Rose Robbery (The End)

Chapter Twenty.
June 22nd, Monday, 11:12 PM Central Time, Hanz Farm.
"Hahahaha!" That was Thurt's hysterical laughter. Why could she still hear the killer's voice? Starling licked her palate; the bullet hole wasn't there. "Am I still alive?" She opened her eyes, everything blurry. After regaining her composure, she saw Thurt laughing maniacally in front of her, his left hand clutching her magazine.
Yes, she was alive. Whether it was the relief of surviving a near-death experience or the resentment of being toyed with by Thurt again, Starling's nose stung, and tears streamed down her face once more. Thurt's figure immediately blurred again.
"Don't cry, Clarice, stay calm. Stay calm. You can only survive on your own." Starling encouraged herself, choking back sobs. Taking a deep breath, she forcefully stopped her sobs.
Trant laughed maniacally for a full two minutes before catching his breath. Starling's dying look had given him a pleasure akin to reaching five orgasms simultaneously. He triumphantly reached out and wiped the tears from Starling's eyes, staring at the pale-faced female agent. She truly believed she'd been shot in the head with her pistol!
"Hurry up and kill me, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life." Starling's resolute voice choked Trant's remaining laughter. Her cheeks still bore traces of tears, her eyes glistened with tears, and her voice was weak, yet her tone was unexpectedly resolute.
This bitch is really something else, Trant thought, meeting Starling's calm and confident gaze. Every time he thought this bitch was about to break down, she would regain her composure in seconds. It was fucking unbelievable. Where did this bitch come from? So persistent.
"You think I wouldn't dare kill you?" Trant said deliberately, his tone vicious. "You're not as pretty as that little beauty, Bess. It wouldn't be a pity to shoot you dead."
"No matter where you sold Bess," Starling thought, a glimmer of hope appearing for the first time upon hearing the name "Bess." Perhaps she could trick Trant. She tried to keep her tone calm. "I'll bring her back."
"You bitch, stop dreaming, okay? You won't even live to see tomorrow, stop spouting nonsense."
Trant found this beautiful female agent, tied up naked and for two hours, rather strange. Perhaps he'd been too rough with her and driven her mad?
"I'll rescue Bess, and I'll bring you to justice." A hint of mockery appeared in Starling's eyes, though her heart was pounding fiercely. She knew her life hung in the balance.
This was her only chance. Her and Ginny's only chance. To deliberately belittle Trant. To provoke him, to enrage him.
"The net of heaven is vast, you can't escape..."
"Since you're so eager to save your good friend," Trant, about to erupt in fury, suddenly had a new idea, "How about..."
Starling's heart leaped into her throat. She understood that Trant was considering that possibility. She played the only card she had. She hoped Trant would take the bait. Now, she could only fervently pray to Ginny's spirit in heaven, that Trant would obey her.
Sell her like Bess, into a sex slave.
******************************
From the beginning, Trant disliked this idea intensely. Selling Starling into a sex slave sounded absurd. There were so many steps involved. Any problem at any point would be a huge disaster. Anyway, he'd already decided to live comfortably on the $500,000, so why create these complications? $500,000 wasn't a lot, but it was better than being imprisoned.
However, Starling's mocking look earlier was really bothering him. Trant had realized that even if he raped her ten more times, Starling would still look at him with that same gaze once she recovered. Unless he killed her now. Yes, that was the safest way. Tomorrow morning, Trant would just pack up and leave. The rape of Starling was a complete win.
Leaving her on the verge of death already made Trant feel like he'd avenged his homelessness. But Starling's arrogance and mockery had once again severely wounded Trant's pride.
Was he kidding him?! Who's raping whom? You were raped, and
you're still so arrogant? No way, killing Starling like this is too easy on her. Let's really sell her to Mexico, let thousands ride her, tens of thousands fuck her. Let her suffer that kind of humiliation, let's see if she's still arrogant then! Yes, let ten Mexican farmers pounce on her every day and fire twenty shots, making her wish she were dead, regretting ever being a woman. Only then will we truly avenge her hasty escape.
Besides, a beautiful young female agent like Starling should fetch a good price in Mexico. Oh, right, didn't this bitch say at dinner that Middle Eastern sheikhs specifically buy American policewomen and female soldiers as sex slaves? Even that fourteen-year-old girl could fetch a million dollars, so surely Starling, a celebrity, could be worth that much? If Starling really sold, not only would he recoup his pension loss, but he might even make a profit.
Thurman was gradually captivated by this idea. He needed to consider all the details more carefully. He lit a cigarette and paced back and forth in the basement. Starling's mood was fluctuating wildly. For a moment, she was convinced that her provocation had worked. But the rest of the time, she became incredibly depressed. She felt that at any moment, Thurman might pull out a gun and shoot her. In
the time it took to smoke a cigarette, Thurman went through the entire plan. He thought the idea was feasible. He was to withdraw all his savings the next morning and fly to New York. If all went well, he would arrive in the free Kaman Islands by tomorrow evening. Once the FBI discovered Mayer and Starling's disappearance and began a full-scale search, it would be at least tomorrow afternoon. By then, even digging three feet into the ground wouldn't be a hindrance to him.
It wasn't even midnight yet, and there were still five or six hours until dawn. Based on past experience, he had enough time to arrange Starling's sale. If the negotiations went smoothly, Rodriguez's men could arrive at Hantz Farm around 4 a.m. and take Starling away. He could then go home, take a shower, pack his things, eat a medium-rare ham and egg omelet, and go to the bank to withdraw money as soon as it opened at 8 a.m.
Having made up his mind, Trant returned to Starling. "Starling, you bitch, didn't you want to be a hero? Since you let me give you a good beating just now, I'll do you a favor. You'll soon see your old friend Bess. But not entirely what you imagine. You won't be rescuing Bess there; you'll be solving the sexual problems of Mexican farmers. Hahaha, that's right, selling you as a sex slave!"
Hearing this horrible news, Starling almost cried. She was already sobbing. Unable to control her tears, she sobbed and cursed, "You beast, if you don't kill me now, you'll regret it for the rest of your life..."
Trant became even more smug, convinced he had made the right decision. This filthy bitch would taste a fate worse than death. Scared now? Too bad, too late! Anyone who crosses Thurt will regret it for life! Like a lover, he gently wiped away Starling's constantly falling tears.
"Don't be so scared, my little darling. I would never turn down money. Five years from now, if you're still not drowned in Mexican semen, you might still have a chance to see me. If you're sold to the Middle East, well, that's another story. I've heard that the richest sheikhs appreciate bestiality."
After carefully checking the leather belt binding Starling, Thurt happily went upstairs to discuss the most triumphant sale of his life. Starling was left trembling with fear, alone to savor the sorrow of being sold to a foreign land as a sex slave. In this respect, Trant couldn't offer any help.
Even after Trant's footsteps faded, Starling was still trembling uncontrollably. However, it wasn't from fear of the future, but from the excitement of seeing a glimmer of hope in her desperate situation.
"Ginny, I swear, no matter what humiliation I suffer, I will live on and avenge you."
******************************
On Monday, June 22nd, at 10:20 PM Mexican time,
Rodriguez in Mexico was extremely unhappy about being disturbed while he was doing his business. It was hard to call it a bad temper. Who would be happy to be pulled up to answer a phone call when they were in the throes of passion? Besides, the stunning young woman currently riding on Rodriguez's pregnant belly, her hips swaying seductively, was going to be sold to a major Colombian drug lord in two days. This was her farewell dinner.
Rodriguez was genuinely reluctant to part with this beauty. Such a beautiful American woman, so excellent in bed, was truly hard to find. However, the drug lord's price was incredibly tempting. Money was more important. Women, after all, aren't they all the same? On another note, those two videos she filmed would also make him a fortune. Especially the one about her as a reporter in Los Angeles. That was a rare masterpiece.
When he learned it was Thurman calling, he hesitated. After all, Thurman's supply was always very reliable. He didn't want to lose such a source easily. Rodriguez gestured for the beauty on top of him to get off, picked up the receiver, and told the operator in the switchboard, "Take it." Rodriguez used his free hand to grab the girl's hair and press her head against his stomach. The girl immediately started sucking his penis. Her oral skills were really good. Her deep throat skills were also excellent.
Right, she was also sold by Thurman, wasn't she?
"Hello, Sheriff, it's good to see you open for business again."
"Yes, Paul. This is a big deal, the biggest one so far."
"Oh?" Rodriguez straightened up, patted the girl beside him on the head, and the girl quickly spat out his penis and obediently knelt on the bed. "Tell me, old friend?"
"25 years old, 5 feet 4 inches tall, great figure. Pretty face too. By the way, she's an FBI agent."
"Paul, Paul, Paul, how many times have I told you?" Rodriguez emphasized impatiently.
Trent could see his dissatisfaction. "In business, safety comes first. FBI agents are too much trouble. If you lose an agent, the FBI will go crazy."
"I know that, Paul. I've worked for the FBI before, haven't I? Trust me, I have a foolproof way to evade their investigation."
"Sheriff, it's not that I don't trust you. I just don't want to cause trouble. Isn't the point of business to make money? I won't take that risk."
"Paul," Trent's voice remained calm, "If I wasn't sure, do you think I would kidnap an FBI agent? Do you want to lose my job?"
"Ha, ha, Paul, I absolutely didn't mean that. You know, things are getting tense lately, we have to be careful."
“This is a big deal,” Trent sensed the Mexican was softening; it was time to make the move. “Rod, you’re an expert in human trafficking. You should know that American girls with special identities can fetch high prices in the Middle East and South America.”
“Hmm,” Rodridges squinted.
“You know about the ‘Liz’ kidnapping case, right?” Trent asked.
“Tell me about it? Right, the little girl who played the piano?” the Mexican perked up.
"That's right, a fourteen-year-old blonde girl sold for a million. My agent is 25. She's an American law enforcement officer, a celebrity agent. There are plenty of rich people who don't like the FBI. She's worth that blonde girl's money."
"Paul, you're well-informed. What has that agent done?"
"She actually became a big star two years ago, on the cover of People magazine. Do you know about the 'Buffalo Bill' case?"
"'Buffalo Bill'?" Rodriguez stroked his beard. "I don't remember. You Americans have too many strange cases." He didn't notice the American girl kneeling by the bed suddenly shudder.
Thurman briefly recounted how Starling single-handedly cracked the "Buffalo Bill" case. This drew a sigh from the Mexican. He knew this agent named Starling was a cash cow. With her experience and status, even a Middle Eastern oil tycoon might offer $2 million.
"Paul, that sounds great. But if she's really as famous as you say, the FBI will go crazy. How are you going to deal with their investigation? And dealing with buyers will be difficult. The Americans are still desperately trying to find fault with me."
Thurt, who had dealt with the Mexican many times, clearly sensed his strong interest in Starling from his long list of complaints. The dangers he mentioned were just a ploy to negotiate a lower price. Damn Mexican.
“Rodriguez,” Thurt didn’t have time to beat around the bush, “I’ll handle the FBI. When have I ever done anything I wasn’t sure of? Besides, there are other buyers. I only contacted you first because of our old connection. If I were worried about the risks, I would naturally contact someone else.”
“Old friend,” Rodriguez said with feigned surprise, “You have stock to sell quickly, how can I not help? I know the FBI has lost an agent who’s investigating, aren’t they going crazy? No problem, we’re old friends. I’ll definitely help. Tell me the number, I’ll have someone prepare.”
“Okay, straightforward. One price, $300,000, cash. Pick up at 5 a.m.
"Hahahaha!" The Mexican seemed to have just heard the world's most ridiculous joke, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. "Look, Paul, I'm not your federal reserve bank. How can you expect me to conjure up $300,000 in cash for you in the middle of the night in an hour?"
"Paul," Thurt said impatiently, "you know the value of this agent. I have other buyers."
"$300,000 is indeed a large sum," Rodriguez suddenly remembered the $200,000 from selling the movie. "I need to make a call first. Call me back in ten minutes, okay?"
After hanging up on Thurt, the Mexican quickly dialed his underground movie buyer's number. The American said the cash was ready. The Mexican had the American deliver the cash directly to Hanz Farm. "Have your men contact the Mario brothers; they know exactly where that farm is."
It was Trent again on the phone.
"I only have $250,000 in cash. How about the remaining $50,000 transferred after pickup?" the Mexican asked.
"It's a deal."
"Alright, the Mario brothers will pick it up at 4 o'clock. But an American will bring some cash. Is that alright?"
"No problem, old friend. I trust the people you trust." Trent hung up, thinking to himself, "Trust them? Yeah, right." He was just looking for a quick buck; he'd take the money and be off to sunbathe on a Caribbean beach. Having arranged such a perfect ending for that bitch Starling, and with an unexpected $250,000 windfall, Trent was in an excellent mood. He discovered that his penis had miraculously regained its vitality.
One more time to rape that bitch Starling? Why not?
For some reason, as he descended the stairs, Trant's excited mind suddenly conjured up the image of the dead black man, old Tom. Old Tom, though lazy and stupid, had caused him so much trouble, wasn't entirely useless. For example, what he'd done to the poor daughter of the Washington pastor—that was quite imaginative.
Trant stood on the stairs for a few seconds, then suddenly whistled cheerfully and turned to go back upstairs. What he needed was still in the trunk of the police car. He had to hurry. That thought already made his penis throb painfully.
**********
...

She had to land a fatal blow.
She first checked her physical condition. Her right ankle was broken, making walking nearly impossible. The other major joints seemed okay. She tried to contract her anus; the entire passage burned, the entrance particularly painful, with at least three or four tears. Her vaginal opening was sore and swollen, but thankfully there weren't any major wounds.
She tried to recall the techniques she learned at the FBI training camp for dealing with a lost right leg. She needed to utilize her knees and hand-to-hand grappling techniques, especially her right knee. The instructor had said that opponents would underestimate her right knee because her right leg was incapacitated. Close-quarters combat, seizing the right moment, and a sudden right knee strike was often the key to breaking the stalemate.
Thurman will definitely get me out of here. There might be a chance when I'm freed from the ropes. Thurman will be careful. But he might not care so much about my right leg. I can pretend my right leg is completely useless, and when the opportunity arises, I can knee Thurman in the groin. It might work.
Although the torn anus and swollen vagina will weaken the impact, as long as my knee hits Thurman's penis, even without full force, it will take him at least a full minute to regain his ability to resist. Thurman's revolver holster is on the right side of his belt. When we both fall to the ground, I should try my best to pounce on his right side. As long as I get my hands on Thurman's gun, I can turn the tide.
At this moment, I hear Thurman's footsteps on the stairs.
Starling's heart pounded wildly; she had no idea what fate awaited her.
"Starling, you bitch," Trant's smug voice rang out behind her, "You should thank me properly. I just found you a new employer. The FBI isn't a woman's game. Your new employer is great; you'll be a bride every day for the rest of your life!"
Starling bit her lip, trying to hide her excitement. Trant walked to Starling's parted legs, scrutinizing the beauty before him. The basement was stuffy and hot, completely unventilated. Fine beads of sweat still clung to Starling's naked body, making her skin appear even more alluring under the bright lights. Thurman reached out and gently stroked Starling's smooth back.
Starling tensed. Thurman's fingers grazed her full buttocks, sliding down to her inner thighs. Although she had just suffered multiple humiliations at Thurman's hands, her every sensitive spot thoroughly explored, she still couldn't adapt to his casual caresses.
Thurman's fingers, just like before the rape, still made her shudder with nausea.
However, when Thurman stood before her, smiling as he held up the object in his hand, Starling's heart sank. She realized that Thurman was even more perverted and vicious than she had imagined. Her stomach involuntarily convulsed. A surge of gastric juice rushed to her mouth, filling her nasal cavity with a sour, sticky taste.
Trant held a portable video camera and a lightweight tripod.
"You bitch," Trant said, clumsily setting up the tripod and forcing a grotesque grin at Starling, "Old Tom loves to film himself raping girls. Probably for later masturbation. He filmed a whole tape of that black priest's daughter; otherwise, I wouldn't have killed him. I've never tried filming while doing it. Sounds interesting, doesn't it? Starling, you bitch, smile."
"Bastard!" Starling struggled to squeeze out the word through clenched teeth.
Trant picked up the video camera, found the button, and the machine whirred to life. Trant squinted one eye, peered at Starling through the viewfinder, and shoved the lens right in front of her.
"Smile, Starling bitch."
The dark lens was almost touching Starling's nose. Starling was trembling all over; she spat fiercely into the lens. Trant paused, then burst into laughter. He picked up Starling's linen shirt from the ground, wiped the lens clean, and then, circling the naked Starling, began filming close-ups of her naked body.
Trant first squatted beside the ropes, the camera slung over his right shoulder, aimed at her exposed breasts. His left hand reached out, pinching the pink nipple between his index and ring fingers, his palm perfectly cupping the entire breast, gently kneading it. Starling's breasts weren't large, but their shape was almost perfect, and the feel was superb—firm yet elastic. Under the rough manipulation of his fingers, the small nipples helplessly stood erect.
Starling clenched her teeth. Her breathing became noticeably heavy.
Having patted her breasts enough, Trant moved behind Starling; her exposed crotch was the real focus of the shoot. Trant took out his crime scene investigation camera and meticulously recorded every detail of the rape victim's private parts. For a close-up of the entrance to her vagina, Trant deliberately parted Starling's swollen labia, even inserting a finger and rummaging around inside before pulling out his semen-covered finger, leaving a glistening trail at the tip. He
then immediately inserted the semen-covered finger into her equally messy anus. Starling let out a low moan. Trant grabbed a lock of Starling's beautiful blonde hair and slowly wiped the semen off his finger.
After five minutes of filming Starling's naked body, Trant moved the tripod behind her and secured the camera. His penis was throbbing. It was time to relax. He pulled down his pants, gripped his hard penis, and came up behind Starling. Aiming at her still slightly distorted labia, he thrust it in hard.
For the next half hour, Trant leisurely violated every orifice that could be penetrated on Starling's body. First her vagina, then her anus, and then her mouth.
With each thrust of Trant's hips, Starling moaned and cried out softly.
Both naked bodies were covered in a layer of glistening sweat.
After thrusting into Starling's mouth for five minutes, even someone as strong as him was starting to feel the strain. Taking a breath, he pulled his penis out of Starling's mouth and turned behind her. The camera was still set up in front of Starling. Trant knew that this angle would not only capture his thrusting into Starling from behind, but also record her expressions as she was being violated.
Sorrow, anger, and humiliation were the best aphrodisiacs. This time, he used Starling's anus for his final thrust.
Starling was almost unconscious. Her whole body trembled passively with Trant's movements. The only signs of life were her light panting and occasional moans.
After about a hundred thrusts, Trant yelled, pulled out his penis, and strode over to Starling. He vigorously stroked his nearly climaxed penis a few times, then shuddered and aimed his penis at Starling's face. The first spurt of white semen sprayed onto Starling's delicate nose and eyes. The second spurt was then smeared on Starling's lips. Then came the third, the fourth…
Trant, panting heavily, pressed his glans against Starling's cheek, deliberately smearing semen everywhere. Then he inserted his penis into Starling's hair, wiping it clean.
He picked up the camera again, aiming it at Starling's disheveled face.
Another tear rolled down Starling's cheek, which was smeared with sticky fluid.
Chapter Twenty-One
June 23rd, Tuesday, Central Time, 01:40, at Hantz Farm,
after Trant had finished venting his lust on Starling for the second time, he pulled up his pants and enthusiastically filmed Starling's naked body for another ten minutes or so. Then, Trant pulled a long rubber hose from a corner of the basement and turned on the tap, aiming it at Starling.
"You need to be clean before you go out in public," Trant said with a lewd grin. He deliberately turned the tap to its maximum, the powerful water jet slamming against Starling's ravaged body. Starling felt as if she were being repeatedly punched. Her labia and anus remained open, the water hitting her tender inner walls directly, a truly painful experience. Trant also took the opportunity to insert his fingers into those two secret places, probing and fiddling inside, saying that the inside needed to be cleaned too.
As the water splattered on Starling's face, she gasped for breath, her agonizing moans and screams escaping the cascading water. The ten-minute "bath" felt like another rape; Starling seemed to have exhausted the last ounce of strength in her body, collapsing limply onto the ropes, soaking wet. Her shoulders trembled slightly as she sobbed silently.
Thurt was also exhausted. What a long day it had been, filled with so many thrilling events! There were still many important matters to attend to in the next few dozen hours, and not a single one could be wrong. He really needed a rest. Perhaps he could sleep for another two hours or so before the Mario brothers arrived.
After checking the wide leather straps binding Starling's hands and feet one last time, Trant carried down a worn-out rocking chair from upstairs, placed it ten feet behind Starling, and plopped down in it. From this angle, Starling's wet private parts were completely exposed. After enjoying a cigarette, he dozed off.
Within minutes, Trant was snoring loudly.
Still dripping wet and exhausted, Starling struggled to stay awake and tried to break free of the thick leather straps on her wrists. The straps were incredibly strong; no matter how hard she tried, they remained firmly in place. She pinched her fingertips, feeling a distant pain. She had been bound for several hours, and her limbs were becoming increasingly numb. Even her broken ankle seemed to have lost all feeling; only her torn anus still throbbed with pain.
"Stay awake, Clarice!" Starling anxiously told herself. "Think of a plan now. We have to be one step ahead of them to have a chance."
However, exhaustion, like an endless fog, slowly but steadily enveloped her, making it difficult to stay conscious. At this moment, all she could think of was Ginny lying motionless on the ground. Blood flowed freely beneath him. Starling's eyes blurred again. Thinking of Ginny made her sob softly, even though she knew this was not the time for grief.
"I will live! I will avenge you!"
After crying softly for a while, layers of weariness washed over her, and Starling actually drifted off to sleep.
********************
Tuesday, June 23rd, Central Time, 04:02.
A 20-foot van pulled into Hantz Farm and stopped next to Trant's police car. Two Mexican men, one short and stout, the other tall and thin, jumped out of the cab. They were the Mario brothers; the elder was short and stout, the younger tall and thin. Trant, waiting at the door, nodded to them and quickly lit a cigarette; he couldn't stand the body odor emanating from the Mario brothers!
Trant knew that the elder brother was experienced and steady, while the younger brother was clumsy and impulsive. He'd also heard that the short, stout eldest brother was about ten years older than the tall, thin second brother. In fact, the Mario brothers had been inseparable since childhood. Moreover, Mexico had many rules, and the second brother was as obedient to his ten-year-older brother as he would to his father. Perhaps the brothers' biggest commonality was their inescapable body odor, which could knock you over unexpectedly.
The Mario brothers' childhood ambition was to become formidable gangsters. Their life's dream had been realized quite smoothly; ten years ago, the eldest brother had been following Rodriguez around, conquering the world. Actually, this so-called conquering the world was nothing more than transporting smuggled goods for Rodriguez. Later, Rodriguez, seeing that the brothers were honest and reliable, entrusted them with the important task of receiving sex slaves from the United States and transporting them back to Mexico.
Both Marios loved their job. They were based in East Texas, ostensibly delivering goods for a large Mexican supermarket in Houston, traveling between the US and Mexico at least three or four times a week. As a result, the brothers became extremely familiar with the border control stations on both sides, passing through with a simple wave, without any checks. They rented a yard in rural East Texas, with a hidden compartment in the spacious basement that occasionally served as a temporary transit point for transshipping videotapes.
The Mario brothers' main responsibility, of course, was transporting "goods," including to Louisiana, Texas, and the eastern Mexican states of Mississippi and Florida. Their goods, naturally, were young and attractive. Before being resold, they were rarely spared from being thoroughly abused by their sellers. When the Mario brothers took over, the girls might still have smears of fresh semen on their lips and crotches.
These girls were usually completely naked, wearing almost no clothes. Even if the seller hurriedly put a nightgown or a towel on the goods, the brothers would rip it off. Each girl was expensive, so the Mario brothers naturally wanted to thoroughly inspect the goods, inside and out.
Rodriguez was considerate of his men, knowing that it was perfectly normal for a virile man to be aroused like a rutting boar when faced with a beautiful, naked girl. Forcing it without having sex would be bad for their health. So he generally didn't object to the brothers looking for "goods" to have some fun on the street, as long as they didn't mess things up or damage the "goods."
These two brothers, more like father and son, often shared the same thoughts. For example, they both enjoyed sleeping with the same girl at the same time. Who was on top and who was off, who came first and who came last, didn't matter. As long as they could coordinate their rhythms, it didn't matter. The two brothers were also sexually active, earning them the nickname "Sandwich Marios" in their circle. This specialty caused considerable suffering for many of their "cargo." Some unfortunate girls even trembled at the mere mention of "sandwich."
Rodriguez soon discovered that the girls the Mario brothers slept with during their transports, regardless of age, race, or profession, all became exceptionally docile after experiencing the brothers' "sandwiches." So, the authorities valued the twin brothers even more, and even stopped limiting the number of times they could have sex during transport.
They were originally scheduled to deliver 800 tapes of exciting underground films to New Orleans at noon today. These tapes would fetch a high price on the American black market. Because of Trent's deal, the videotape transaction was moved up nine hours. At 3 a.m., they handed over the $200,000 worth of videotapes to the American buyer in New Orleans. The cash from the US would be sent directly to Hamz Farm.
The short, stout leader was very unhappy that there were outsiders present when receiving the "goods." He felt it would bring bad luck. However, since the boss had made the arrangements with the Americans, he had no choice but to comply. Fortunately, the young man who delivered the money was someone they had dealt with a few times before.
After shaking hands with Trant, the short, stout leader asked, "Where's old Tom?" "
He had chest pains a couple of days ago," Trant said without batting an eye, "and a check-up at the hospital revealed he had pneumonia and is hospitalized."
"I told you so," the tall, thin second-in-command, who had been yawning the whole way, chimed in, "The old guy's been drinking too much syrup; he was bound to get sick sooner or later."
The two sides had done business together many times and knew each other very well. Trant led them directly to the basement. On the way, the short, stout leader explained that the American who was supposed to take the money was on his way and would arrive in half an hour.
"Tell me, is he really an FBI agent? Isn't the deal pretty good?" The tall, thin second-in-command made no attempt to hide his strong interest in the "goods."
"See for yourself," Trent chuckled, the thought of that bitch Starling falling into the clutches of these perverted brothers thrilling him. "Look however you want. Anyway, she's yours."
********************
Tuesday, June 23rd, Central Time, 4:10 AM.
Starling at Hansfield Farm suddenly awoke. For a few seconds, her mind went blank; she didn't know where she was or why she was there. She seemed to have just had a terrible, erotic dream, being humiliated by a faceless man. Her throat was dry. Her head throbbed. Her
face felt sticky, now dry, tight, and unbearably itchy. Her mouth also had a strange, fishy smell. She licked her chapped lips, which were surprisingly slippery after being moistened with saliva. A faint, fishy, salty taste lingered on her tongue.
Strangely, when she opened her eyes, everything in front of her was blurry. The indistinguishable objects around her seemed to be swaying in unison, very orderly and rhythmically.
Why was this happening?
However, it felt like a pair of eyes were watching her from somewhere in the shadows. They were malicious eyes, making her feel extremely uncomfortable. Where was she?
There was also a stench permeating the surroundings. It wasn't the fishy stench from her mouth, but something else, even more unpleasant. She felt like she'd smelled this somewhere before. But she should hate this smell. It was extremely pungent, making it hard to breathe. Was she in the department's laboratory? Why did she smell like this?
She also heard a strange sound, seemingly behind her, very muffled and continuous. But she couldn't understand what it was. Then, Starling heard people talking not far away. It was the voice of two men. One had a heavy accent and spoke quickly; Starling couldn't understand what he was saying. The other person's voice was familiar, and the English was fluent.
But who was he?
She should recognize the voice. And she knew this person was of great importance to her.
"Trent!"
Starling's entire body tensed up. This name, which she would never forget, instantly brought back all her memories. Ginny's murder! Her rape! All the misfortune and humiliation! Scenes of tragedy flashed through Starling's mind. She was still bound to the rack, her body still covered in wounds. Her ravaged, sensitive labia and anus were now throbbing with pain. Her temples throbbed with pain.
"Cheer up, Starling!" she groaned softly, looking up at where Ginny had fallen. Ginny's body was gone! The floor was wet, and it was impossible to tell if it was Ginny's blood. Only her own snow-white shirt remained on the floor. Although her vision was gradually returning, Starling still felt the walls and floor in front of her shaking. What was happening?
Her heart suddenly jumped into her throat. It wasn't the walls that were trembling; she herself was shaking. This rhythmic shaking... could it be... that
all her nerves had suddenly regained their connection, and all her consciousness had returned in an instant? A low whimper escaped Starling's nostrils. She finally realized that a violent penis was frantically thrusting into her poor flower path!
She was being raped!
The strange, murky sound behind her was the pleasurable panting of the man raping her! And this man wasn't Trant. Trant was still five or six feet away, talking to another man!
Starling sadly realized she was being violated by a second thug!
A thug with a reeking body odor!
The
short, fat boss's penis was painfully swollen in his pants. He wanted to do what the second boss had done, pounce on the unconscious female agent as soon as he entered, and have his way with her. That girl had a really good figure. However, the deal wasn't over yet. Business is business, after all. He handed over fifty thousand dollars in cash to Trant. The county sheriff counted it twice slowly, while the short, fat boss was getting increasingly impatient. The "bang, bang, bang" sounds of his brother's sex made him swallow hard.
The FBI agent, awakened by the action, was surprisingly alluring with her moans. She was definitely biting her lip, trying not to make a sound. Unfortunately, his brother was a renowned heavy-hitting man, and he loved hearing the girls beneath him scream and beg. The quieter you were, the more excited he became. Just watch, this agent was in for a treat.
The delicate girl was indeed pounded until her body felt like it was falling apart; her breathing was rapid and disordered, like someone about to die. Occasionally, she couldn't control herself and let out two soft "ah, ah" cries from deep within her nose. They were incredibly sweet and seductive.
The moans were like feathers, light and airy, occasionally tickling the short, fat man's heart, making the Mexican restless and burning with desire.
What was worse, the tall, thin man, after only a few strokes, turned to him and beckoned, "Come on, come on, this little cunt! It feels fucking good!"
However, he was, after all, representing his boss on business. He couldn't be as impatient as his younger brother. Although he was just an insignificant thug, even thugs had their dignity. The moment my brother walked in, his eyes lit up when he saw the naked female agent lying on the wooden tub with her underwear hanging on her calves. He circled her twice, then ran up to Trent with a fawning grin. After Trent said, "She's one of yours," he started unzipping his pants and rushed behind her, thrusting hard inside her.
The short, fat guy saw a hint of a smile on Trent's lips. He cursed inwardly, "American, don't look down on us! So what if we're Mexicans? We're in the same boat. Without us, you'd be dying of impatience with this FBI agent on your plate!"
He really wanted to tell Trent that the tall, thin guy was so impatient because he hadn't touched a woman in the last three weeks. A month ago, I don't know how this guy contracted an STD, but his penis kept spitting out pus. The doctor prescribed medication and said he needed to rest for three weeks. He only got the abstinence lifted yesterday afternoon after a follow-up appointment. Tell me, is it easy for a grown man in his prime to endure three weeks of this?
But then he thought, contracting an STD isn't exactly something to be proud of, so he decided to keep quiet about it. He'll have to give this guy a good talking to when he gets back. He can't afford to embarrass his boss in front of the Americans.
"Not bad, exactly fifty thousand," Trant pocketed the cash. "Then the two hundred thousand should arrive around four-thirty?"
"Yeah," the short, fat man swallowed, turning his gaze away from Starling's violently swinging, full breasts. The two tender nipples trembled heartbreakingly. "The kid who delivered the money is called Jack. I know him; he's reliable."
"Twenty minutes left," Trant checked his watch, gesturing towards Starling. "Don't you want to try? That bitch is really something. You need to fuck her ass and cunt a few times before you're done."
"No rush, no rush," the short, fat man stared at Starling's slender waist and pert buttocks, swallowing again. "Anyway, she's ours now. There will be plenty of opportunities later."
"Don't be shy," Trent patted the short, fat man's shoulder. "Brother, if I hadn't just fired two shots, I would have been up there already. Aren't you guys already furious with the FBI? You know, this is an FBI star agent. Why don't you go up there and vent your anger?"
"Damn! Let this bitch see how powerful we brothers are!" The short, fat man felt he had already given his boss enough face, so he pulled down his pants as he spoke, revealing his rock-hard penis. He went to Starling, grabbed her full breasts, felt their elasticity and weight, and nodded. Not bad. He rubbed the small nipple between his two fingertips.
Starling let out a soft moan, which rose slightly and then fell back down, still so melodious.
"These tits are fucking amazing!"
He looked at his brother, who was penetrating Starling's hole, and said, "Wait a minute, let's give her a 'sandwich,' you on top, I'll take over."
The Mario brothers had used this bondage rack before, gang-raping that pretty stock analyst. Old Tom showed them how to modify the seemingly crude rack. The two large planks at the front and back of the barrel could be easily removed, perfect for gang rape by three or four people.
The rack was a foot off the ground, fitted with four angle irons to hold the removed planks. One person could lie on their back on the planks, thrusting into the woman's hole from below, while another stood behind, ravaging her anus.
Trent lit his third cigarette, watching the two Mexicans work with great interest. They must have been burning with lust, otherwise, they would have acted so quickly! Actually, the short, fat man had misunderstood
Trent earlier. Trent smiled, not to mock the tall, thin man for being a lecherous scoundrel, but because Starling was about to suffer even more humiliation. He was genuinely happy. The more smelly Mexicans like the Mario brothers ravaged Starling, the happier Trent would be.

The relentless, frenzied thrusting had left Starling reeling. The man's movements were brutal and monotonous; each time, his penis would almost completely withdraw, leaving only the glans lodged at the entrance, before plunging it all the way in. Two thrusts per second, with no variation in rhythm, Starling had no chance to catch her breath.
Her moans grew louder. She had bitten her lower lip until it bled, but she didn't even notice. Now, with each thrust, the tip of his penis slamming against her clitoris, a low, long moan escaped Starling's nose.
Though her body was nearly exhausted, she was gradually adapting to the skinny Mexican man's brutality. Aside from her swollen and painful opening and labia, she could barely feel any other part of her body. However, her thoughts were gradually becoming clearer.
The man between her legs was enjoying himself, occasionally uttering a few words. Starling vaguely felt it was Spanish. This lecherous wolf, reeking of body odor, must be Mexican.
Beth had been sold to Mexico. That meant this guy was indeed a human trafficker who had come to pick her up.
Thurt hadn't lied to her; he had indeed sold her to Mexican sex traffickers. Her chances of survival had increased significantly. Of course, Starling also sadly realized that her chances of being humiliated would only increase further.
She sadly remembered that her precious vagina had never been violated by a person of color before!
"It's okay," Starling moaned softly with each thrust of the tall, thin penis, encouraging herself. For Ginny, she had to live. No matter the humiliation, she would survive. To avenge Ginny and herself.
Just then, a sharp pain shot through her breast. Another Mexican man had come to her, fondling her poor breasts. Oh God, could there be a third?
It didn't matter; even two more wouldn't hurt. Being raped once and being raped a hundred times might really make no difference. Starling knew courage and faith were her only weapons. She had to hold on, for Ginny. She couldn't let the thugs' brutality break her. Live on, you must live on.
After a few words in Spanish, the man behind her suddenly pulled his penis out of her vagina. The two men seemed to be dismantling the ropes.
What were they going to do?
Just transport her like this? Clearly, the guy behind her hadn't ejaculated yet. Were they going to torture her on the way?
Starling gasped for breath. The little strength she'd managed to gather during her brief period of unconsciousness had been completely wiped away by the storm of rape. Her anus was somewhat numb, but her vaginal opening throbbed with pain. Moreover, once the abuse stopped, sensation gradually returned to her entire body below the waist and above the thighs—a mixture of soreness and numbness, unbearably swollen.
Starling secretly rejoiced; thankfully, the thug hadn't tortured her anus. Otherwise, she would surely be dead. It would be a bloody mess by now.
The short, stout man's actions quickly confirmed Starling's greatest fear. The tall, thin man crawled under the tub, and the short, stout man helped him adjust the height of the plank beneath him, leaning forward and backward, so that his thin, tall abdomen could just reach Starling's disheveled crotch.
The tall, thin man was indeed very tall; his entire chest protruded from the front of the tub. When he lifted himself up, his face was directly in front of Starling's face. Without any hesitation, he grabbed one of Starling's full breasts with each hand. The short,
stout man squeezed the tall, thin man's penis and aimed it at Starling's wet, swollen opening.
Starling gasped as the tall, thin man's penis plunged deep inside. To her surprise, the penis only thrust in and out a few times before stopping halfway inside, motionless.
At this moment, the short, stout man stood with his left leg between the tall, thin legs, his right foot resting on the wooden frame beside him. In this position, he could easily penetrate Starling's anus. He forcefully spread Starling's buttocks, and aimed the tip of his penis, coated with the cream Trent had handed him, at her swollen, red anus.
Were they going to...?
"No," Starling cried out for the first time, unable to contain her fear, "No, not there... please..."
However, the short, stout man seemed completely oblivious to English. He was utterly unmoved by Starling's pleas. He continued to thrust. Although the entrance to her anus was tight, it wasn't particularly difficult to insert it all the way in.
"Starling, you bitch," Trant appeared before Starling, blowing a puff of smoke all over her face. "Now you know how to beg for mercy? Too late!"
Starling cried out in pain. Through her blurry tears, she saw Trant pick up the camera again, pointing it directly at her face and snapping away.
Starling tried to suck in her last bit of saliva, just as she was about to spit it onto Trant's face, when the short, fat ass thrust forward, his penis slamming into Starling's battered anus.
Starling's entire strength coalesced into a piercing scream. Half of her saliva sprayed onto the tall, thin face, the rest overflowing from the corner of her mouth, running down her chin in a thin, silvery strand that swayed slightly in the air with her violent trembling.
The tall, thin man casually wiped his face, then pinched the pretty face of the female agent so close to his. Her face was deathly pale, and fine beads of sweat glistened on the tip of her delicate nose. Her azure eyes stared blankly into the distance, two tear tracks down her cheeks.
The unexpected pain and shock of being penetrated simultaneously in both her vagina and anus for the first time in her life sent a chill down Starling's spine. Her naked, delicate body trembled uncontrollably. She could no longer sense the size or location of the two penises; her ravaged vaginal canal seemed about to split open. The wounds that had just healed at the entrance to her anus were now all reopened, and several new cuts had been torn open. Starling hissed in pain.
To make matters worse, the two penises completely filled her lower body, separated only by a thin membrane. It seemed as if the slightest twist of her hips would shatter her entire pelvis. However, she couldn't move an inch.
This unimaginable, extreme fullness made Starling gasp for breath, unable to utter a single plea.
She was terrified.
The calm before the storm, after all, would only last a moment. After adjusting to the position, the short, stout Mario moved first, letting out a low growl as he thrust in all the way. Starling's beautiful back tensed instantly, a plaintive whimper escaping her throat.
The scalding heat and tightness of her anus, and the maddening muscles at its entrance, nearly drove the short, stout man wild. He held his breath, not daring to act rashly, and slowly withdrew his penis. Just as his penis missed the tip of the tall, thin man's weapon, the tall, thin man thrust his hips upwards beneath Starling, penetrating deep into her flower path.
Starling hadn't even caught her breath when the tall, thin man's forceful thrust choked her. Stars began to flash before her eyes. Before she could even catch her breath, the tall, thin penis in her vagina had just withdrawn when the short, stout penis in her anus thrust back in. She couldn't believe her slender lower body could simultaneously accommodate the humiliation of two penises. Suffering such a fierce double assault, Starling felt like she was going to die.
The two brothers began their practiced cooperation, which they had rehearsed dozens of times. One advanced, the other retreated; one gained, the other lost. The presence of the other penis greatly increased the pressure and stimulation on the penises in her vagina and anus. The twin brothers' two penises now seemed to be as sensitive as glans. The pleasure was more than a hundred times more intense!
Through the camera viewfinder, Trent enjoyed the lewd scene before him with satisfaction. Starling, naked and emaciated, was sandwiched between two hairy, dark-skinned Mexican men, their skin touching, limbs intertwined, being relentlessly ravaged by these two rutting boars. Her
once delicate, snow-white body was now glistening with sweat, swaying and undulating like a willow leaf in a storm, a mixture of resistance and acceptance, with the men's bestial acts. Her flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, dazed eyes, and splattered beads of sweat, along with her full, red lips parted slightly, made her all the more pitiful.
Starling had never experienced such inhuman torture; the indescribable pain made her eyes widen, yet she could see nothing; her mouth opened wide, yet she could not utter a word.
Only incoherent sobs echoed mournfully throughout the basement, lingering for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-
Two June 23rd, Tuesday, Central Time, 04:28,
the entire basement of Hanz Farm was filled with the stench of debauchery. The heavy, labored breathing of the Mario brothers mingled with Starling's plaintive moans, continuously assaulting Trant's eardrums. Trant was ecstatic. This deal was a steal! You'll regret offending me!
The Mario brothers had switched positions. Now the short, stout one was on top, pounding into Starling's vagina, while the tall, thin one followed behind, frantically thrusting into her anus. The tall, thin man, having been out of action for a long time, and with the double attack from both sides being too stimulating, hadn't lasted long before he ejaculated.
Trent wasn't willing for the show to end so abruptly. He handed the rubber ring to the dejected, tall man, telling him to use Starling's mouth to regain his senses before continuing. By then, Starling was completely ravaged and unable to resist. The tall man easily inserted the rubber ring and then began plunging it into Starling's throat.
Thankfully, he hadn't had sex for three weeks; in less than three minutes, his penis was throbbing again. This time, he wanted to taste the FBI agent's anus, and quickly switched places with his boss. This time, he was sure he could last a very long time.
Trant was smug; he really hoped the Mario brothers could keep going for twelve hours straight. Suddenly, he heard a car. The money delivery man had arrived. Two hundred thousand dollars was almost in his hands. Putting down the video recorder, as he went upstairs, Trant habitually checked his pistol.
Reaching the door, Trant saw a tall white man peering desperately through the window of Ginny's Explorer. Hearing Trant's footsteps, the man quickly straightened up and walked towards him. In the dim light, Trant noticed that this money delivery man, Jack, was surprisingly young, and his face seemed unusually pale.
Was something wrong? Trant was relieved that he had just checked his pistol. At this point, he absolutely couldn't allow any unexpected events to occur. The cash was right there; if anything went wrong, he wouldn't care if he killed a few more.
Jack handed him a heavy leather bag, saying that two hundred thousand in cash was inside. He added, "Is that woman still inside?" His voice trembled slightly.
"Yes," Trant glared at Jack, "your old friends, the Mario brothers, are having a fierce battle with her. Come on, let's go in and have some fun; we have plenty of time." Without giving Jack a chance to react, Trant grabbed his hand and pulled him away. He wouldn't let the kid get away so easily until he figured out Jack's background and why he was so nervous.
"She's really an FBI agent? Alone?"
"Looks like Brother Mario really tells you everything," Trant raised an eyebrow, quickly calculating in his mind before deciding to tell Jack everything to see what other tricks the kid had up his sleeve. "Her name was Starling, and she had a companion, whom I took care of."
"Ah—" Jack almost stumbled. "I see…"
"So, little brother, you know this bitch agent?"
"Um," Jack hesitated, then stammered, "If it's Starling from 'Buffalo Bill,' then we have a history… one of my good brothers got ruined by this bitch… I've been waiting for my chance to get revenge."
"Oh, I see," Trant said, half relieved. "I was wondering why you were so nervous."
Now, they were at the basement entrance. The door wasn't closed properly, and the sounds of two men and a woman having wild sex could be heard from inside. Starling's soft, melodious moans were clearly audible amidst the heavy breathing of the two Mexicans. Jack's face turned even paler. He seemed weak, his upper body almost collapsing against the wall. His jeans, however, showed a noticeable bulge at the front.
"How about it, little brother," Trant opened the basement door, "not planning to avenge your friend and go up there for a couple of rounds?"
"Sure," Jack replied in a sleepwalking voice. After a moment's hesitation, as if having made up his mind, he grinned at Trant and, as if by magic, pulled a black blindfold from his pocket. "Give her a couple of shots! But I like playing with blindfolded chicks!" His voice trembled slightly.
********************
Tuesday, June 23, Central Time, 04:32, Hanz Farm.
Just as Trant and Jack were walking down the stairs, the short, fat boss, lying face up on the wooden plank, also erupted inside Starling's vagina. He let out a dry howl, his fingers gripping Starling's hips, digging deep into her fair skin, and with a final, desperate thrust, began a frenzied ejaculation. Poor Starling trembled all over with the short, fat man for nearly a minute.
The "sandwich" of attacks from both ends was already too intense, and with the short, fat man's final thrust and climax, Starling was ravaged unconscious.
The short, fat man lay there panting heavily, muttering a long string of Spanish. Only the tall, thin man, still buried in Starling's crotch, knew that his brother was thanking the Virgin Mary for granting him such a wonderful orgasm. Where could one find such a devout Catholic these days?
The short, fat man, recovering, found Starling unconscious and quickly got up, patting her cheek. No response. Thurt said dismissively, "Don't worry, this bitch's got a good figure." The short, fat man pressed his fingers against Starling's neck. His pulse was strong and normal, which put his mind at ease. He grabbed a handful of Starling's blonde hair and roughly wiped his wet penis with it. Then, while pulling up his pants, he greeted Jack.
Trant stepped forward and put Jack's blindfold over Starling's eyes. Unconscious, Starling was completely soaked, covered in her own and Mario's sweat, glistening under the bright lights. Her already alabaster skin appeared even more stunningly beautiful. Her
beautiful short blonde hair was plastered to her forehead and cheeks in clumps. Her bare breasts and buttocks rippled with alluring waves of flesh as the tall, thin Mexican man thrust into her. The lights were blinding. Lying on the dark wooden tub, her body was so incredibly sexy, so beautiful it almost stopped your heart.
Jack stood before Starling, mouth agape, seemingly unable to believe the breathtaking live sex act unfolding before him. His Adam's apple bobbed, he licked his dry lips, and slowly walked to the ropes, squatting down. His palms were sweaty, which he wiped repeatedly on his jeans. He reached out, his hand hovering cautiously in the air for a long time, his trembling fingers never touching Starling's smooth buttocks and long legs.
He seemed to be facing a peerless, priceless piece of porcelain, frozen in place, not daring to even breathe, let alone reach out and touch it. It was as if that porcelain was so exquisite that even a single feather would shatter it.
Trent lit another cigarette, and the Mario brothers, drenched in sweat, seemed to smell ten times stronger. Without the spectacle of raping Starling, Trent would have given up long ago. He could only keep puffing on his cigarette.
However, that Jack was indeed quite interesting. In front of the unconscious Starling, he was like a virgin facing his idol, completely flustered and at a loss.
What was his connection with Starling?
The tall, thin man wasn't as persistent as he'd expected. The tight, hot anus was surprisingly wonderful; after only ten minutes, he was nearing his breaking point again. The tall, thin man grunted like a wild boar as he made his final thrusts with astonishing frequency and force. Starling's wet lower abdomen was almost lifted off the barrel by his impacts. Jack, however, was completely unmoved by the spectacular scene. He stared intently at Starling's breasts, which hung upside down and swayed violently back and forth. He seemed mesmerized by the elastic movement.
The tall, thin man couldn't hold on for long before screaming "Oh, oh, oh!" as he reached his climax. In her unconscious state, Starling emitted muffled yet alluring moans from her nose with each ejaculation of the Mexican man.
My God, does such a sexy sound exist in this world? Jack thought to himself in amazement.
With a "plop," the tall, thin man pulled out his penis, staggered back a step, bent down to pick up Starling's white shirt, and put it over his penis while wiping it. He patted Jack's shoulder, "Little buddy, your turn. That felt fucking good!"
Jack nodded slightly, turned around and stood behind Starling, staring at her crotch. It was a mess there; her anus was pitifully wide open, the labia swollen and shiny, thick white fluid slowly seeping from the two ravaged openings, smearing the entire crotch area. The gruesome scene before him was suffocating.
Jack's fingers hovered tentatively in the air for a long time before finally touching Starling's delicate skin. His Adam's apple bobbed again. His index finger landed between her steeply bulging buttocks, slowly sliding down her waist along the increasingly deep cleft. His finger stopped near her pubic bone, gently circling it as if searching for something.
Jack seemed to be muttering something to himself, though no one could understand what he was saying. His fingers finally moved again, passing over her anus and labia, touching the small patch of neatly trimmed hair at the bottom of her abdomen. It was slippery there, covered in overflowing semen.
Jack thoughtfully wiped the semen off his fingers gently onto Starling's smooth buttocks. Then he turned to the front, gazing at Starling's face with tenderness. He curled his right index finger, tracing it gently along the bridge of Starling's nose, across the tip, across her lips, and across her chin. Finally, he lifted Starling's chin with his fingertip, bent down, and gently kissed Starling's bitten lip.
In a voice no one else could hear, he whispered to the unconscious Starling, "Finally, you're mine."
************************
Tuesday, June 23rd, Central Time, 5:35 AM, at Hantz Farm,
a sharp, piercing pain suddenly awakened Starling's dormant senses. This time, she immediately realized she was still being raped. But she couldn't immediately pinpoint the source of the pain. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn't see anything. It took a full five seconds for her to realize she was blindfolded. She tried to move, but her hands and feet were still firmly bound.
She was incredibly thirsty.
Perhaps she was still in the basement. But how long had she been unconscious, and what had happened during that time? Why were they blindfolding her?
Deep down, she seemed to know they had cruelly abused her multiple times. And she immediately found evidence. Her mouth was thick, fishy, and foul-smelling; a flick of her tongue revealed several streams of slippery, phlegm-like mucus. What it was was obvious.
Another sharp pain shot through her. This time, Starling discovered that one of the thugs was gently biting her tender right nipple with his teeth! But she didn't find the feeling unpleasant. Her left breast was also in the assailant's hand, gently kneaded. Sharp teeth bit down on her nipple again. Every hair on Starling's body stood on end. This time, however, the assailant didn't bite; instead, he took the entire nipple into his mouth and gently sucked.
Before Starling noticed, a soft moan escaped from her nose. Anyone could tell it was a sigh of pleasure. The hand holding her breast paused, then caressed it even more gently.
A wave of pleasure washed over her chest. Her tormented nerves, suddenly encountering this ecstatic pleasure, couldn't quite handle it. Starling let out another soft moan. She knew her breasts were swollen, and her nipples must be rock hard.
"What's going on? Why is this happening?" Starling was completely bewildered. She couldn't believe she was experiencing pleasure while being raped.
However, those hands, those lips, and that incredibly soft tongue did indeed make her feel incredibly comfortable. Especially after experiencing such a brutal gang rape, her gradually awakening body was almost unable to resist the pleasure. It was like a person who was extremely thirsty being unable to resist the sweetness of clear water. Even the slightest stimulation was amplified many times over, thoroughly nourishing her exhausted body.
The man released her nipples. He lay on her back, his soft tongue sliding over her shoulder blades. There was almost no fat there, and the teasing of his tongue was so simple, direct, and lingeringly satisfying. Starling held her breath. Her heart began to race,
and she let out a soft moan. His tongue had moved along her shoulder, licking
her neck little by little. The man's warm breath tickled her neck.
Starling frowned and involuntarily bit her lower lip again. It hurt; it was already broken there. But this didn't stop the pleasure from spreading throughout her body. A spark of pleasure suddenly ignited in her lower body, fleeting yet illuminating the numbness and making Starling's heart race. It made her breathing even more rapid.
Her breathing was actually quite intense. Her smooth upper body rose and fell gently on the wooden tub.
His nimble tongue traveled upwards, finding Starling's ear. Warm, moist lips enveloped her earlobe. She almost cried out. Several more sparks flew across Starling's lower body. She bit her lip until it bled.
Fortunately, because of the U-shaped wooden board, the man couldn't reach Starling's ear canal; otherwise, she really would have screamed. That was the most sensitive area of her body. The man straightened up, and Starling let out a long breath.
The man remained unhurried, shifting his focus to Starling's undamaged left leg. The torn white sports underwear still hung pitifully on her calf. The man carefully pulled the underwear down to her ankle. Then came the stockings, pulled up to the ankles, revealing straight, smooth calves. His fingertips lightly traced the long, slender thighs. Then came his tongue, licking from the thighs down to the ankles.
Starling gasped. The tingling, itchy sensation made her want to scream.
But she couldn't. She couldn't imagine herself moaning passionately beneath her rapist.
Surprisingly, the man carefully untied the leather shackle on her left leg and grasped her calf. The long period of binding had left Starling's left leg numb; now, loosened, the blood flowed back in, feeling like thousands of ants gnawing at her foot.
"Ah…" Starling groaned softly, almost in tears again.
The man patiently and gently massaged her small, bare foot. Soon, the ants dwindled, and her moans subsided. Seeing this, the man carefully peeled off her tattered underwear and elastic socks. Then, holding her ankle, he pulled her left foot towards him, gently kneading the sole of Starling's foot, then playing with each of her delicate toes.
Starling tried to pull her foot away, but her whole body seemed to suddenly lose all strength. She tried desperately, but the man's strength was too great; she couldn't escape at all. So she lay there limp, at the man's mercy. The man stuck out his tongue and licked the sole of her foot. It itched so badly she wanted to cry.
The man then began to suck on her toes. First, his tongue smeared saliva all over the plump toe pad, then licked the thin skin between her toes. More sparks ignited in Starling's lower body. Her toes couldn't help but twitch and move.
Now, even if she wanted to escape, she was powerless.
Perhaps, a little pleasure wouldn't be bad? Even just a moment?
This time, her second and third toes were taken into the man's mouth, first licked, then sucked. Starling was finally driven mad by the man's sucking. She had never known her toes could be so sensitive; the sparks of pleasure in her lower body were now continuous, like a hazy, wildly passionate fireworks display. She moaned shamelessly.
Her ravaged, haggard lips seemed unbearably itchy, as if she had completely forgotten the torment of being gang-raped, desperately craving the caresses of a man's fingers.
Unconsciously, she slightly wiggled her hips.
Starling could hardly believe that she could reach orgasm just from a rapist licking her toes. But that orgasm was indeed drawing ever closer.
"No…" her moans almost turned into sobs.
However, the tide of desire, ignoring her helplessness and shame, rose ever higher. She knew she was about to be overwhelmed. She was powerless to stop it. So, she could only bite her lip.
Just before she reached her climax, the man swiftly stood up and thrust his equally engorged penis into Starling's slippery, burning hot vagina.
Then, Starling trembled all over. Her teeth even chattered. Her face was deathly pale.
In truth, that small climax had already passed. Starling's trembling was merely due to her anger.
It could hardly be considered a true climax. The outer walls of her vaginal canal twitched only three or four times.
But Starling was still so angry that she couldn't feel the man's ejaculation inside her. His climax lasted quite a while, though the amount of semen was surprisingly small.
She heard a voice right in front of her, not loud, but unusually clear:
"What a slutty bitch!" It was Trent's voice.
“I said, Jack,” a Mexican accent said from six feet in front of her, behind Trant, “you’re pretty good, but that took a lot of effort. It was much better when the three of us went at it together.”
“What do you know!” another Mexican accent said, “That’s where the real test is. The three of us going at it together was good, but that’s a different story!”
“Starling,” it was still Trant’s voice, as he touched her face. She tried to pull away, her ears scraping raw from the wooden planks, “you slutty bitch.”
Starling tried to spit in Trant’s direction, but nothing came out.
At that moment, the man behind her, his penis deep inside her, was also trying to spit out, though it too was coming out nothing, and the spitting was getting slower and weaker.
Finally, the man touched her thighs and buttocks and withdrew. Then came the rustling sound of someone pulling up their pants.
"Alright," Trent's voice boomed, in a commanding tone, "It's dawn, you guys' had your fun, right? Time to hit the road."
"Finally, totally done," the first man with a Mexican accent replied, "Three rounds in less than two hours, haven't had this much fun in ages."
"Anyway, she's in your hands, you can do whatever you want with her from now on," Trent continued, "Oh, and here's the bitch's FBI ID, keep it safe. Hang it around her neck when she's entertaining clients. They'll love it. And give my regards to your boss. Jack, see you later!"
A flurry of footsteps sounded around Starling. The men sprang into action.
"You bitch," Trant whispered in Starling's ear, removing the blindfold, "You had a great night, didn't you? Heh heh, nine rounds in total. This is just a little warm-up when we get to Mexico. Lucky you, Agent Starling!"
***************
Tuesday, June 23rd, Central Time, 5:55 AM,
Starling of Hanz Farm was untied from her shackles by the Mario brothers. Trant had warned them early on how dangerous Starling was. Although she was now too weak to even lift her arms, the Mexicans were still cautious. As the tall, thin man removed the leather holster from her right hand, the short, stout man kept a pistol pressed against Starling's temple. The tall, thin man twisted her right hand behind her back, pinning her down with his body, and then went to untie her left hand.
Actually, being bound for so long had left Starling's limbs aching and numb; even a slight touch from a man would make her groan for a long time. What room was there for resistance?
The tall, thin man brought Starling's hands together behind her back, then pulled out a very small handcuff, no more than two inches long, and handcuffed Starling's two thumbs. He tightened it very firmly, and the pads of her thumbs immediately turned white due to lack of blood. Having finished, the tall, thin man grabbed Starling's blonde hair, pulled her off the wooden tub, and hoisted her onto his shoulder.
In the yard, it was already broad daylight.
Trent's police car had already driven out of the farm. Jack started his car and turned it around. He saw the tall, thin man carrying almost naked Starline on his right shoulder as he strode past his car. The tall, thin man had a large frame, and Starline's slender waist perfectly covered his right shoulder. Her two long, shapely legs were held in his right arm. Her bare buttocks were pressed tightly against the Mexican man's head.
Although her legs were tightly closed, the mess between her swollen buttocks and her anus was still clearly visible.
Her only covering was a dirty, tattered, shiny gray stocking on her right foot.
As the tall, thin man walked past Jack's car, he deliberately slapped Starline's buttocks loudly. Her blond hair, hanging down her back, swayed gently with her steps. Her arms, handcuffed behind her back, were surprisingly slender and weak.
Starling's snow-white skin was almost dazzling in the sunlight.
Jack knew this scene; he would never forget it.
Seeing the tall, thin man shove Starling into the truck bed, Jack slammed on the gas, the tires screeching, and they sped out of Hanz Farm.
They raced along, and once on the highway, the young Jack subconsciously touched his bulging pockets, which contained a black blindfold, a pair of women's elastic socks, and a pair of athletic underwear with the right hip completely severed.
**********
...

Entering the cramped storage room, he rummaged through an inconspicuous cardboard box, took out the souvenirs from his pocket, and carefully placed them inside, hiding them away. The underwear seemed to still carry the warmth and scent of its owner; a tent had sprung up in the front of his pants.
He tiptoed into the bedroom. On the single bed in the middle, a young girl was sleeping naked. He took off his underwear and climbed onto the bed. The girl mumbled sleepily, "You're back," and turned over to continue sleeping.
Looking at his erect underwear, he suddenly had a brilliant idea. He knelt on one knee on the pillow, turned the girl's head, his erect penis pointing directly at her face, and then shook her awake.
"What are you doing?" The girl, still half-asleep, wasn't enthusiastic, perfunctorily taking the penis into her mouth. After only two sucks, she spat it out, muttering, "Ugh, you didn't even wash properly." She turned over, ready to go back to sleep.
"You just like the original, don't you?" He spread the girl's legs, and amidst the thick pubic hair, his tongue found her labia. They quickly became wet. Lust chased away the sleepiness. The girl sighed, rolled over, and lay on the man's stomach, grasping his hard penis, her head bowed…
…Five or six minutes later, the disheveled girl, licking the remaining semen from the corner of her mouth, pinched the man's nose and asked fiercely, "Tell me the truth, how come it's only this small? Didn't you say you went to work overtime? What on earth did you do! You must have gone to see that little vixen Katie again. You cheated on me and didn't even take a shower, hmph," her tone suddenly changed, from angry to happy, "Luckily, I'm not your girlfriend yet, thank goodness." "
What if I asked you to be my girlfriend?" After saying this, he immediately regretted it, his heart pounding, unsure if he had made the right decision. Perhaps, this was just asking for trouble.
"Trying to fool me? No way you'd fall for that!" The girl jumped off the bed nimbly, stretched out with a big yawn, her face flushed, perhaps still tinged with the afterglow of her orgasm. "I'll go home after my shower. You get some sleep. Remember, come to my house for dinner tomorrow night. If you dare say you have something to do then!"
"Oh, right," the girl, who had almost gone into the bathroom, rushed back, "Remember, you said you'd give me a gift. You owe me one more! Also, next time you sleep with someone, wash yourself clean before you go find another girl. Women are very sensitive to other women's scents."
He watched her figure, a myriad of emotions welling up inside him. He silently said to himself, "Actually, that's the gift you've been dreaming of."
Chapter Twenty-
Three June 23rd, Tuesday, Central Time, 08:15, in
the meeting room on the third floor of the New Orleans FBI New Orleans branch, Quinn and the other federal agents were restless. A young agent was making a call to the hotel that Keenie and Starling had booked. Another agent, looking troubled, told Quinn, “Ginny is never late. Yesterday afternoon he told me he was going to check the bank records first thing this morning and couldn’t afford to delay.”
The young agent who made the call hung up and shrugged at Quinn. “The hotel said they didn’t go back at all last night.”
“What’s wrong with Starling?” Quinn frowned, pondering to himself, “She’s in love with Ginny, maybe… no, no,” he dismissed the idea as absurd, “Starling would never treat work like a game. What’s going on?”
"We can't wait any longer," Quinn said to the agents in the room. "Time is of the essence. You two stay here and call me immediately once you make contact with Genie. The rest of you come with me to Jackson County to check the accounts. Let's go immediately."
********************
Tuesday, June 23, 8:20 AM Central Time. Louisiana
Starling had no idea how much time had passed since she was thrown into this enclosed carriage. The overhead lights had long been turned off by the tall, thin man, leaving the carriage pitch black and completely dark. However, as the tall, thin man carried her in, she endured the Mexican's rough handling while trying to observe the carriage as much as possible.
The twenty-foot-long carriage was divided in two by a large steel plate, with a six-foot-high iron door in the middle. Two layers of crates were stacked solidly on the outside of the steel plate, giving the impression that they were also full of goods. In fact, the middle set of crates had hidden wheels underneath; by releasing a mechanism, they could be moved easily, and behind them was the door to the compartment. It was locked from the outside.
The compartment was about ten feet long, seven feet wide, and seven feet high. Apart from a few iron bars on the walls and a lamp overhead, there was only a dirty, tattered mattress on the floor. The tall, thin man threw Starling onto the mattress, used an iron chain to pass through Starling's arms, which were handcuffed behind her back, wrapped it around twice, and then locked it to the iron bars. After groping Starling's chest and crotch, he lewdly pinched her cheek and said in Spanish, "Sweetheart, I'm going to rest for a bit, I'll come back to pamper you later."
The tall, thin man turned off the overhead light as he left. In the darkness, Starling curled up on the foul-smelling mattress. Although she had witnessed many rapes and sexual abuses, she had never imagined gang rape could be so horrific. Her body felt like it had been crushed; almost every part of her was in excruciating pain. Especially her ravaged lower body, covered in numerous large and small tears, burning pain radiating from deep within her, wave after wave, driving her mad.
Starling tried to sit up on the mattress. However, with her hands handcuffed behind her back, chains wrapped around her arms, and her broken ankle constantly being tended to, coupled with throbbing pain in her groin, it took her a long struggle before she finally managed to sit up, panting heavily and with difficulty, her legs curled up. Leaning against the carriage wall, she pressed her ear against the side, desperately trying to hear anything outside.
The carriage was surprisingly well-sealed; she could barely hear any outside noise. However, she could still sense the approximate speed from the bumps of the carriage. It was clearly a highway. And it must have been a busy major highway. Calming herself, she could still faintly hear the roar of the engines around her.
Starling then tried to recall the highway routes from Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas to Mexico. The shortest route from Hutts Farm in Mississippi to Mexico should be via Interstate 10, through New Orleans, and across the border at Louisiana. The entire journey would take about ten hours. That means the human traffickers would need to refuel at least once along the way.
However, perhaps they would stop somewhere within the United States. When the two Mexicans first gang-raped her, although she was brutally tortured, Starling still managed to memorize the time on Trent's watch while he was recording in front of her: 4:20 AM. Trent discussed business in the middle of the night, and the Mexicans only took four hours to get there. They must have started from somewhere in the United States. Perhaps that was their base. Starling desperately wanted the Mexicans to return to their hideout first. The longer they stayed in America, the greater their chances of escape.
Right now, besides herself, only those two stinking Mexicans were in the car. Starling spoke good Spanish; from their conversation, she could tell one was the leader and the other a henchman. The lustful, impatient man who had forced her to give him a blowjob was the groping henchman. The one who had violated her anus first was the composed leader.
Starling knew that once she was taken to a Mexican brothel, her chances of escape would be slim. After being sold into sex slavery by the cruel and ruthless Trump, her best chance was this journey to Mexico, if she could be alone with a Mexican. Especially the Mexican man who was exhausted for some reason, slow to react, and completely unsuspecting of her.
Remembering the tall, thin man's words before he left: "My darling, I'm going to rest for a bit, I'll come back to pamper you later," Starling felt a sudden pang of hope; those words seemed to bring a new glimmer of hope for escape.
What she needed to do now was relax her body as much as possible, calm her mind, and gather her strength. After several years of yoga training, Starling had mastered many techniques for relaxing her body when her limbs were immobile. In the darkness, Starling began to laboriously move her waist, hands, and feet.
**********
...

After exchanging pleasantries, Quinn asked about Mayer and Starling's activities the previous night. Trant said that Mayer and Starling left together after dinner. He knew nothing else.
"If I hear anything about them," Trant said, taking a few steps towards his car, turning around and shouting, "I'll let you know immediately."
********************
Tuesday, June 23rd, Central Time, 09:39.
Trant, now in plainclothes, arrived at the airport in New Orleans. Using his first fake ID, he easily bought a ticket for the 10:05 flight to New York Newark Airport. Boarding had already begun. After checking in his inconspicuous carry-on bag, Trant quickly weaved through the crowd towards the departure hall.
***************
Tuesday, June 23, 09:43 Central Time, Louisiana
The Mexican driver's van pulled into a rest area beside the highway. The short, stout guy, who'd been driving all morning, woke up the tall, thin guy who'd been dozing beside him and got out to buy coffee. The tall, thin guy rubbed his eyes, stretched, and suddenly realized that his nap had left him with an uncomfortable, throbbing erection. Remembering the naked female agent in the van, a thought struck him, and he quickly shouted at his boss's back, "You go ahead, I'll check in the back."
"You little bastard," the short, fat man muttered under his breath, about to scold him, but then he thought again. After all, his brother hadn't been with a woman for a month, and the girl was so hot and fresh. The dark storage room was also very soundproof; even if someone fired a shot inside, the people outside might not hear it. It was perfectly safe. Besides, he was going to the toilet anyway, so he could take his time squatting there. So he turned around and shouted, "You have 15 minutes! We're on our way at 10:10! Lock the door!"
The tall, thin man quickly locked the driver's seat, went to the back of the truck, looked around, opened the cargo door, turned on a light inside the cargo box, and then locked the cargo door. He leered as he pushed aside the row of boxes with hidden wheels, then turned on the overhead light in the dark storage compartment. As he unbuckled his belt, he pulled open the compartment door.
Starling was still curled up on the filthy mattress. Hearing the sound, she struggled to lift her head, but the glaring light blinded her. The dark storage compartment was stuffy and hot, and a layer of glistening sweat glistened on Starling's smooth skin.
"Little bitch, wake up." The tall, thin man squatted in front of Starling, lifting her delicate chin. Starling obediently raised her head. However, she still couldn't open her eyes. Amidst her disheveled blond hair, her beautiful face, scarred by humiliation, remained captivating.
"Water...I...I need water...water..." A few weak pleas escaped from her chapped lips. Starling was truly parched. In the past ten hours, she had sweated profusely, her body nearly exhausted.
"Hey, why aren't you strong enough?" The tall, thin man grabbed one of Starling's breasts, roughly kneading it a few times. Starling's body trembled slightly, neither resisting nor flinching, allowing the tall man's abuse. The poor bud hesitated for a moment, then finally, helplessly, hardened.
"Water, I need water...please..." Starling's voice trembled with sobs.
"Sigh, boss, we're in a hurry," the tall, thin man muttered in Spanish. "Can't linger a bit longer," he added in broken English. "Thirsty? No problem! I haven't peed this morning." He pinched Starling's cheek and switched back to Spanish. "It's just that my dick is too hard, I can't pee right now. Well, you haven't tried my jelly yet, I'll go through the trouble of feeding it to you. You'll know once you taste it, my jelly tastes amazing."
"Your asshole is really nice!" With that, the tall, thin man untied the chains wrapped around Starling's arms, then roughly grabbed her waist and hips, forcing her into a kneeling position. With her hands cuffed behind her back, Starling could barely maintain her balance. She swayed a few times, her breasts and cheeks pressed tightly against the smelly mattress, her pert, smooth buttocks forced high into the air. Her anus, ravaged by four men, was red and swollen, a pitifully open, irregular wound with several fresh, torn lines clearly visible.
The tall, thin man gripped her soft buttocks, squeezing them forcefully in the middle. Starling let out a groan, and a trickle of sticky semen spilled from her anus. The tall, thin man, his erect penis hard, lowered himself, spread her buttocks apart, and thrust into her from behind.
Although insertion was effortless, the newly healed wounds at the entrance to her anus burst open again, causing excruciating pain that made Starling's voice hoarse and her breathing labored.
"Ah...ah..." With each thrust of the penis, Starling let out a mournful moan through her nostrils. Her delicate upper body, as if cramping and breaking, collapsed limply onto the mattress, rhythmically throbbing back and forth under the powerful impact of the penis.
The semen left deep inside her anus by the men a few hours earlier now served as the best lubricant, making the thrusting exceptionally smooth. Although the entrance was torn and the walls of the cavity had lost the astonishing tightness they had a few hours earlier, the rapid thrusting still gave the tall, thin man waves of pleasure. Perhaps because he needed to urinate, he almost ejaculated after only fifty or sixty thrusts. Calming himself, he slowed down.
After another fifty or sixty thrusts, while touching Starling's smooth thighs, the tall, thin man suddenly had an idea: there was still a vaginal opening. He pulled out his penis, aimed at the equally messy vaginal opening, and thrust it in hard. Starling's moan suddenly intensified. The vaginal opening was warm, not as scalding as her anus. However, the swollen labia gripping his penis offered a different kind of pleasure.
The tall, thin man continued this alternating act of raping her, alternating between her anus and vagina, for a minute. It was fun, but the discontinuous movements weren't very satisfying. Once the novelty of alternating between the two openings wore off, the tall, thin man simply focused his efforts on Starling's anus again.
Although tall and thin with extraordinary energy, his penis wasn't made of cast iron. The previous intense battles had quickly left him feeling exhausted. Within minutes, he was on the verge of collapse, groaning as he pulled out his penis, grabbing Starling's blonde hair and pulling her face close to the tip, frantically stroking it. Just as
Starling felt her neck about to snap, the monster, less than a foot from her nose, suddenly leaped. She quickly closed her eyes. The first wave of hot semen seemed to rush towards her, one jet hitting her cheek hard, the other clinging to her hair. Then came the second wave, the third wave…
The tall, thin man panted as he emptied his scrotum of semen. Looking at Starling's pretty face, smeared with his semen, the tall man was utterly impressed with himself. Impressive, truly impressive. Four rounds in one morning, and each one with ample ammunition. Even though the last round was a bit runny, there was still a lot. "Damn, what a general's style!"
The tall man released Starling's hair, plopped down, and gasped for breath. Starling, barely breathing, could no longer maintain her balance. She struggled behind her back, but slowly fell to her right. Her severed right leg was pinned beneath, and Starling cried out in pain, tears welling in her eyes. She curled up on the mattress, her chest heaving, her breath weak and shallow.
"Weren't you thirsty?" the tall, thin man said in English, having calmed down, as he moved closer to Starling. "Eat some jelly!" he said, giving her a hard slap on the bottom.
With her eyes closed, Starling slowly extended her pink tongue and licked away the five or six drops of white, viscous semen that had fallen onto her lips and the corners of her mouth. Salty semen, cool and refreshing.
"How is it? Delicious, isn't it?" the tall, thin man said happily, noticing a sticky substance hanging from the tip of Starling's nose, its lower half dangling in the air, swaying back and forth with her breath. "Keep eating, there's still some on your nose."
He pinched one of Starling's breasts and squeezed it hard again.
Starling's body trembled, she let out a low, mournful cry, and helplessly opened her mouth. A slippery tongue still clung to her lips, reaching out again, searching left and right, finally encountering the now-cooled, turbid semen. The white, turbid substance clung to her pink tongue, surprisingly eye-catching, until it finally disappeared into Starling's cherry lips.
Although Starling kept her eyes closed, her slightly furrowed brows and pale face were still filled with humiliation.
Watching this clearly FBI female agent being so easily bullied, the tall, thin man grew even more smug. "Not enough jelly? Perfect, I still need to pee. Don't worry, it'll be ready soon." With that, he grabbed Starling's left leg, flipping her onto her back. He straddled her waist, his fingers guiding his limp penis, aiming it at her face.
Just as the tall, thin man was straining to hold his pee, Starling, who had kept her eyes tightly closed, suddenly opened them. Her deep blue eyes held a chilling indifference and murderous intent. The slight urge to urinate that the tall, thin man had managed to muster was instantly extinguished by Starling's terrifying gaze.
It was not the look of a lamb being led to the slaughter. Although the tall, thin man wasn't exceptionally intelligent, he immediately realized something was wrong. Something must be amiss.
He subconsciously looked down and discovered that between his thighs, beneath his limp penis, a snow-white, straight calf had suddenly risen, smooth and long, nestled between his hairy, thick legs—a bizarre and strangely sexy sight.
Following that calf, he saw a well-proportioned bare foot, its sole pointing upwards, almost touching his dark, throbbing penis. The tall, thin man had never seen a woman's foot from this strange angle before. Under the bright light, the delicate bare foot was completely naked, the skin on the sole appearing exceptionally smooth. The small, narrow arch was charming, and the graceful toes and plump mounds made his mouth water; he felt an irresistible urge to hold them and play with them. Could
this beautiful little foot be the one Jack had been caressing just hours before?
Before the tall, thin man could even think of dodging, he heard a "plop," as if something had deflated.
Then, everything went black, and he lost consciousness. He didn't even have time to hear his own scream. **********
... As soon as the car stopped, she quickly curled up back on the mattress, feigning exhaustion. Although she was truly thirsty, her weak pleas were merely a way to numb the tall, thin man. Her submission during the abuse was also deliberate. After the tall, thin man had satisfied his lust, Starling collapsed to the ground, deliberately falling to the right, leaving her left leg free, patiently waiting for the final, fatal blow. Starling struggled to slowly emerge from under the tall, thin man's body. Although her whole body ached, Starling sat on the ground, took a deep breath, and struggled to do a backflip. Using the leverage, she laboriously slipped her handcuffs behind her back over her bare buttocks and flipped them to face her. Still weak, the violent backward roll made Starling's vision blur again, forcing her to lean against the wall, gasping for breath. Her bare thighs trembled slightly. She didn't know how much time she had left, but she knew she had to act quickly. Hastily wiping the semen from her face, Starling first searched the tall, thin man's body. She didn't find the handcuff key, but she did find her pistol. Looking at her humiliated naked body and the tall, thin man lying on the ground, a mix of emotions overwhelmed her, blurring her vision. Suddenly, Starling grabbed the pistol and, like a madwoman, began to smash it down on the tall, thin man's head. Again and again. In the blink of an eye, his face was a bloody mess. Through her tears, Starling pointed the gun at the tall, thin, limp penis and smashed it several times, almost to pieces. The tall, thin man, who had just regained some consciousness after being beaten, groaned a few times and then passed out completely. After calming down slightly, Starling remembered her identity. "As a federal law enforcement officer, under no circumstances can I harm or mistreat a suspect who does not pose a direct threat to public safety." Such a brutal beating of a defenseless suspect would absolutely ruin an agent's career. However, Starling felt no regret for her impulsive actions. For such a beast who had so brutally tormented her, no amount of revenge was excessive. If she weren't short on time and exhausted, she would have loved to break off each of the ten fingers that had just so brazenly violated her. Of course, she had more pressing matters to attend to now. She still had to deal with another Mexican. She had just finished chaining the skinny, pig-like man to the wall when she heard the sound of the train door unlocking. Still naked, Starling leaned against the wall, took a deep breath, raised her gun, and aimed it at the door. *************** Tuesday, June 23rd, Central Time, 10:10 AM. The short, stout Louisiana boss burned his tongue while drinking coffee, making him feel uncomfortable all morning. The thought of his second brother still energetically playing with the female agent only fueled his unease. When will this kid realize that serious matters are the most important? This second son is really giving him no peace of mind. The carriage was tightly closed. "You fucking still not done!" Muttering, the short, fat man pulled out a set of keys, opened the carriage door, and climbed into the carriage, still carrying a paper bag in his hand. As he expected, the tall, thin man was still in the compartment. The short, fat man turned around and closed the door. "Bought some fries, eat them while they're hot," the short, fat man pulled open the iron door of the compartment, then his face was full of surprise, and the fries in his hand spilled all over the floor. He never expected that the first thing he would see upon entering would be a dark gun barrel! Behind the gun barrel, a pair of deep blue eyes filled with hatred. Firm, indifferent, and chilling. Even seeing his brother lying motionless on the ground, covered in blood, the short, fat man was still confused about what had happened. Being held at gunpoint by a naked girl with a face full of semen, a girl he had just fucked a few hours earlier, was truly the most absurd thing in his life. "Lie on the ground, hands behind your head," Starling's voice was icy, bringing the short, fat man back to reality. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly raised his hands and squatted down. This bitch had a gun; did he have any other choice? Just as his knees touched the floor, the short, fat man suddenly looked up at what was behind Starling, his face full of surprise. Starling couldn't help but turn her head. There was a wall behind her, nothing there. Her heart tightened; she knew something was wrong. Before she could react, the short, fat man roared and leaped forward with an agility disproportionate to his enormous frame, lunging at Starling's center. Although the attack was fierce and sudden, Starling, trained for years, didn't panic. She knew the cubicle was too cramped to maneuver, and with her limp, simply dodging would be futile. So, Starling remained still, raising her gun and steadily aiming at the man's shoulder. She wanted to keep him alive. She didn't want him to die so easily. When the short, stout man was less than two feet away, Starling pulled the trigger. But the expected deafening gunshot didn't come. Trant had unloaded the magazine! It was an empty gun! Starling's heart sank, as if she had fallen into an endless abyss. The short, stout, wall-like body was already inches away, his large, rough hands about to touch Starling's slippery thighs. She had nowhere to hide. In despair, Starling continued to pull the trigger in vain. With a crisp "bang, bang" of gunfire, the short, stout man pounced, like a seasoned rugby player sacking a defender. His right hand gripped Starling's thigh, his left hand held her buttocks, and his right shoulder slammed into the girl's soft abdomen. Simultaneously, the butt of Starling's gun slammed into the man's head. Unfortunately, with her hands cuffed together, she couldn't muster any strength; the blow was utterly ineffective against the thick-skinned, stout man. Starling was held tightly by the man, and the two flew through the air, crashing heavily into the wall behind them before falling to the ground together. Starling's bare back slammed directly against the wall; the massive impact seemed to turn her internal organs inside out, almost knocking her unconscious. She had no idea where her gun had flown off to. The short, stout man, fighting desperately, was also dizzy and disoriented, unable to even consider why he hadn't been shot. Just as he was about to crash into the wall, Starling's waist suddenly twisted, and his head slammed directly against the wall. His lunge was so powerful that the impact made him see stars, completely disoriented. However, he knew that Starling was still pinned down and unable to move. Once the two were entangled, the short, stout man was certain he had the absolute advantage. Whoever recovered first and launched the attack would gain the upper hand.

Even in her dazed state, Starling hadn't forgotten this motto of close combat. Her legs were pinned down by the short, stout man, so she could only clench her fists and swing her aching arms, desperately striking the back of his head where he was unguarded.
If her hands had been handcuffed with heavy steel cuffs, perhaps a single blow would have been effective. Unfortunately, the cuffs were too delicate, and the short, stout man immediately launched a furious counterattack.
He released Starling's thigh with his right hand, slightly retracted his right elbow, clenched his fist, and then delivered two consecutive short, straight punches to Starling's soft ribs.
Starling doubled over in pain, coughing violently, her arms hanging limply at her sides, no longer able to strike the short, stout man's head.
In the cramped cubicle, the life-or-death struggle between the two intertwined individuals ended in a flash within seconds. Chapter Twenty- Four
**********
... If she weren't the boss's important "goods" and couldn't be disfigured, the short, fat man believed that a single, hard punch to the chin would have been enough to knock the girl unconscious. However, his two consecutive straight punches to Starling's ribs almost made her weak in the knees. Her bare back slumped against the wall, her mouth agape, unable to breathe. Her hands limply covered her bare chest, Starling's face ashen. "Hit my little brother? I'll skin you alive!" The short, fat man, pinning down Starling's naked thighs and hips, knew the situation was hopeless. A glance at the bloodied, mangled figure beside him fueled his rage. He straightened up, his iron-like fingers digging into one of Starling's nipples, which trembled violently with her breath. Starling jerked back in pain, her slender shoulders convulsing. "You bitch, if anything happens to my little brother, I'll tear you apart!" The short, fat man swung his large hand and slapped Starling hard across the face. Starling cried out in pain, her upper body almost collapsing onto the floor. Her disheveled hair obscured her face, and tears welled up uncontrollably, sliding down her burning cheeks. This was the first time in her life she had been slapped. The short, fat man persisted, grabbing Starling's smooth shoulders, intending to straighten her and deliver two more slaps. Just as Starling straightened, her still-handled hands suddenly shot up, firmly gripping the short, fat man's wrists, and then, in the same motion, straightening his right arm. The short, fat man was startled; he tried to break free, but his wrists were already locked in a reverse joint lock, rendering him powerless. Before her left fist could strike, Starling flipped her upper body, using her waist strength to cross her hands and forcefully counter-press, executing a perfect elbow armbar that locked the short, stout man's right arm. Starling had practiced this technique of using an opponent's force against them dozens of times in the FBI training gym. She knew the angle and timing of her strikes intimately. Although her body was still numb from the intense pain, how could she miss the opening revealed by the short, stout man's carelessness? The battle situation had turned in an instant. "Damn it!" the short, stout man, now completely passive, roared, forcibly turning around and slamming his left fist into Starling's chin. Starling ducked and narrowly dodged the punch, simultaneously twisting her arms and using the short, stout man's own strength to dislocate his right arm. Then, taking advantage of his stunned pain, she grabbed a pistol from the ground and repeatedly struck his head. The short, stout man, his face covered in blood, groaned and collapsed to the ground. Now, the situation was truly settled. ******************** Tuesday, June 23rd, Central Time, 10:25 AM. In Louisiana, the short, stout man, his hands handcuffed behind his back, shirtless, legs spread, leaned against the corner of the wall, blood still flowing from his head. The tall, thin man lay face down on the mattress, his hands on the floor. Starling knelt beside the tall, thin man, wearing a short, stout vest—the only piece of clothing in the entire carriage that she could still wear and wasn't stained with blood. "One last time, who's Jack?" Starling asked in Spanish this time, raising her heavy pistol high. "You bitch, come at me if you dare! Don't bully my brother!" the stout man's voice was hoarse and his expression was agitated. "Fine." Starling slammed the butt of her gun into the tall, thin man's left middle finger. The unconscious man let out another muffled groan; he had lost another finger. In fact, he had very few intact fingers left. "You'll talk," Starling knew every minute was precious; she had to notify the police as soon as possible to arrest Trent. Dragging her right leg, Starling reached the short, fat man. She braced herself against the wall, adjusted her balance, and suddenly her bare left leg flew up, kicking him hard between the legs. The man let out a beast-like scream, curled up, and his obese body rolled several times on the ground. Starling, still holding onto the wall, slowly moved towards the car door. "I...I'll fuck your mother..." came the man's mournful cry from behind. Starling paused slightly, but didn't stop, walking briskly to the car door. Her vest was too large, billowing as she walked, leaving her almost completely exposed. "If only I had a belt..." she thought, looking down at the tattered elastic sock on her right foot. ********** ... The old man didn't react, staring out the window in astonishment. Jenny noticed everyone else was looking outside too, and curiously turned her head, only to be stunned as well. A strangely dressed young woman, barefoot and leaning on a cane with her right hand, was limping across the parking lot, struggling towards the small shop. Her hair was disheveled, and there must be something wrong with her right leg, which was curled up, afraid to put weight on it. When the woman reached the door, Jenny finally noticed that she was only wearing an oversized men's vest, with a stocking haphazardly tied around her waist, making it look like an overly short skirt. The hem of the vest barely covered her buttocks, and her two bare thighs were almost completely exposed. Even worse, she was clearly not wearing a bra; her unrestrained breasts bounced restlessly, seemingly about to burst out of her vest. Worst of all, she was carrying a pistol in her left hand. Several customers who had intended to help froze at the sight of the gun. "Jenny, call the police right now!" the manager reacted first. Jenny dialed 911, her hands trembling. "911 emergency center, if you need emergency medical assistance or police protection…" Holding the phone, Jenny remained silent, because the girl had already pushed open the store door. The customers blocking the entrance backed away, making way for her, and stared in astonishment at the uninvited guest. The girl walked straight up to Jenny, released the stick from her right hand, and pulled a small clip from the stockings tied around her waist, holding it out to Jenny. It was an FBI identification card; the female agent in the photo looked radiant. The girl's tragic and resolute gaze was terrifying, something Jenny would never forget. Her voice was hoarse: "I'm a federal agent. I need to use the phone."

Jenny quickly handed over the phone. The girl placed her pistol on the counter and took the phone: "This is FBI Agent Clarice Starling. It's an emergency. Please transfer me to the FBI New Orleans branch... find Agent Quinn..."
Jenny, behind the counter, carefully examined the FBI agent in front of her. Her voice was calm, yet weak. She must be exhausted; her entire body was leaning against the counter; her oversized vest was rolled up, revealing a large expanse of her chest, her right breast completely bare. Those breasts were indeed beautiful.
Her hair was disheveled, stuck together in clumps with sweat or something else; her smooth cheeks were covered in sticky marks, even her long eyelashes were matted together; there were several alarming red bruises on her right cheek; her lower lip was covered in bite marks, and a large swelling had appeared.
What shocked Jenny even more were the numerous injuries on the girl's body. There were several marks of binding on both wrists, and several bruises on her snow-white thighs. What truly horrified Jenny was the girl's fully exposed right breast, the delicate pink areola surrounded by red, swollen teeth marks and clear finger scratches.
The filthy, tattered vest reeked of a pungent body odor, almost knocking Jenny out. But she still detected another peculiar smell emanating from Starling—a strong, pungent odor of semen, seemingly spreading from Starling's entire body, from her hair to her groin.
"My God, what kind of torture has she been through?" Jenny silently felt sorry for the female agent, who wasn't much older than herself.
After finishing her call, Starling said wearily to Jenny, "Could you help me to the restroom? My leg is broken." Jenny quickly helped the female agent to the restroom. As soon as Starling entered, she collapsed onto the toilet and vomited violently, as if she were about to burst her gallbladder.
The hem of her tattered vest rubbed against her back, exposing her shapely buttocks. Standing behind Starling, Jenny clearly saw Starling's pitiful crotch. Most striking was her ripped anus, a dark opening twitching slightly, a trickle of cloudy white semen slowly oozing out and flowing onto her red, swollen, and mangled labia. Jenny
was horrified and quickly looked away.
After waiting outside for Starling to finish urinating, Jenny quickly washed Starling's face and found one of her own work clothes for her to change into.
Just then, the piercing sound of police sirens blared outside.
**********
...

Fifteen minutes later, Trant found his suitcase. He quickly walked out of the baggage claim area, followed the signs to the taxi stand, and got into a yellow taxi. "Manhattan, 45th Street, I'm in a hurry, please hurry."
********************
Tuesday, June 23, Central Time, 11:20 AM,
an ambulance sped into the emergency center of Turing University Hospital in New Orleans. "One, two, three!" Shouting, the staff moved Starling's stretcher onto a trolley and jogged towards the emergency room.
Having already received a morphine injection in the ambulance, Starling calmly told the doctor beside her, "My right leg might be broken, about twelve hours ago."
"Don't worry, Agent Starling," the doctor said, looking at the medical record in his hand, "Go get an X-ray. There won't be any problems."
While waiting for the X-ray, a middle-aged nurse helped Starling change into a hospital gown and casually noted in Starling's medical record: "Clear signs of sexual assault, gynecological examination and treatment recommended."
Exhausted, Starling didn't notice that every doctor and nurse who walked past her would unconsciously sniff and then steal a glance at her. Even though the hospital was filled with the pungent smell of disinfectant, the smell of semen on the ends of Starling's hair was still clearly identifiable.
**********
...

“It’s a pity he got away.” Quinn moved a chair over to Starling’s bedside, sniffed, and shifted the chair back. “He went to the bank this morning to close his account. An arrest warrant has been issued at the airport. Thurt’s brother, a bank manager, is also missing. Crawford was notified immediately, and he’ll be there this afternoon. We’re interrogating the Mario brothers. By the way, Mario Jr. is still unconscious and his condition isn’t very stable. But don’t worry about that; I’ll write the report.”
“We have to get Mario Jr. to talk right away,” Starling said calmly, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Otherwise, Mexico will soon realize there’s a problem here. And,” Starling paused, “Mario Sr. is very concerned about his brother. Yes, very concerned.”
"Excuse me," the doctor and two nurses rushed in, "go put your leg in a cast right now."
"I understand," Quinn stood up, "I'll contact the Mexican police immediately." In the corridor, he took several deep breaths; the smell of semen on Starling's body was unbearable, making it hard to breathe.
************************
Tuesday, June 23, 13:15 Eastern Time, New York Kennedy International Airport.
Thurt had just bought a Northwest Airlines ticket using his second fake passport. The flight was a direct flight to the Cayman Islands at 14:30, a 5-hour flight, arriving at Owen Roberts International Airport in the Cayman Islands at 17:30.
Although Thurman had never been to the Kaman Islands, he knew this Commonwealth resort very well. It consisted of three islands with only 40,000 indigenous inhabitants, yet attracted a staggering 500,000 tourists annually. Thurman chose the Kaman Islands for two reasons: first, as a U.S. citizen, he didn't need a visa to enter; second, its banking system was infamous—both advanced and free, a veritable money laundering haven. His
flight was still over an hour away. After much deliberation, Thurman abandoned his plan to call Rodriguez. No matter how capable Starling was, she couldn't escape this time. He checked in the small suitcase containing a few toys, three videotapes, and $380,000 in cash. He knew the chances of the airport randomly checking such a small bag were almost zero, but carrying such a large sum of cash might arouse suspicion.
He bought a copy of *USA Today*, found a fast food restaurant in the waiting area, and slowly ate his sandwich while browsing the paper.
********************
Tuesday, June 23, 12:30 PM Central Time, New Orleans
With her right leg in a thick cast, Starling was wheeled into the gynecology examination room of the emergency center in a wheelchair. A tall doctor in his early thirties hurried in and warmly shook hands with Starling: "Agent Starling, I'm Dr. Smith, and I'll be performing a gynecological exam on you. I understand this is difficult for anyone. If you feel uncomfortable during the exam, or if you want to stop, just let me know, it's okay."
"Thank you," Starling said calmly, as if reading a report, surprised at her own lack of agitation: "I was gang-raped by four men, both vaginally and anally. I suspect multiple longitudinal tears in the sphincter muscles."
"Oh," the doctor gently patted Starling's shoulder in comfort, "You don't need to say anything... We'll start by taking fluid samples and biopsies to determine the type of semen in the criminal, and then check for any infectious diseases. Then we'll conduct organ examinations and treatment."
Perhaps the anesthesia was still working, because Starling didn't feel anything throughout the entire examination, even when the doctor was cleaning her vagina and anus with cotton swabs. The doctor took off his gloves and helped the nurse help Starling back into her wheelchair. Doctor: "There are bruises on both labia majora and minora, but they're not serious and will heal in a few days. There are also minor tears in the vaginal wall, but that's okay too. The anus is in a worse state, with many wounds, but there's no need to suture it yet. In addition, there's mild inflammation. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for you, and you should rest in bed more and eat more fruit."
"Thank you, doctor," Starling said.
"By the way, Agent Starling," the doctor continued after the nurse left, "you seem to be conceived. I can take care of you. It'll be quick, about fifteen minutes, and it won't be very painful or have any side effects."
Upon hearing the word "conceived," Starling suddenly shuddered, her face turning even paler. Seeing her utter shock, the doctor quickly reassured her that it was alright, and that after the treatment, not a trace of the perpetrator's filth would remain. The treatment was simple, and most sex crime victims chose this method.
"If you cannot accept this treatment for religious reasons, we have other options..."
"Thank you, doctor, could I have five minutes to think about it?"
"Of course, of course." The doctor quickly left the examination room, carefully closing the door behind him.
Starling's heart pounded wildly, her mind almost blank. Only one thought lingered: she might be pregnant with Ginny's child!
Ginny, her Ginny.
She was the one who killed Ginny!
If it weren't for her curiosity last night, they wouldn't have gone to Hamsfield Farm, and Ginny wouldn't have been shot dead by Thurt while completely unprepared!
Ginny just left her like that, without leaving anything behind.
Starling's heart ached.
If she could bear Ginny's child, it would be the best memento of this short but beautiful romance. There would be a child, with eyes as blue as Ginny's. That would be Ginny and her child, and she could watch the child grow up, looking more and more like Ginny. When she missed Ginny, she could hold the child in her arms. And what she owed Ginny, she could make up for through the child.
To have a child with Ginny!
Suppressing the dizziness, Starling began to carefully recall the details of Ginny's several orgasms during their weekend sex spree.
Her last period ended on June 1st, so yesterday was still her fertile window. Ginny had ejaculated inside her twice, on Friday night and Sunday night. However, on Friday evening on the kitchen table, less than half of it went inside; the rest landed on her buttocks and thighs. And on Sunday, she went to the bathroom immediately afterward. The possibility of getting pregnant from Ginny wasn't actually as high as it seemed.
Worse still, she had been gang-raped by four thugs: a white man, two Mexicans, and Jack, whom she knew nothing about. What if she got pregnant by one of them?
A wave of bitterness washed over her. Starling tried her best to calm down, quickly replaying the sequence and positions of her gang rape in her mind, trying to recall where the four thugs ejaculated.
Thurt had ejaculated on her face once, but his first time, he had ejaculated inside her vagina. That time, there was a lot of it; the feeling of fullness made Starling involuntarily clench her thighs, as if worried that Thurt's excrement would spill out and soil her clean hospital pants. Right, Thurt had washed her body with cold water afterward; that should reduce the chances of getting pregnant, right?
But in the basement, two Mexicans had ejaculated inside her, first the tall, thin one, then the short, fat one. Later, she passed out and didn't know what had happened. But she knew that after Jack had brutally humiliated her, he had also ejaculated inside her. That meant every criminal had ejaculated inside her vagina, at least once.
The possibility of being raped and impregnated by these four traffickers was still very high. What should she do?
Tears streamed silently down her face; Starling couldn't think straight. She wanted to ask the doctor how long into the pregnancy it was possible to tell the baby's skin color. However, she immediately dismissed this ridiculous idea. What if she discovered the father was Mexican? What could she do? Even if the father was white, how could she know if it was Ginny or Thurt?
"God, what should I do?"
In her despair, Ginny's smile suddenly appeared before her, so real, so warm.
She seemed to hear Ginny's voice: "Don't be afraid, I'm here, I'm here with you."
Starling realized she couldn't resist the thought of "having a child with Ginny."
There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Starling said, quickly wiping away tears.
A police officer rushed in, handing Starling a walkie-talkie and saying that Quinn had an emergency. The officer carefully closed the door as he left.
Over the walkie-talkie, Quinn told Starling that he had casually mentioned how difficult it was to save Tall, Slim, and the previously defiant Slim softened and agreed to confess everything, but on conditions: the police had to save Tall, Slim, and drop all charges against the brothers, including illegal possession of weapons, forgery, human trafficking, kidnapping, and first-degree sexual assault against Starling. He also demanded that both brothers be placed in witness protection.
Quinn emphasized, "I won't agree without your consent."
Starling hesitated for a moment, then said, "It's okay, catching the big fish and rescuing those girls is more important."
Suddenly, the door was pushed open, knocking the officer off guard. A girl, sobbing, rushed towards Starling—it was Nora. The girl grabbed Starling's hand, then collapsed beside the wheelchair, bursting into tears.
**********
...

The FBI director persuaded the Deputy Secretary of State to intervene, which gave Mexico the green light. A Mexican special forces unit was to lead the raid, scheduled for 30 hours later. However, the American who bought the underground films had disappeared, and New Orleans police were conducting a full-scale manhunt.
Three hours earlier, she had been given a sedative, and Nora was already calm. She pushed Starling's wheelchair to the autopsy room, where Ginny's body lay temporarily. Starling's face was expressionless, like a stone, which surprised even Crawford. Starling was very calm, showing no trace of the repeated sexual assaults she had endured over the past 16 hours.
Starling's voice was expressionless as she said that although she really wanted to participate in the operation in Mexico the next day, her leg was broken. "I just want to go back to Ginny first," she even smiled faintly, "take a shower, and then come back to spend some more time with him."
******************************************
Tuesday, June 23, 5:45 PM Mexican time,
Rodriguez, Mexico, was somewhat restless. The Mario brothers should have been back in Mexico two hours ago. Even if there were any delays along the way, they would have called to let him know. This complete silence was unprecedented. Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten involved in this mess with the FBI agent?
He had just called the Colombian drug kingpin's agent, saying that things were too tense lately and asking if the delivery date for the two American girls could be postponed by a week. The other party was, of course, very unhappy, roaring that this was a one-time exception. Hanging up, Rodriguez wiped the cold sweat from his brow.
He decided to wait until evening; if there was still no news from the Mario brothers, he would make a few more calls. He had some police officer friends in Mexico City and locally, and he didn't want to be caught without knowing anything.
**********
...

**********
...

In fact, after two days without any news from the Mario brothers, Rodrigo deduced that something must have gone wrong and had already made preparations for his escape. In the evening, he received a call from a high-ranking Mexican police officer. After hanging up, he spent ten minutes smashing all the furniture he could in the living room. Then, the Mexican, accompanied by a few bodyguards, quietly left the bayside mansion.

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