Page 35 of Volatile Waters

Junior repeated a word he had yet to learn, “Crashed?”

I explained in English, “Ram. Hit. Crash.”

Light on his feet as trained, Junior bounced around, fist ready for another target. He was smiling at his accomplishment—Kirill on the floor—and his next opponent. “Adrian, ready for me to crash into you?”

Staring at Junior’s tattoo, Life 1982, I uttered, “Crash.” My eyes lit up. “New name?”

Smirking, Adrian lifted his fist and took a fighter’s stance. “How about it, Crash?”

Crash appeared proud. “I think I like it.”

Adrian shrugged. “The name is appropriate for dealing drugs. When an addict crashes after a high, they will search for the one to save them.”

‘Crash’charged Adrian and rammed his fist into his face. I guess he didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

It would be encouraging to say we had many enjoyable times like this during Crash’s stay in Russia, but it is not so. These light-hearted moments were few and far between. Moments Crash wished had never happened. He had become somewhat accustomed to Elites in his presence, yet still always left the room when sexual endeavors were demanded of the slaves. He hated when I brought trainees to our room. I may have fed him well, a mistake I would later not repeat in order to keep my hostage much weaker, but I made him sleep on an Elite bed on the floor to remind him of his place.

While plowing into a slave on my bed to get Junior accustomed to witnessing sexual acts, I would peer over my shoulder to see him lying on his side, hands covering his ears, eyes slammed shut. His right bicep was bandaged due to his new tattoo.

In the early mornings, while pretending I was sleeping, I would watch him, lying on the slave bed on the floor, staring out the window above my desk, as if longing for freedom. In years to come, another American would lay there with the same longing stare, wishing to be anywhere but there.

Even though a part of Crash liked me, most of him hated me. We had a very twisted relationship that skirted between respect, curiosity, and a desire to not be lonely. We both were. We were both trapped in a hidden world only the deprived and corrupt were daring enough to willingly be a part of. And, as much as I cared for Crash—saw him as a younger brother—I kept abusive cycles in proper working order.

Repeat…

At the basement door in the foyer, Crash shook his head. “Don’t make me go down there.”

My hand nervously tinkered with the remote in my pocket, deep down, knowing what I was doing was wrong. “But you do not know what takes place there. Why fret?”

“Because I see the girls you bring up from down there. I see the emptiness in their eyes. Something down there robs them of hope.”

I shook my head, dumbfounded by his wisdom at such a young age. “Crash, it is a profession you are acquiring. You must face this.”

“But it’s not one I’ve agreed to!” His now longer legs started pacing across the white marble. He brushed his dark, now longer hair from his eyes. “I’ve learned everything you have asked. I know the contents of Crack, Meth, Coke, Molly… I know prices in most countries. I know how to smell out a snitch or cop, but there are certain things I can’t unknow, Yury. Don’t drag me into your hell. If there is any part of you that gives a damn about me, at all, don’t make me see the Elites before they become so…” he winced, as if not sure to be disgusted or filled with mercy, “obedient.”

If you care about someone’s opinion, you don’t want to hear it when you know they’re right, yet you hope they’re wrong. “Meh.” I shrugged and repeated, “They like what we do to them.”

“You sound like Kirill.” Crash stopped, his shoulders deflating. “Tell me it’s an act.” His hands jerked through the heavy air drowning me. “Tell me you don’t really believe this bullshit!”

I sneered. “Are you saying my life is bullshit?” My hands now started to tremble with anger.

Crash heatedly inhaled then exhaled. “You put leashes on human beings as if they have no rights. So, yeah, I guess I am.” I stormed forward to get chest to chest. I was still taller so I was sure to hover, reminding him who could win if we were to exchange blows, but he didn’t retreat. In fact, he lifted his chin and continued his stubborn streak. “I don’t care what you do to me. Beat me down if you have to, but I’m not training and selling sex slaves.”

Taking one step back, I licked my drying lips. “What if I gave you the opportunity to save one?”

“You’re lying.”

“I guess you’ll never know.” I turned, clicked my remote, and opened the basement door.

Proud of my trickery, I smirked, hearing Crash race down the stairs to follow me. “H-How can I save one?” His eyes were racing around, studying his surroundings.

Passing closed doors, I simply replied, “Pick one. And claim her.” I peered over my shoulder. “Or him, if that’s what you’re into.” I winked.

“Fuck you. I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I, but I fuck men.” Crash’s mouth opened as if he had just tasted a rotten lemon. I chuckled. “A hole is a hole.”

“Bull. Shit.”