing all too well the consequences of speaking out or attempting to intervene. The only semblance of clothing they wore were the collars around their necks, each equipped with a built-in microphone that recorded every word they whispered or uttered. These recordings were translated and summarized by AI daily, ensuring that even in their private moments, the prisoners were never truly free to express themselves. Outside the cell, Clare was on all fours, her body immobilized by a series of restraints fastened to the ground. Her legs were spread wide, her hands bound so that her face was pressed against the rough floor, leaving her exposed and vulnerable, her bottom splayed upward for all to see her pussy and asshole between her cheeks.

Zeynip had her wrists tied behind her back, leaving her defenseless but not as severely restrained as Clare. She stood, trembling with fear and anger, under the watchful eyes of not only Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz but also two of Pembroke’s most vile henchmen, Dmitri Voskov and Jamal Haddad. The men observed the scene with disturbing interest. The girls inside the cell, fully aware of the danger these men represented, watched in silent horror.

“All right, you lazy bitches,” Mrs. Al-Haraz sneered, her voice dripping with malicious glee. “The good news is that one of you has the chance to win this task. And that winner will not be punished. The punishment is going to be thirty strokes of the cane across the back and buttocks, followed by thirty minutes in the glass box with the snakes!” She leered over the horrified girls, her words met with gasps of fear and disbelief.

“No, no, please, Madam Al-Haraz,” Clare pleaded desperately, her voice shaking as she turned her face toward the cruel woman from her position on the ground. “The Master would never give anyone that long with the snakes! And we’ll be too badly marked to be sold!”

“Unfortunately, ladies,” Mrs. Parker interjected, her tone almost bored as she idly played with Zeynip’s hair, twisting the dark strands between her fingers. Dressed in a ludicrously short red dress that barely covered her forty-something figure, Mrs. Parker’s appearance was as unsettling as her words. “Unfortunately, you girls are well behind on training. You’re not yet in a fit state for sale, and the Master doesn’t believe that the recovery time from the cane strikes will make any difference in the near future.”

The casual cruelty in Mrs. Parker’s words sent a shiver down Zeynip’s spine, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend the horror of the threats being made. Panic welled up inside her, but she fought to keep it at bay, knowing that any sign of weakness would only fuel their captors’ sadistic pleasure.

With a theatrical flourish, Mrs. Al-Haraz whipped off a carpet that had been covering a large, clear glass box. Inside, several grass snakes immediately sprang to life, their slender bodies slithering in an eerie, hypnotic motion. The sight of the snakes sent waves of dread through the room, the reality of the punishment suddenly all too tangible. The other girls watched in silent terror, their eyes wide with fear as they imagined themselves trapped in that box, the cold, writhing creatures coiling around them.

“One of you cunts” spat Mrs Al-Haraz, “still has a chance to avoid it. You just need a strong mouth and a tight asshole” she laughed as she ran her hand, and dragged her nails, down the open crack of Clare’s ass until her index fingernail met the crinkled skin of her anus as she tried to catch the sharp end in the little crevice. She laughed giddily as Clare jumped as best she could do in her restrained position.

Mrs. Parker leaned in close, her hand trailing down Zeynip’s face with a mockingly gentle touch. She crouched down, her eyes locking onto Zeynip’s, before pressing a cold, unwelcome kiss on her lips. “Come on, darling, I’m rooting for you,” she whispered with a twisted smile, her words dripping with sarcasm.

Zeynip recoiled internally, her mind spinning with dread and confusion. She barely had time to process what was happening before Mrs. Al-Haraz spoke up, her voice filled with wicked glee. “Now, I just need to fetch the anal beads,” she announced, disappearing momentarily from sight.

Zeynip stared in bewilderment at the restrained body of Clare, her mind racing. Clare’s exposed private parts were something Zeynip had already been very recently acquainted with, but the ominous mention of “beads” sent a fresh wave of fear through her. ---------- Meanwhile, nearly a thousand miles away, a far more pleasant scene unfolded at the exclusive Tantris restaurant in Munich, where Pembroke was entertaining the Hasanov family. The gentle laughter, clinking of glasses, and enjoyment of fine food sharply contrasted with the horrors occurring in southern Turkey. Yet, as Pembroke engaged in lighthearted conversation, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought that the wealth from selling girls like Zeynip and Clare funded this life of luxury and refinement.

“Edward, I fear I want to discuss the Azamarian issues at work,” Mr. Hasanov said in broken English. “Oh, Eldar,” Frieda rolled her eyes.

“But business is what puts food on the table,” Pembroke replied with a playful wink as he enjoyed his roast beef.

“You boys talk oil in Russian, then,” Frieda suggested with a smile. “Heidi and I can chat in German. I promise, Edward, I’ll scold Heidi if she starts talking about how much she fancies you,” she added flirtatiously.

“Mummy!” Heidi exclaimed, exasperated by her mother’s teasing, while Edward grinned at the playful exchange.

Switching to Russian, Eldar leaned in. “Do not worry, Edward, my wife and her daughter are both as stupid as pig shit. I talk about them all the time in front of them in Russian; they understand nothing.”

“Well, the beauty of being a polyglot is hiding things from people,” Pembroke responded warmly, maintaining the façade, while overhearing the women discuss Taylor Swift in German.

“Do you have a plan for them yet?” Eldar asked. “I want Frieda dead, and I want Heidi alive, but I want the world to believe her dead.” Pembroke sipped his water thoughtfully. “The first should be relatively straightforward, but you’ll need an alibi. You’re wealthy enough to hire a hitman, but if she’s murdered mysteriously, suspicion will naturally fall on you.”

“I’ll be devastated, don’t worry,” Eldar assured him. “And the payment will be untraceable, but you’ll get it. I met Mr. Lorkov a week ago; I understand you sold him some product recently.”

“I can’t reveal my customers’ identities,” Pembroke replied with a smile, “but I’m glad word is reaching the right markets. Just remember to keep this discreet.”

“Oh, of course!” Hasanov agreed. “I made my fortune by being discreet about quite a lot of crimes. Now, I want Heidi, but if she has to die to cover it up, I expect a reduction in price.”

“You’ll be saving quite a lot of money,” Pembroke remarked, raising an eyebrow. “And imagine the freedom to pursue other women?” He winked as Elena returned, asking if everything was all right.