Bálor's dress shoes clacked against the dirty concrete flooring of the huge warehouse as he followed an... "employee" to a secluded room.
"You don't have to wear use protection if you don't want to," the cartel member said as he led Bálor back to one of the activity booths. "This one we've given up on. We can't break her—not even with the load of drugs we've pumped into her. She fights too much so we're just getting as much use out of her as we can till she dies. Personally, I hope it will be sooner rather than later. She's been a thorn in my side since day one."
You die first, Bálor thought, looking around as he followed the other man. He decided then and there that before he and his soon-to-be wife left, he'd wipe the cartel out and set the remainder of the women free.
The man approached a door and before he could open it, Bálor had thrusted his fist through his chest and ripped his heart out in one fell swoop. Letting the useless carcass fall to the floor, he opened the door and stepped into the room in search of his love.
He was nearly knocked off his feet by the smell of illness. The poor woman was in pain and suffering. He would be putting a stop to that. Immediately.
He stepped over to a bed where a woman lay, shivering and whimpering in her sleep. Bálor was appalled at her living conditions and the fact that even now, she was high on heroin.
"You deserve better, love. And you're gonna have it."