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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Crime/Gangster · #2230590
Lost drugs lead to horrifying home invasion in Trinidad.



The Hardest: Resolve's Malevolence







Curled up back pressed to the wall, my GF mentally broken. Came about from three words.


Wey de coke?


Asked by some gangsters who came to the beach house. They'd driven here to Los Iros beach, at Trinidad's extreme southern end of this crime wracked land.


See some smack came ashore and went missing and asked where it was. Specifically asking me because rumour was people took the lost dope to sell themselves.


Two of these gentlemen held me while another held a cutlass over my head ready to planass me - beat me with its broad side. My response was the same before the blade came out, I en know.

My GF walked in and attention fell on her, kind of. She had no idea why any man jack thought she'd deal up in dope. Still wanting my confession, warn they will mash she up. My answer was the same, words shot out in desperate intensity, 'I en know!'

The hell truly comes for one of us anyway when a man holds between two fingers a squirming Amazonian giant centipede, being a few inches in length was a young one. Wouldn't surprise if Centipede Island in the northwest was how the name reached it somehow.


Was demanded again I tell them - my mouth opened and stayed so a good while. No words spilled.


He approached my quivering GF, one man held her by the arms, another pried her mouth apart, next the first inserted the arthropod. Her orifice was forcefully held shut, muffling her screams. Her body tried thrashing around as the second struggled to hold her.

The blood exsanguinated from my face. My muscles propelled me to savage them for her - was only my mind.


My resolution held concrete firm. The men went their way. An eternity measured in many minutes passed before I even dreamed to peep and confirm their Charmant motor car was well and truly gone.


Was safe to do it, more like psychologically steadying myself than an actual need to, positioned a chair, stood atop it and reached for the house's ceiling feverishly. Removing one of the many white, square shaped gypsum boards, tossed it aside.


I pulled out coke packets.

Her eyes bulged bigger than her face could physically have room for. Neither of us had to say who found them.


In case she thought about the phone, warned her not that we'd be mashed up if the gangsters knew, instead the police service would never think she had nothing to do with it, best to let me make my blue bills.


Back to the present, there she lay against the wall.

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