Sold to Diaz Cartel
“I can name a million different kinks, positions and punishments because I have experienced them all. Mister Cartel was an experimental man and I his toy.”
“What about suicide?” Althea lets the words out easily, just like she would in any other mundane conversations, as if the words didn’t describe the only escape for a tortured soul.
“Four times,” answers Harley with a smirk on the lips. “I obviously failed miserably. I was also punished, each time.” Harley rolls his sleeves up, uncovering a series of multiple scars extending through his arms.
The scars on his wrists seem erratic, of different sizes and depths, contrasting with the precise scars littering the rest of his arms. The thin line
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