SEVER Jane, Melissa (management books to read .TXT) 📖

more than happy sneaking behind my back having your affair and sinking yourselves into this perverted cult. What the hell happened to both of you to make you think ‘oh, this is a fucking great idea?’ And thanks for your fucking comradery, sister. The last person I ever expected to stab me in the back was you. But it feels real fucking good, not that I’ll ever get the chance to repay the favor, because I’ll most likely die in Satan’s den and then Toby won’t be able to fend for himself because no one will ever guess that Blythe Cooper… Blakely… whoever the fuck I am, died in a fucking human trafficking ring!”

“Wh… Who’s Toby?” Shawn stammers, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Shut up,” I snap. “And wait your damn turn.”

“First of all…” Samantha starts. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I never lied to you, I just never revealed where I worked.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. It’s not somewhere you’d want to add to your fucking resume now, is it?”

“This place saved my life, and to be honest, I don’t know why you keep referencing to it as something so terrible. And human trafficking, I don’t get it.”

“Are you purposefully playing dumb? Is it not bad enough that dickhead Joseph thinks it runs in the family? Look where we are, Sam… it’s the end of the road. The least you can do is be honest, since we might not survive the hour.”

“She doesn’t know,” Shawn adds, helpfully.

“Know what?” we say in unison.

“She doesn’t know about the auctions.”

“How could she not? I had fuckwit pervert with the bad breath sink himself in it when he told me all about the auctions. Are you telling me I found out in one night what Sam has been so blissfully unaware of for months?”

“Yes,” he nods, blood trickling down his temple. “It was never her place to know. She had her role, I had mine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you should.”

“Well, I don’t. Because you’ve been lying to me for a year now about… Every. Damn. Thing.”

“Can you two save you marriage issues for later and tell me what the hell you’re talking about? I simply introduce clients from Othello’s to here. And Shawn takes care of the legalities.”

I laugh and everyone in the room stares wide-eyed.

Granted, I do look manic.

“Shawn doesn’t take care of the legals. He’s doing the complete opposite to that and committing crimes by grooming women to be sold at auction.”

My sister looks between us, waiting for someone to say it’s a joke. When we don’t, her response isn’t what I expect. “Fuck off,” she replies slowly, debating if I’m speaking the truth.

“I’m not lying, Sam. You’ve been recruiting the men, while my husband has been recruiting young women. Your men have been buying said women.”

“No, that’s not right,” she says but I can see the wheels turning. “I was simply taking men from one club to another—”

“And why is that, Sam? Have you ever wondered why you’re taking them between clubs owned by the same person?”

“How did you piece all this together?”

“It’s fucking Shakespeare for fuck’s sake!” When she stares blankly, I start yelling. “Othello, Ophelia… the fucking Tempest! That’s not a coincidence. Othello, all ego. They’re the rich egos you hand your business cards to. Ophelia? Virginal! Shawn recruits the young women. Then you both bring them back here to…” I pull on my rope hoping loosen it. “Back to this shitstorm… the Tempest. You get it? And Prospero? Prospero is the watchword to get in this fucked-up place. In The Tempest, Prospero is the master of the monster! How does this not connect with either of you?” When nobody answers, I grunt in frustration. “Now I know how dickhead Joseph feels.” Shawn really has no excuse. We’ve attended countless Shakespeare productions, which in hindsight must have been under sufferance.

There’s a moment of silence, and for Sam it’s a rather profound moment. “Holy shit,” she finally whispers. “I’m so stupid, I’ve never made the connection. Not even once, and I studied Shakespeare for two years in Mrs. Lindsay’s class.”

I shrug trying to make it better. “To be fair, she was an awful teacher. I’m not surprised you didn’t retain anything.”

“How did you know?” Shawn asks, voice laden with guilt.

“I followed Sam and stalked her house until she left for work. Then I followed her,” I reply bitterly, leaving out the visuals from my last post. “How I got in here is nobody’s business. But once I was in, I started seeing familiar faces.” I turn to Shawn with scornful eyes. “Including Mr. Burton, our asshole, thieving banker, who won one of your girls from Ophelia. Thanks so much, by the way, I really love how you and he worked together so well to screw me over. Fucking me with a pineapple would have been a much sweeter experience.”

Shawn chuckles but it’s solemn. “I fucked up, Blythe. My explanations may not be good enough, but if we make it out of this, I promise to make it all better.”

“You’re too late. Besides…” I look to my sister and him, “I’m not into sloppy seconds. Or, in this case, would I be sloppy thirds? Or being that I was first to start with, does that really qualify me as sloppy anything—”

“What are you talking about?” Sam interrupts my rant.

“You and Shawn. Shawn and you. How long has that little charade been going on?”

“There’s nothing going on,” my husband states as a matter-of-fact.

I scoff. “And it’s expected you’d say that.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

“I saw you both the other day at Sam’s house. You had your shirt undone and you zipped Sam’s dress.”

“I had a shower at your sister’s because I was running late and her house is closer.”

Plausible.

“And the conversation