Circling round the block, Damon stopped at an apartment building. The top part of the block was in serious need of some repair work, and the bottom few floors were decent enough to walk on. He knocked on doors and dished out the small plastic bottles of moonshine, pocketing the books that Don had requested when he was done.
He never drank the moonshine that Don distributed out of the club. The shit was potent, unlike the stuff he served at the club, and it made a man lose control. After years of working closely with the stuff, he refused to be part of that world. His own world might be shit, but at least to a point he had control.
Once he’d made the transaction he left the block and made his way to his own place. He lived in an apartment block on the borderline to Jordan’s territory. Jordan was a hardnosed criminal and the worse of two evils. He was also the leader of Area Three.
The security on the entrance door was shot. Damon walked through and walked up the flight of stairs. Living on the top floor helped with his fear of small places. He could go on the roof that overlooked the city. It gave him a feeling of the world being much bigger.
By the time he got to the floor before his own, he stopped. A woman was screaming through the walls for help. For some reason he couldn’t explain he paused, his foot perched on the step leading to his own floor.
“Please, stop!” the woman yelled. He heard the distinctive sound of male sniggering. Damon might work in a sex bar for a guy who sold women, but he never forced himself on any woman. A rapist was still the lowest of the low in his books. With the world the way it was going, women were becoming fair game.
Damon didn’t like it. They couldn’t protect themselves against criminals or gang members. The women he’d met did what they had to in order to survive.
“Let me go.”
Earlier in the week he’d seen a young woman move into his apartment building. At the time he’d not gotten a good look at her. Women should know better than to be alone in apartment blocks like this. If other men had found her alone, which they obviously had, she’d have been picked off in no time.
You’ve got to do something. You can’t leave her alone to fend for herself.
He let out a sigh of frustration and then walked toward the sound of the screaming woman. Several doors along the corridor had been broken into. When he came to the closed door where the screams were loudest, Damon stopped.
What the fuck are you doing? This is not your fight. You’ve got that book Don wants, and you shouldn’t be doing crap like this. If you ruin this book then you will be the one that is sorry.
Someone else can take care of her. You don’t need to.
“Please, stop it. Please.”
The distressed cries undid him. No woman deserved to be hurt. He knocked on the door before he gave himself chance to back out.
Damon heard the sound of shuffling, and the woman’s mouth must have been covered. A guy wearing a black sweater with a hood over his head answered the door.
“What the fuck do you want?” the man asked.
“I heard some noise. You’re not from around here, are you?” Damon asked. With the wars that raged the population had been struggling to increase. Lack of medical care and the issues from the M3 had made it hard for the people to overcome some of the simplest illnesses. He knew most of the people in Don’s area. Those he didn’t know were soon gone.
“I don’t give a shit who you are. Get lost. She’s ours.”
Damon’s knuckles were badly bruised, and they were starting to throb. He felt his anger rise at the disrespect the boy was showing him. He ran his fingers through his thick black hair, and then he struck out at the younger man. Grabbing the cord hanging around the man’s neck, he tugged him to his side, slamming the man against the wall. Damon then grabbed him around the neck and walked inside the room.
What he saw made him sick to his stomach. The woman’s arms were bound behind her back. Her pants were pulled around her ankles, along with her knickers. One of the men held her down on the bed. Her ass shone red from their aggression. He couldn’t see her face, but he’d seen enough to know he wanted to kill every single one of the bastards.
One of the men closest brandished a knife.
Damon laughed. His hands were his deadliest weapon. He’d killed several men with his hands in the fighting ring.
“What the fuck are you doing? She’s a whore.”
“I don’t give a shit who you are. You’re on Don Michael’s turf. I’m Damon Wright,” he said.
All the men around him paled. He had a bit of a reputation for being a mad dog. That was the nickname he’d been given in the ring, Mad Dog.
“Who are you?” Damon asked. He personally didn’t give a shit who they were, but he needed to know who was poaching on Don’s land. He’d be reporting them to Don the next time he saw his boss. No one from a different area attempted to rape one of Don’s women. They were all Don’s property in one form or another.