Trafford's Trading Club

764: Chapter 8: Work 764: Chapter 8: Work Caroline didn’t have any dreams because she only wanted one thing, and that was to make a lot of money.

Strictly speaking, becoming rich should also count as one of the dreams, but in this world, probably nobody doesn’t want to be rich themselves.

So, in this way, wanting to make money doesn’t seem like a dream worth boasting about.

Her life is so simple that it is quite common in this country, where the conflict between poverty and wealth is sharp.

At the age of three, her father was unfortunately hit by a stray bullet during another armed conflict and tragically died.

Later, she heard from her mother that the father was beyond saving when sent to the hospital…

but as Caroline grew up, she severely doubted that it was due to the lack of money at that time.

She barely had any impression of the man who gave her life; she only slightly got to know bits and pieces about the man through her occasional reminiscence with her mother during their time together.

He spent his whole life running for money, working from dawn to dusk, and in the end, he still lost his life because of no money—Caroline felt that in this world, only money could give her enough sense of security.

Later, when she was five, her mother remarried a man in his forties.

This old man was naturally poor when he was young; otherwise, he wouldn’t have waited until he was over forty to save enough money to marry a wife—and even then, it was only a widow like Caroline’s mother, who had a young child, while young girls were something the old man who later became her stepfather could only sigh about at a distance.

It was still because there was no money.

Of course, she felt that this old man was indeed quite good to her mother.

Her stepfather ran a motorcycle repair shop, which wasn’t very large and the business wasn’t exactly good, but it was enough to make ends meet.

However, Caroline deeply disliked this kind of life.

She couldn’t stand the foul smell of motor oil, and she couldn’t bear the feeling of the old man’s oil-stained palm touching her head—it seemed as terrifying as a hand soaked in a dirty creek for three days and nights.

She envied those girls who could wear beautiful clothes and sit in cars.

Every time Caroline saw children about her age in cars on the road, leaning on the car window and looking at her through the glass, she would deliberately put her hands behind her back and try her best to hide the foot with a hole in the shoe behind her other leg.

She didn’t want others to see her blackened hands, the dirt that couldn’t be cleaned from under her nails, or her shoes that showed her toes.

She watched as the children in nice cars moved away (though she later learned that these cars were quite low-end), and looked at the buildings ahead—they were a world apart from the shack she lived in, yet absurdly, only separated by one street.

Yes, merely a street.

Not the end of the street or the beginning, just this side and the other side of the road.

Caroline wished she could become rich.

Later, her mother still had a baby with her stepfather, which naturally added significant expenses to the family.

Because of the addition of a brother, the already cramped room became even more cramped.

Caroline couldn’t stand the sound of her new brother crying in the middle of the night, so she could only move to sleep in the dirty repair shop—it was the front hall of her house.

Caroline wished she could become rich, at least have a room of her own.

At fourteen, Caroline met a man.

This man came to her stepfather’s repair shop to fix his car and was said to be a pimp.

Having grown up in this place, Caroline naturally knew what kind of job pimping was.

This man said he could give her a chance to make a lot of money.

Almost without any hesitation, Caroline agreed to this man.

She remembered her first deal was on the night of her fourteenth birthday—since the family was too tired from work, they slept early and apparently had also forgotten it was her birthday.

Caroline didn’t find it a sad thing to sell herself for the first time on her fourteenth birthday—because that man told her that the first time could often fetch a high price.

She didn’t find it degrading to sell her body—just like her stepfather, who also made money by working.

Just that her stepfather sold his hands, while she sold her body.

The first time, Caroline slept with an old man almost as old as her stepfather.

The old man was deeply infatuated with her body, and even after enjoying Caroline’s first time, he kept in touch with her.

Caroline started to know more clients through the initial pimp and began to interact with other sex workers to learn more skills—because she knew if her skills were good enough, she could raise her fees quite a bit.

She began to know more pimps, and her clientele gradually increased—by sixteen, Caroline was already working freelance.

Without the brokerage fee for the middleman, Caroline felt that she was finally earning more.

Oh, and yes, it was also the day she left home at sixteen.

For no particular reason, merely because her family found out about her job, which caused a huge uproar.

Oh, and yes, it was the night of her sixteenth birthday—two years after selling her body for the first time on her fourteenth birthday.

That night, she originally intended to tell her mother that she had already saved enough money to buy a pretty decent two-story house, and the whole family could move in.

…

…

“Mr.

Neymar’s party?”

Caroline was putting on makeup in the living room, wearing only her underwear because of the heat—though there was an air conditioner, it was quite an electricity-guzzling second-hand one, and the electricity bill was expensive.

The person talking to her was another woman in the same profession as her, also wearing only underwear.

Her name was Livia, older than Caroline, in her late twenties.

Livia, at that moment, already had heavy makeup on and was about to put on stockings.

Before this, Livia had just taken a phone call—and now, she was telling Caroline the content of this call.

Livia said, “Yeah, they said over there they’d need two more women, asked if I’d go.”

“How’s the fee?” Caroline frowned slightly.

There were several types of so-called parties.

There were the ones purely for warming up the atmosphere, usually not having any direct transactions, just inviting women over to play; of course, someone like Caroline could still negotiate business privately with party guests, but that depends on luck.

The other type is exclusive, akin to a collective brothel.

“Exclusive, keep your own tips,” Livia said with some joy.

Caroline thought for a while, feeling it was indeed a decent job.

Mr.

Neymar might not be much in all of Rio’s seven or eight slums, but if only within this place, then he was the Emperor here.

In this era where gangs are rampant, controlling the slums where even the police cannot enter, Neymar is naturally the ruler of the place where Caroline is located.

The guests invited to his parties are naturally wealthy people who are generous in their spending.

Maybe just the tips are worth more than the pay for this job.

She can’t think of any reason for refusing.

As for Neymar being a dangerous guy, seen as a dangerous element by the Rio police…

What does that have to do with Caroline?

At least those uniformed police officers couldn’t maintain order in this place, but Neymar did.

The protection that the country can provide to the residents of this place, Neymar also did.

He even spends money to buy medicine, care for homeless orphans, and cover medical expenses for those seriously injured.

“Then hurry up!

I’ve replied,” Livia urged quickly.

Caroline, biting her eyebrow pencil, made an OK gesture and stood up, starting to put on the black bra she retrieved from the balcony, then spraying perfume on several places on her hair and neck.

“Get in the car quickly!”

Soon afterward, urged by Livia, Caroline hurriedly put on her high heels and got into the car brought by the introducer, heading to Neymar’s house.

…

Neymar’s home is located on a high slope in the area, but his surroundings are still those simple low houses—although with Neymar’s current wealth, moving to the neighboring wealthy area is clearly no challenge, and he could even purchase a villa that would leave any lady in awe.

But evidently, for Neymar, this is the safest place.

Inside the white villa, there is a fairly large swimming pool.

When Caroline and Livia followed the introducer inside after being checked by the bodyguards at the door, quite a few people had already gathered around the pool.

Caroline saw some acquaintances here—of course, the so-called acquaintances were her colleagues.

She counted briefly and found that including herself, there were thirteen women.

Perhaps, in the villa, there were others making men crazy?

Caroline hooked up with a man with considerable prowess last night, kept busy until two or three o’clock in the morning, and awoke in the afternoon.

She hadn’t had time for a meal before taking on this business, rushed all the way here, and it’s already five or six in the afternoon, famished for a meal.

Livia was in a similar situation to her, both choosing not to seek out their prey immediately, deciding to first grab a bite—there were plenty of exquisite foods placed beside the pool.

Evidently, in Caroline’s eyes, the food alone was worth the pay for this job.

“That guy…” Livia suddenly stopped and was slightly surprised while holding a fork of cold food.

Caroline followed her gaze and found a bald man with a thick beard, furrowing her brows curiously: “Your guest?”

“If I could do business with him, I probably wouldn’t need to rent your place,” Livia rolled her eyes at her friend and landlord absentmindedly.

“Who is he then?”

Livia replied, “He’s Joseph, a confidant of the big boss from the neighboring Boli Slum.

Heard he used to do illegal fighting and killed a lot of people, he can even kill a bull with one punch!

I saw him at a party when I was working at the Boli District next door.

The party’s host was extremely respectful of him back then!

Strange, why is this guy at Big Boss Neymar’s party?

Could it be the two big bosses are collaborating?”

Caroline didn’t care about the connections between these big figures, she just stared at Livia intently, making her feel guilty, “What’s up?

Why look at me like that?”

Caroline smiled sweetly, “Livia, when did you take up a party job next door?

Why didn’t I know?”

“It’s not my fault!” Livia exclaimed exaggeratedly, “That day you said you were on your period, didn’t want to work, wanted to go shopping alone, so I went by myself!

I even mentioned it to you when I got back, you hadn’t returned, being all mysterious, maybe sneaked off to work alone and didn’t take me?

Your period was fake, right?”

“You’re pathetic!

You don’t know my schedule!” Caroline chuckled without further pressing Livia about the matter.

The two women suddenly started to play-fight, then accidentally both fell into the pool, causing quite a splash, with men around the pool whistling and coming over.

The two, just emerging from the water, evidently hadn’t expected such a move to attract several men.

Watching the men reaching out to help them at the edge of the pool, their eager gazes showed the work was starting.

“Don’t snatch from me, the two on the left are mine tonight, watch me drain them!” Livia said with a flirtatious smile.

Caroline shrugged, clearly having no objections—men at this party had great conditions.

Caroline wasn’t like before, now preferring quality.

She then flashed a charming smile, placing her hand in the palm of a dark-skinned but strong-bodied young man.

Hmm, quite handsome.

…

While the pool splashed and made noise, Joseph, noted by Livia, frowned slightly, glancing out the window.

Since entering, he hadn’t paused.

Led by Neymar’s men, he headed to the study upstairs in the villa.

“Just some girls playing below, don’t worry.”

Behind Joseph, an elderly yet physically strong man, although his beard was whitening, smiled—he was the gang leader of this place, Neymar.

“Liked anyone yet?

I’ll have someone bring them up for you later.” Neymar smiled, very hospitable, “Trust me, my friend, today’s girls will surely please you!”

“Let’s talk business after the fun,” Joseph replied succinctly and turned to face the third person in Neymar’s study.

Only three people were in the study right now.

An Eastern-faced man, appearing to be under thirty.

Eastern people are typically shorter, and this man fits that category; in height, he probably reaches Joseph’s chest.

But Joseph evidently didn’t underestimate the man, knowing his background.

He’s the main reason for his visit to Neymar’s territory.

“Are you Mr.

Song?” Joseph asked seriously.

The man smiled slightly, stood up politely, “Hello, I’m Song Haoran, nice to meet you, Mr.

Joseph.”

Joseph nodded, extended his hand, and replied, “Nice to meet you too… the strategist of ‘Iris’.”