AUTHOR'S NOTE=We're getting to that moment where the plot gets complicated, a lot of bad people doing bad things, but we're starting to unravel some of William Thatcher's secrets, and get ready to be very angry with this man, but remember love and kindness always win... don't forget to leave your comment and bookmark our story. A big hug.
CHAPTER 93
In a distant and dark place, lost in the most hidden corners of society, there was a gloomy hall. The place was a den where decadence and despair mingled, creating an atmosphere of terror that seemed to have a life of its own. The darkness was so dense that you could barely make out shapes, and the only point of reference was the faint glow of lit cigarettes that cut through the thick, smoke-laden air.
The only people in that room were Charles and those men from the fugitive gangs, and they all lived in a constant state of agony, knowing that they were trapped in a nightmare from which they could not escape. Every fake laugh, every empty toast, was just a facade to hide the despair that burned in their hearts. They knew that any slip-up could attract Charles' attention, and no one wanted to be the next to disappear into the darkness of the night. Fear and anxiety hung in the air, like a storm about to break at any moment.
The shadows lengthened, enveloping the room in a sinister embrace. Every empty cup, every desperate look, every sigh of resignation added a layer to the endless nightmare of that distant and gloomy place, where Charles, the great outlaw, reigned like a god of terror.
Dark, haggard men sat at worn tables, their silhouettes moving like doomed shadows. The few women who circulated around the place simply didn't belong in this world, with empty eyes and mechanical gestures. Every step they took echoed like the dragging of chains, creating a sense of imminent instructions.
Charles was the central figure in this nightmare. His presence hung over the place like a curse. He was a shadow among shadows, an enigmatic man who had escaped the clutches of justice. His past was an enigma, his identity a dark secret.
The atmosphere of terror in the hall was amplified by rumors that Charles possessed powers that only money could buy. It was said that he had made pacts with the devil and had the gift of controlling the minds of those who dared to cross his path, his mere presence brought discomfort, and those who dared to look him in the eye were consumed by fear.
The sound of bitter laughter and hoarse pitches mingled with the music of an out-of-tune piano, which resounded like the lament of lost souls. The acrid smell of burning cigarettes permeated the room, mixing with the odor of low-quality spirits and the suffocating perfume of women who gave up on their dreams a long time ago. Their torn dresses and smeared make-up added a touch of decadence to the macabre scene.
In that place without luxury, the salon seemed like a nightmare from which one could not wake up. The walls were wet and dripping, as if they were weeping for the sadness that lived there. The candles that lit the room cast distorted shadows that writhed on the walls like hungry spectres.
The strong smell of whisky mixed with the smell of the naked women in the room, and the naked woman sweating on his lap. Charles thought that even if he didn't have luxury, at least he was entitled to booze, quality cigarettes and fiery women at all times. Today he used them right there in the saloon, on the tables or on the dirty floor, which gave him a lot of pleasure... he didn't care that the other men in the gang saw his sexual acts, it even filled him with pleasure to see that they ended up getting aroused to the point of trying the same thing... and those women were very well paid to be his pleasure, in the way he wanted and in the place he wanted. The floor was perfect for those whores in the brothel.
But as he looked at the counter, still naked as he sipped his whisky, he saw a picture of Julia Thatcher. That young redhead was very hot and he had felt it many times, ever since he was a young boy, he had picked her up behind the school wall, and she had moaned deliciously. But to see that girl try to kill his Elizabeth, his little red-haired princess, pure and innocent... it burned his blood. Who were they to send a man to try to rape their beloved Elizabeth? That girl was his, she was his wife, and only he could touch her or violate her body in any way he wanted.
Charles picked up the newspaper, threw his glass of whiskey away on the wall, and passing by the corner, grabbed the only young girl who was still dressed and clean by the hair, a young girl with blonde hair, who was crying and had never been there before... she was Charles' bonus. He had earned the right to her purity, and this girl would have to take all the anger he now felt towards Julia away from him, and screaming, she was taken to her room, where her clothes were torn off amid punches, slaps and kicks. Moans were heard for hours, until silence reigned and Charles fell asleep...