Rough Love…new writing, unedited…incomplete…

Roy Darnell Carver was fit to be tied. All my hard work, all the money I’ve spent, and these nincompoops can’t keep one snooping woman from digging up my secrets. I’ll deal with her myself, and I’ll feed her to the gators-just like all the other women who dared to stand against me.

He stormed out of his office, nearly plowing into his bodyguard, Royce, and continued down the stairs to the ground floor. 

“Boss, where are you going in such a fit of rage?”

“Someone’s going to pay for this crap, Royce. I’m in the mood to hit something.”

“Understood, boss. What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing, son. Stay out of the way until I return.”

“Yes, sir.”

Roy climbed into his cherry 1963 Corvette and fired it up. His rage boiled in his blood, and he knew of only one way to bring it down. He needed to go to House 51.

House 51 sat square in the middle of a fifty acre ranch on the outskirts of Angie. Officially, it was known as a night club, but to those who frequented it, it was a one-stop shop for the lusts of the flesh. 

“It’s the Mississippi version of Vegas,” the house madam was fond of saying. “Nothing is off limits.”

Roy frequented House 51 every night of the week, and he poured money into the coffers of house madam, Rachel W. Farnsworth. The girls who ‘worked’ here came from all over the globe. Ms. Farnsworth made sure the agents of Immigration Control had first dibs on the new girls, and she had a way of making everyone feel important. 

For those who refused to work with her, she turned Roy loose on them. Roy’s reputation and his fortune made him a formidable partner. Rachel made sure Roy knew of her appreciation, and showed it by never charging him when he felt his bloodlust rise, or when one of her girls disappeared and was never seen again.

Rachel Farnsworth knew the value of silence, and it was her ability to ignore the misdeeds of powerful people that drew people to House 51.

Roy pulled into his parking spot, right next to the stairs that led into the old Victorian house. He walked up the stairs and across the porch and entered the main foyer. Rachel stood there and smiled a warm greeting at him.

“Good evening, Mr. Carver. How may we serve you?”

His eyes took in Rachel and his hunger grew. Of all the women who worked in her brothel, she was the only one he could not take for himself. All the money in the world could not influence her, intimidate her, or cause her to lower herself to his level. He hated that, and tonight he wasn’t in the mood to acknowledge her denial.

“You’re mine tonight. Get upstairs.”

Rachel smiled and shook her head, and said, “I’m sorry, darling. That’s not how you ask, nor am I on the menu. Calm down. I’m sure I have something that will delight you.”

Roy took two threatening steps toward her and grabbed her by there collar with his right hand, and leaned backwards to head butt her, when he heard an audible click. He felt something nudge him, and he looked down. Rachel gave him another nudge with the .45 Lone Star derringer, and then gave him a cold smile.

“Next time,” he said, as he released the handfuls of cloth. She gave him another cold smile and raised her eyebrows.

“There’s not another next time. If you can’t control yourself, don’t come back.”

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