sweet tea. -tkam

karma.

-3rd pov-

TW: DRUGS, SENSUAL MENTIONS, CHEATING, HUMAN TRAFFICKING, CRIME

Elton's pov-

Chicago was bitter and cold, like it always was. The streets were filled with discarded cigarettes and hookers, illuminated by flashing lights from signs.
The lights reflected in puddles made from the constant icy drizzle that rained, it was miserable. Chicago, however, I liked better than the south. The hot, humid south. The south was riddled with nosey neighbors and ignorant fools, with heart-stopping food and judgy women.
Nobody ever kept to themselves, and likewise expected me to engage in foolish congregation with them. Coming to services and over for dinners, I wanted no part of that life. My neighbors worried me.
I feared one day they would pry too deep into my personal life and find things hidden from the public eye. Things were getting riskier by the second with the mob, we were on thin ice. My god our prized gal was off the tracks, she had always been goddamn insane, but she was increasingly losing more and more of what sanity she may have had.
She was turning on us, and becoming sloppy and deranged, unfortunately, she was too famous and too valuable to off, but held such knowledge of our organization that she could have us all killed in an instant. But god was she gorgeous.
A perfect body, perfect aura. No matter how vicious she got, and how dangerous she was, those damned sultry eyes drew you in like a trap. Her eyes and her very aura entranced you, putting you under some kind of spell. She was a temptress, a siren. She lured men deep into her arms with her beauty and grace, her angelic and seductive voice.
In her arms she coils her limbs tightly around you, suffocating you. She sends men into a trance, leading them to their demise like a lamb to the slaughter. But she was on our side. She was almost attainable, just out of reach, it drive us crazy. Every time we met I would pay her for services, but yet I couldn't get her to have honest-to-goodness sex with me.
I pushed open the large metal doors in front of me and unlocked a padlock, entering a dim room. Cigar smoke seeped from the shadows, and the conversation hushed to silence. At a round table sat five people, four of my good friends and coworkers, and one sinful woman. Her lavender eyes fell upon me in an icy gaze, and smoke slithered from between her crimson-painted lips.
A satin dress slipped off her shoulder on one side, and a shining chain of jewels rested on her protruding collarbone. She blinked lazily with long, fluttering eyelashes, with alluring disinterest.
I took my seat at the table, James acknowledged me with a nod, sitting up in his chair.

"How's the broad?" he asked with a smirk.

I remembered, he had slept with my whore wife, if I can even call her one. He was lucky to have experienced the one thing she was good for.
I didn't consider her a wife outside of my alibi. I bought her, she wasn't my wife, she was my property, and she was a piece in my elaborate cover story.

~flashback, third person~

Elton stepped up the wooden stairs onto a creaky porch, knocking on the door. A drunk man came out, dragging a small woman by her wrist. He thrust the woman in front of Elton, she looked timid, and weak. With nervous doe eyes, she looked up at her owner.

"Pay up." the man slurred, holding out a filthy hand

Elton forked over the money and took the woman by her wrist, pulling her to his side. He looked her up and down with greedy eyes, imagining what could be done to her.
He stuffed her small body, bound up, in the trunk of his black car, cloth stuffed in her mouth to muffle her cries.

~time skip. Later that month.~

The woman's feeble body emerged from the small building, clothed in creme silk. She walked reluctantly down the aisle to meet her buyer at the altar.
Her fearful gaze was averted from the man, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. She could feel tears prick her eyes as she approached, the shadow of the man falling over her figure. She stood in front of him, bowing her head in scared submission to the man. He had a sadistic smirk on his face as he lifted her head to look at him.
He stared deeply into her nervous eyes, relishing in her fear. Vows were said and with shaking hands she slid the ring onto his finger, her stomach turning and chest tightening. The man took forceful hold of her small body and kissed her with passion.
But the passion was not for her, rather, it was for what he could do to her. He had crafted an elaborate alibi for himself, a small southern home and a housewife. He felt no guilt in using her, he looked at her as subhuman.
He genuinely didn't view her as a being remotely capable of complex thoughts and feelings.