Dominance Evolution System: Sweat, Sex, and Streetball

Harlan stood frozen in front of the window. The red and blue lights swept across the walls. The police were deploying. He had nowhere left to go. He was done... like a rat.

Behind him, Monique laughed again, a low, contemptuous, almost hysterical laugh.

"Look at you," she said. "Poor Harlan Reiss. Shitting himself because the police are here. You knew this is how you’d end up. A rat in a hole. Exactly what you’ve always been."

He turned around. At that moment, the last thing he needed was to hear this crazy bitch’s bullshit. Ten minutes ago he had been on top of the world, and in an instant he had lost everything.

The CEO seat at Apex? Dead.

Victoria? Never.

Even his freedom? Lol.

He wasn’t a rat. He was a corpse in the making.

He stared at Monique, but this time his face had changed.

"Shut your fucking mouth," he said.

"Or what?" Monique leaned forward despite the ropes. "You gonna hit me? Like the coward you are? Go ahead, dirty rat. Hit me. Show me just how pathetic you are."

Harlan crossed the room in an instant and slapped her so hard the chair toppled over. Monique crashed onto her side. Her temple reopened. Fresh blood ran down her cheek.

That might have been the final mistake. Sure, he was finished, but that was exactly what made him so dangerously unpredictable right now. And she was the only bad memory he still had left to take it out on.

She spat on the floor and lifted her head, eyes burning with pure hatred.

"That all?" she breathed. "A little bitch slap? You can’t even hurt me properly. You’ll always be Hector’s little dog. The worthless piece of shit. The rat that crawls."

Harlan grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up. He forced her face-down onto the floor, planted a knee in the small of her back, and slapped her a second time, then a third. The sharp sound of his hand against her skin echoed through the warehouse.

"Fuck you!" Monique screamed.

She twisted under him with desperate strength, tried to bite him. Her teeth sank into his forearm. Harlan grimaced in pain and drove a fist into her side, making her let go with a cry.

"Ah," Harlan said, breathing hard, a twisted, ugly smile spreading across his face. "Fuck me, huh? Fuck *me*?"

He grabbed her jaw hard enough for his fingers to dig into her flesh and forced her to look at him.

"Is that what you’re telling me, bitch? Fuck you??? Is that what you’re saying, bitch??"

"Fuck you!" Monique repeated, saliva and blood mixed on her lips. "Fuck you, you dirty rat! You’re not even worth the shit stuck under my heels! You’re nothing! You’ve always been nothing!"

Harlan tore what was left of her dress. The fabric gave easily. Her breasts and lower stomach were exposed. She thrashed like a madwoman, knees aiming for his crotch, teeth snapping at empty air, wrists pulling at the ropes until the skin split open.

He put a hand on her throat and pressed her harder against the floor.

And for the very first time in her life, Monique felt panic rising inside her.

No...

What was happening to her, this powerlessness — she had seen it too many times. She had been the one causing it too many times. She knew the signs. She knew exactly where this was heading.

No, no, no.

She refused to believe it. She was Monique de la Bite, one of the heads of Apex, the one who sent the troops to the slaughter and looked down on everyone. She wasn’t one of those whores she sent into the rooms at the Jade Garden. She wasn’t one of those girls you bought, sold, and raped for a few credits. She was above that. She had always been above that. The others were trash. Tools. Bodies.

Not her.

Never her.

The police would come in. Nash would arrive. Someone would stop this. It was impossible any other way. She was too important. Too powerful. Too...

"You don’t even dare," she breathed, her voice trembling despite herself. "You don’t even dare, rat. You know damn well you’ll die if you touch me. Hector will have you cut into pieces. Nash will find you. Someone’s going to come in. You’re not... you can’t..."

Harlan wasn’t listening anymore. He forced her thighs apart with his knee. Monique screamed and tried to close them with all the strength she had left. He punched her in the lower stomach. The air left her completely. Her legs shook.

Suddenly she felt the contact. Something hot, wet, and hard pressed against her.

Something broke inside her head.

No.

This is a mistake.

This has to be a mistake.

"Stop," she said, her voice suddenly higher, almost pleading. "Stop, goddamn it, stop! You’re not... you can’t... I’m not... I’m not one of those whores... Stop..."

Her tears fell. She hated them. She hated the fact that they existed. She hated the fact that she was crying while a rat was about to take her.

I’m not like them.

I’m not trash.

Someone’s going to come in.

Someone’s going to stop this.

Outside, the police advanced slowly between the vehicles, weapons raised, sweeping the angles of the abandoned warehouse.

The sergeant raised a fist. Everyone stopped.

A noise was coming from inside.

First dull impacts. Then a man’s voice, low and furious.

"...bitch... dirty little bitch..."

Then a woman’s cry, sharp, full of panic and rage.

The officers exchanged looks. The sergeant signaled them to move closer to the door.

Inside, the noises continued: impacts, muffled moans, insults.

"Oh yeah? Fuck me? I’m gonna show you fuck you, bitch..."

A longer, rougher cry, cut short.

Someone was grunting.

"Nngh... urgh... stop..."

Guttural sounds of pain and pure horror. Half-formed words, broken, desperate.

The sergeant signaled two men to take position on either side of the door. A third pulled out the ram.

The noises inside intensified. Harder impacts, a man’s rough, rapid breathing, a woman’s moans that no longer sounded human.

One last cry, longer and higher, was smothered.

"AHHHH—!"

The sergeant went pale.

"...Shit... He’s giving it to her!" he growled. "Get in, now! NOW!"

He gave the signal.

The ram hit the first time. The wood cracked.

"POLICE!" the sergeant shouted through the door. "STOP IMMEDIATELY! POLICE!"

Second hit. The frame split.

Inside, the moans continued, weaker, more broken. The officers intensified their efforts, there wasn’t a second to waste.

"POLICE! WE’RE COMING IN! STOP RIGHT NOW!"

On the third hit, the door finally exploded inward. The officers entered in formation, weapons raised, tactical lights sweeping the filthy room — and what they saw froze them in place.

Harlan was pulling up his zipper, breathing heavily, face covered in sweat, eyes wide. Behind him, Monique was lying face-down on the floor, wrists still tied behind her back, dress torn, body trembling. Dried and fresh blood stained her face, her temple, and between her legs. She was breathing in short, sharp gasps.

For a fraction of a second, no one moved.

Monique slowly lifted her head.

Her eyes, shining with tears and pure hatred, locked directly onto the police officers.

She stared at them without a word, as if she were blaming them for arriving too late.