he
looks like
me
. And he believed it, too. Jackson was on the fast track to success, and he knew in his heart that he was ultimately destined for greatness.
Until he met her.
A month before that fateful day, Jackson left his law firm to start his own business. The Harris Jackson Sports Agency. He figured that with his legal mind, quick wit, and black skin, he would be able to land professional athletes by the dozen. And he was right. Within two weeks, he had signed Levon Greene, a friend of his from college, and soon after several other stars in the world of sports started using his services.
As a token of his appreciation, Jackson invited his newest clients to New Orleans for a gala celebration and arranged everything that he needed to have a successful party: food, alcohol, strippers, and rap stars. Unfortunately, when he made the party arrangements, he didn’t count on the presence of a she-devil. Sure, she looked like a harmless exotic dancer—shoulder-length blond hair, great face, see-through dress—but underneath that beautiful exterior lived the heart of the Antichrist.
At the end of the evening, she begged Jackson for a ride home, and before he could say no, she was riding him in his limo. At the time, he figured it was just a one-night stand, a meaningless night of sex with a drunken vixen, but it turned into something more. It became the event that ended his career. Unbeknownst to Jackson, the girl was young. Too young. An uninvited sixteen-year-old who had snuck into the party to meet some of the celebrities. After sobering up, she regretted her actions and quickly told the cops everything that had occurred. The liquor, the nudity, the sex, everything. In a flash, Jackson was arrested, convicted, and disbarred. Before he knew it, his legal career was over, and all because of some white bitch.
After his release from prison, Jackson realized that he needed to experience the sweet taste of revenge if he was ever going to put the past behind him, and he figured the Plantation was the perfect way to do that. One white whore had taken everything that he’d ever worked for, and in his mind, this was his opportunity to get even with her and everyone like her.
Theo Webster had academic reasons for the Plantation.
Octavian Holmes had a childhood trauma to overcome.
But Harris Jackson had something different. He was in it for personal revenge.
As he scrutinized the female slaves in the dying sunlight, he tried to choose the one he wanted to play with the most. But it was a tough process, a lot tougher than the last group that had been brought to the Plantation. In order to prepare for Webster’s special group of slaves, the Plantation Posse abducted twenty-five homeless people for a trial run back in May. After practicing their kidnapping and transportation techniques on the vagrants, the Posse ironed out the kinks in the slaves’ housing setup. They perfected the guards’ work schedules and corrected any glaring errors in management strategy, guaranteeing that the real group of slaves would be handled as efficiently as possible.
Unfortunately for Jackson, the homeless group had only one good-looking female, a down-on-her-luck runaway, so he didn’t have many playmates to choose from. But the current crop of slaves was different. As far as he could tell, there were five females in the bunch that would please him immensely. They were young, pretty, and white—just how he liked them. It was just a matter of time before he chose the one that he wanted to break first.
After figuring out the girls’ names, Jackson spoke to one of the guards and told him to round up the following slaves: Kelly Metz, Jennifer Potter, Sarah Potter, Susan Ross, and Ariane Walker. As far as he was concerned, the other females were too old or too pregnant to mess with.
“Ladies,” he said to the five, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve pulled you away from your work. Well, I’ll explain that in good time. First of all, a question: How have you enjoyed working in this wicked heat?”
Not surprisingly, the women were too scared to speak.
“Ah,” he sighed. “It seems that you have forgotten the policy that was established on day one. When I ask a question, you respond, or you will pay the price.”
He looked at Susan, who trembled at his presence. She remembered how he had treated her on that first night: the sharp edge of his stiletto as it slid against her flesh, his erect penis as he rubbed it against the small of her back, his threatening words. The memory of it all made her wince in agony.
“So, let me ask you again. How have you enjoyed the heat?”
“We haven’t liked it,” Ariane admitted. “Not one bit.”
The comment made Jackson grin. “Thank you! Even though no one else had the courage to speak, I’m sure each of you agrees with Miss Walker’s statement.”
The women nodded their heads.
“Finally, a sign of life!”
Jackson moved forward, glancing at the bodies and the faces of the slaves, looking for the tiniest of imperfections. Sarah and Ariane were older than he usually preferred, but they did have the nicest figures of the five. Full breasts, great legs, firm bodies. And Ariane definitely had the prettiest face. Shit, she could be a model if she wanted to be. Unfortunately, he knew that neither of them was a virgin. Good-looking women don’t reach their age without screwing someone. And for Jackson, that was a turnoff. He preferred his victims innocent and pure, like the other three girls in front of him.
He wanted the opportunity to ruin them for the rest of the world.
He wanted a chance to destroy a piece of their life, just like that whore had done with him.
“What I’m about to offer to you might sound too good to be true, but it’s an opportunity that is steeped in tradition. Plantations used to have house slaves, people that assisted inside the house instead of in the field. They cooked and cleaned and provided indoor services that were requested. As payment they were given a bed to sleep in and a bath to soak in.”
Jackson studied the faces of the women, trying to predict which one would jump at the chance. “Now, keeping in mind that this house has air-conditioning, I need one of you to volunteer for the position.”
The females glanced at each other. Each of them had a feeling what the job was really about. Everyone, that is, but Susan Ross. After a momentary delay, she stepped forward.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Take me.”
“Splendid!” he remarked. In his mind, he figured that she would be the one to volunteer. Of all the females, she was the one who had struggled the most in the field. The tears in her eyes were another sign that she was looking for a way out. “Guards, take her inside so she can get cleaned up. I’ll be in shortly to give her further instructions.”
But as the guards moved toward the sixteen-year-old, Ariane did as well.
“Susan,” she pleaded, “don’t do it! This is about sex!”
Jackson jumped forward, viciously slapping Ariane in the mouth. “Get back in line, bitch, before I have you whipped.”
“She’s just a kid. If you need someone to abuse, take me. At least I can handle it.”
“Oh, sure,” Susan complained, not absorbing the extent of Jackson’s ulterior motives. “Use my age against me to take my spot inside. First you talk to me in the field, and now this. That’s just great!”
The moment the words sank in, Ariane took a step backward. She knew that Jackson was going to strike her again. He didn’t have a choice. She had broken one of his major rules, and he would have to punish her. And he didn’t let her down.
Jackson closed his fist into a ball and swung viciously, connecting with Ariane’s face just above her jawline. It was a savage blow, one that knocked her unconscious before she even hit the ground. Then, as she lay there, he kicked her once in the stomach just to prove to the other women that he was still in control.
“Guards, while you’re at it, take her in the house, too. Now that she’s broken one of my commandments, we’re gonna have to dispose of her. But before we do, I think she can provide all of us with some entertainment.”
CHAPTER 39
THEO
Webster answered the phone, smiling. If there was one thing in the world he could count on, it was Hannibal Kotto’s punctuality. “Hannibal, it’s nice to hear from you again. How are things in Nigeria?”
“They would be much better if America finally wised up and set its clocks to Nigerian time. It would make my sleeping habits much more routine.”
Webster laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, tell me about the auction.”
“As I hoped, the winning bid exceeds your minimum price.”
“By how much?”
Kotto smiled and told him the number.
“Holy shit,” Webster mumbled as he did some calculations in his head. He had twenty-three units of snow on the Plantation. Throw in some extra cash for Tonya Edwards, the pregnant one, and they were going to make a lot more money than he had ever expected.
“How soon can you make the shipment?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Excellent,” Kotto said. “I’ll notify the buyers at once.”
Webster hung up the phone, stunned. The dollar amount that Kotto had quoted was beyond Webster’s wildest dreams. Actually, in the very beginning, the concept of cash had never even entered his thoughts. He wanted to establish the Plantation for revenge, not money. He planned to smuggle people onto his island and treat them the way his ancestors had been treated. In his mind it would teach white people about the horrors of slavery while striking a blow for the black culture. Of course, since he’d never been an athletic person, he knew he needed help to make his plan a reality. He could control the bureaucracy by himself, but he needed someone to handle the brutality, someone who had been trained for it. But who?
While looking for assistance, Webster solicited the advice of Harris Jackson, his ex-roommate from college. Jackson wasn’t very supportive of the idea at the time—this was before his legal problems had occurred—but he suggested the name of a client who might be willing to help. And it was the perfect recommendation.
Until that point, Octavian Holmes had made a good living as a mercenary, offering his military expertise to the highest foreign bidder, but he’d reached the point in his life where he was looking for a change of pace—guerrilla warfare in South America and jungle tactics in Africa were quickly losing their appeal. He was thinking about running a training camp for militia types or opening his own shooting range, but he’d never gotten around to it.
When Webster first called, Holmes was immediately intrigued with the idea. The concept of slavery was one that had always fascinated him, and the chance to actually participate in it was too great to pass up. Unfortunately for Webster, Holmes wasn’t willing to do it for free. To coordinate something as large as the Plantation, Holmes wanted to be compensated in an appropriate fashion. But Webster didn’t have that type of cash. He was willing to pay what he could, but it simply wasn’t enough to please a professional soldier like Holmes. So, before it even got started, the Plantation had hit a snag, a problem that threatened its existence.
But not to worry. Holmes came up with a logical solution that saved the day. Why not make money while getting revenge? That way, they could get profits and vengeance at the same time.
It sounded good to Webster, but he wasn’t quite sure how it would work.
Holmes quickly clued him in. He told Webster about an African who had hired him for some military exercises in Nigeria. The man’s name was Hannibal Kotto, and he was reputed to be as powerful as he was wealthy. Holmes claimed that Kotto was loved and respected throughout Africa despite his tendency to operate outside the letter of the law. In fact, while Holmes was in Lagos, he had heard rumors of a white slavery ring that Kotto was attempting to start.
The concept intrigued Webster. If the rumors were true, then he would be able to take his slavery idea to a whole new level. Instead of just kidnapping and torturing white folks for revenge, he could actually sell them to the motherland for money. It would be the original slave trade, but in reverse: whites going to a black land instead of blacks going to a white one.
After checking with his sources, Holmes discovered that the rumors about Kotto were true. In fact, he had already laid the foundation for the business. Kotto and Edwin Drake, an Englishman who lived in Johannesburg, had cultivated a long list of African entrepreneurs who were interested in buying white-skinned slaves. Even though Africans could hire black servants at a minimal price, the idea of having a white slave was too compelling to pass up. To them, a white slave would be a status symbol, like owning a Mercedes or a Ferrari.
If I’m rich, I can hire a servant, but if I’m super rich, I can buy a white one.
On top of that, many men planned on using white women as concubines, fair-skinned mistresses to have at their disposal.
Still, the concept wasn’t perfect.
After several failed experiments, Kotto and Drake realized it was difficult to find a reliable supplier of whites. Sure, the two men wanted to make money off of the slave trade, but neither of them wanted to get his hands dirty. They wanted someone else to do the hard stuff. Furthermore, even though there were thousands of white people scattered across Africa, neither man wanted to make enemies on the African continent. Kotto said it would be like defecating in his own backyard. In his mind, if they were going to get white people, they were going to have to smuggle them in from places where the two men had few ties: Australia, Europe, and North America.
And that’s when the Plantation organizers stepped in and offered their services.
They were the suppliers. Kotto and Drake were the distributors.
A partnership was forged.
