Claire Eastwood

“Let me go!” I keep screaming and fighting for my freedom as men carry me onto the lower deck of the yacht. My father has one of these in Seattle.

He called it Love, who was one of his many very young, very flashy side pieces and Mom didn't bat an eyelash. She never does because her lashes are too expensive. But she'd keep tabs on them, waiting patiently to pay them off after the third month because no side piece deserved to stick around after the three month time limit.

She'd use extreme measures when they got too greedy. Blackmailing, spamming, bullying, sharing explicit videos, and even physical assault were just to ensure they stayed away after kidnapping, torture and other stuffs I'd rather not talk about.

And in Josephine's case, what can I say other than I learn from the very best.

If I got carried away back at the warehouse, it was because the skank didn't know when to shut her mouth. She needed a good lesson on manners and since her parents didn't teach her, I took it up