He had been born to a prostitute, and no one ever knew who his father was. A bit of a going away gift.”
Rich had stopped his hosing of an empty cage in the basement of the old house that Frank used to house and “train” (or torture) his girls. Riggz, a fellow pimp that Rich had befriended, had given him the phone number. In fact, when he had gone so far as to beat and torture one poor girl so bad that he cracked her skull open, he had simply sighed, held her head between both of his hands, and swiftly twisted until the loud crack of her neck rang through the basement they were in. Frank dropped the girl’s head, blood splattering a bit from her open skull, and turned to kick a girl here or there to quiet their screaming. This was for the best. They were either numbered, or referred to by derogatory names. Some screamed, some sobbed, others cowered back in fear that they would be next. Rich looked over at her.
