The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  Farther into deck four, a former conference room had been transformed into Lady Setsuko’s meeting chamber. This was where she ran her part of the ship. The inside was decked out in traditional Japanese décor. As a centerpiece of the room, a water wall greeted all who entered. Art adorned the walls, and cultural antiques were displayed throughout. The atmosphere was an ever-present reminder of her family’s ancient history.

  Lady Setsuko sat at the head of a long table. She wore a black business suit over a white partially unbuttoned shirt. The hint of a large tattoo on her chest was just noticeable if she moved a certain way. She had many lines on her face that were accentuated when she glowered, and she glowered often. Standing behind her and to the right, wearing a wispy, silken robe that was held in place by a loose-fitting sash, was Jinsoku. Ample skin shown through her delicate tunic, revealing that her chest and arms were adorned with intricate tattoos. The artwork began at her wrists and migrated up and over her collar bones, down her shoulder blades and covered the top half of her breasts. Long, straight, black hair fell to her mid back. Jinsoku was in her early-thirties and trained from childhood in the art of combat. She was Lady Setsuko’s personal bodyguard. Jinsoku was armed with a katana, and she never left her master’s side.

  Two young women flanked Lady Setsuko; they sat on the floor in a kneeling position with their heads bowed. Both women had pale, flawless skin barely showing through simple, white robes that were embroidered with intricate floral patterns. In the seat at Setsuko’s right, wearing a black suit as well, sat Mamoru, a mid-fifties contemporary of Lady Setsuko. He chained-smoked and sipped whiskey. Ken took a seat to his mother’s left while his guards stood behind Radzinski and Damon, who were made to stand at attention at the end of the table. Lady Setsuko studied the newcomers to her domain in silence.

  Damon was growing irritable. Radzinski knew his high-strung companion was nearly bursting. “Don’t,” he whispered forcefully.

  Lady Setsuko’s son was giving status updates concerning operations throughout the ship as Radzinski and Damon were made to stand in silence.

  “The Haitians continue to grow in number. Our man on the inside says they’re planning something big, but he’s not close enough to get any details,” Ken said. “He’s working on it.”

  “Well, have him work faster or find someone above him and take their kids,” she answered coldly.

  “Yes, Lady Setsuko. The Hooligans are all but defeated. Their numbers dwindle every day.” Ken shrugged. “One more push and they’re done.”

  “Kill the leaders and their families. Make it public. The rest will fall in line.”

  “That leaves the Vatos. They’re well-structured and their numbers are growing all the time. They’ll need to be addressed sooner rather than later.”

  “We’ll make a very public example of them soon.” Lady Setsuko rose from the table. “I grow tired of this.” She motioned to the women at her feet. “Entertain me.”

  The girls rose and began pushing and shoving each other. Ken, Mamoru, and the guards gathered around, cheering and laughing. These girls were no fighters; their attempts at overpowering each other were pathetic. They kicked and pulled hair or merely slapped each other. When commanded to fight as if their lives depended on it, their punches were haphazard and lacked any real conviction. They were left to continue as Lady Setsuko approached Radzinski and Damon.

  “Which one of you gaijin is the new champion of the Pit?” She studied the men and was clearly intrigued by Radzinski. Disgust racked her face when she turned to address Damon. “A small boy like you could never have beaten Leonard.” She glared. “This one, on the other hand.” She ran her palm up and down Radzinski’s body. “This one is my champion,” she declared with a grin.

  Lady Setsuko continued to study the men. She carefully eyed both up and down, and when it suited her, she would caress their muscles—or a lack thereof where Damon was concerned.

  “Remove your clothes,” she demanded suddenly.

  “Come again?” Damon exclaimed.

  “You heard her, gaijin.” One of Lady Setsuko’s thugs yanked on Damon’s clothes, tearing buttons and seams.

  “Bruh?” Damon turned to Radzinski in some feeble attempt at solidarity.

  “Just do it.” Radzinski was already undressing.

  “Are you serious?”

  “You want to walk out of here?”

  They stood before their new master, naked as the day they were born. Radzinski stood proud, unmoving, hands at his side. Damon tried his best to cover himself while attempting to appear unconcerned. He failed miserably on both accounts. The crime boss’s men had a good laugh at the pair. Radzinski chuckled to himself; he wasn’t about to give these fuckers an inch.

  Lady Setsuko walked in slow, deliberate circles around them, taking it all in, touching where and what she wanted. Lady Setsuko brushed her fingers across Damon’s chest, back, and thighs with each pass as she circled. Damon was much smaller than Radzinski in all the ways that mattered. Setsuko eventually pushed him back; the surprise nearly knocked Damon to the floor. The crime boss’s thugs got a good laugh from that one.

  “This one. The tiny one. The weak one.” Lady Setsuko’s gaze fixed on Damon, her eyes full of contempt. “Remove him from my sight,” she hissed.

  The guards yanked Damon away immediately. To his credit, he kept silent throughout the affair. Radzinski hoped they were just sending him back upstairs.

  “You may dress, champion. Now walk with me,” Lady Setsuko commanded with an air of superiority. “Guards, leave us.”

  Lady Setsuko led Radzinski through her turf on a tour of sorts. Jinsoku followed just in earshot. Behind them, the two girls continued their attempt at a fight. As Radzinski was led through Lady Setsuko’s domain, they passed a room full of men toiling away. These men worked feverishly, fashioning bladed weapons from all manner of implements—broom handles, sharpened credit cards, and even pencils. Another room bore the stench of fermenting alcohol, and another still harbored a modest drug lab where various narcotics were being cut and processed.

  The crime boss explained for her captive audience of one that her prisoners were used as test subjects for the potency of these concoctions. If the drugs were too weak, then potential customers would just as well frequent Underworld’s many bars. On the other hand, if the drugs were too strong, she risked overdose, and a dead customer was of no use to her. What she sought—no, what she yearned for—was absolute domination over the hearts and minds of every man, woman, and child aboard Haven, whether through fear or addiction. Her first step in that goal was the utter subjugation of Underworld. In yet another room, more prisoners still were being used as training dummies to help teach the young how to fight.

  At the end of their long walk, they arrived at lady Setsuko’s private chambers. Her room was immaculate, and treasures from home decorated every inch of available space. Everywhere Radzinski looked, statues, scrolls, and paintings were packed in tightly. It was too much. Gaudy, even. The room was the visual representation of a spoiled child eating an entire cake just because she can.

  A young European girl—no more than twenty by the looks of it—sat kneeling in a corner, facing the wall with her hands lying flat on her thighs. Like the two subservient women in the conference room, she didn’t say a word, though she tensed up whenever Lady Setsuko spoke. She was naked save for a small white towel tied around her waist. The European girl’s body was adorned from neck to ankles and wrists with intricate tattoos. Nearly everyone that Radzinski had met so far in Setsuko’s part of the ship was covered in them, except for the two women that were made to fight.

  Setsuko stood above the motionless girl. She peered down at her with a cruelty in her eyes, and through a quivering lip, she spat, “Champion, this is my gaijin pet, Tawagoto.” She grinned, and a slight chuckle escaped her lips. Setsuko held the girl by the chin before tossing her aside. “She will not speak. She belongs to me, as you do.” Lady Setsuko turned her back to the girl and
spread her arms. “Gaijin!” she snapped.

  The young European girl sprang to attention. She gently, methodically removed her master’s suit jacket, shirt, and pants. The girl carefully placed Setsuko’s clothing on a nearby rack before backing away, bowing. Lady Setsuko stood—naked and proud—her chin raised and her shoulders back. She was adorned with traditional Yakuza tattoos down to her wrists and ankles. The pattern split her chest down the middle, continuing to wrap around her thighs. “Pleasure me, champion,” she demanded.

  Radzinski didn’t bother weighing his options—there weren’t any.

  Lady Setsuko didn’t ask for anything—she took what she wanted and destroyed anything that displeased her. “On your knees.” She pointed to the floor at her feet.

  Jinsoku stood at the door; her eyes studied the Marine intently.

  Radzinski noticed something. He almost missed it, as he was busy contemplating if he would ever leave this room: a glint in Jinsoku’s eye as he made his way toward Setsuko. This wasn’t a silent warning not to try anything with her master. No, the look was more like camaraderie. He was almost certain that she was telling him in the only way she could to persevere. He might have just found an ally in this dangerous place, a fellow warrior carefully planning her next move.

  ~~~

  Radzinski lay in Lady Setsuko’s bed; he kept up his cocksure posture for all it was worth. It was a front. He was in bed—literally—with people who would cut his throat without a second thought. From here on out, he would have to move forward very carefully. Suddenly, taking Cortez up on his offer to join his crew didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all, but that bridge had been burned to the ground.

  It had been hours since he was led to Lady Setsuko’s domicile and forced to perform for his new master. During this time, Jinsoku never left her station. She stood with her back to the door and her eyes trained on Radzinski the entire time. Whatever he thought he saw in her eyes before was fleeting; he never saw it again. Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe he hoped he had found a friend down here. Radzinski knew one thing for certain; he was well and truly fucked.

  Lady Setsuko rose from the bed. She slid into a silken robe and stood near the center of the room, smoking. She kept her eyes on the Marine as if she was deciding his fate then and there. After a long, uncomfortable pause, she said, “You may go, but know this, gaijin.” She paused again to instruct the young European girl to draw her a bath before returning her attention to Radzinski. Keeping him waiting and in a constant state of anticipation was a demonstration of her power over him. “When I call, you answer. Now leave me.”

  The last thing Radzinski saw of Lady Setsuko was the crime boss stepping into the steaming bathtub. She was being assisted by the young European girl as Jinsoku closed the door behind him.

  As soon as the door shut, Radzinski quickly grabbed his things and retraced his steps back to the stairwell. He dressed along the way, not intending to spend a second longer on Setsuko’s deck than was necessary. Surprisingly, he was allowed to pass unmolested, save for jeers and insults from Lady Setsuko’s men. He slammed the door behind him in the stairwell before collapsing onto the steps, breathless.

  Radzinski had spent enough time in unstable countries to know that when a warlord wanted something, they got it, no matter the cost. His best move—his only move—was to play along. Hopefully he could get some alone time with Jinsoku, but that seemed unlikely.

  He raced up the two flights of steps. His hand was on the door to deck six and the relative safety of Underworld’s main drag. At least the River Styx had a sense of familiarity. Radzinski hoped that bartender Mike could offer a bit of advice on how best to handle this mess he had gotten himself into when he had an epiphany. Radzinski jogged back down to deck five and burst into the lair of Sona.

  The third and final deck that made up Underworld was laid out like decks four and six: large gathering areas and room for entertainment on either end with dozens of guest quarters in between. The décor here was enough to make Radzinski pause, even amid his quest. Just about everyone wore leather or latex from head to toe. The color of choice seemed to be black sprinkled with bright neon colors; it was beautiful in its own exotic way. As Radzinski delved deeper into yet another unfamiliar area of Underworld, he witnessed a myriad of sights just as strange and unique as what he saw on the other decks he visited. He watched a man on all fours—blindfolded and gagged—being led around like a dog by his mistress. At a table near the main bar, hot candle wax dripped on eager skin. Latex-clad dancers in cages framed the room.

  Electronic music thumped in time with red and green and purple and blue strobe lights. The sound was deafening, the light disorienting. Beyond a sea of skin and latex, Sona sat upon her throne, smiling over her devotees. A giant neon sign hung above, spelling out the word Frost. It was the name she dubbed her section of Underworld. Sona’s ebony skin was covered from head to toe in form-fitting black latex with red trim. Her face was fully exposed—she hid behind no mask, unlike so many before her. She brandished a horse whip and prodded a gagged man at her feet with it. The man was kneeling, acting as a footrest for his queen.

  To Sona’s left, a man that was nearly Radzinski’s size stood guard; he wore leather straps in an X pattern across his chest. Otherwise, he wore only black chaps that exposed his oversized manhood for all to see. To Sona’s right stood a woman in similar dress; she wore red skin-tight latex with holes fashioned into the suit that exposed her breasts and ass. Before them, another woman in dark purple latex with a matching spiked mask performed on an all-too-willing participant. She used some sort of a shock device with a ball on the end of it. The administrator of pain smiled widely through the hole in her mask. Her blue lips glistened beneath the dancing strobes, matching eyeliner accentuated large and curious eyes. She guided the toy across the man’s body, and he writhed in waves of pleasure and pain. Each time she pulled the toy away, he begged for more.

  Radzinski made eye contact with Sona from across the room; he watched her closely as she followed him through her domain. He bypassed the bar completely without a second glance at it or the strange sights he was passing. Radzinski marched to the foot of Sona’s throne and stood beside the purple-clad woman, who continued her work but kept a watchful eye on the Marine.

  “I assume you’re the one in charge?” he asked.

  “I am,” Sona said in a soothing tone through a confident smile. “And you are the new champion of the Pit. They call you Radzinski.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I know why you have come. Lady Setsuko extracts a heavy toll on the people of Underworld. She believes that your win in the Pit ensures her more muscle in the coming war.”

  “Well, aren’t you a fount of knowledge.”

  “Knowledge is what I trade in, Radzinski.” Sona rose. She used the man at her feet as a step stool.

  The man grunted under her long stiletto heels, and though Radzinski couldn’t be sure, he was fairly confident that the guy was really in pain this time.

  Sona spoke to the purple-clad dominatrix. “Amaranth, take the throne. I would see this man cared for personally.”

  “Yes, mistress.” Amaranth immediately stopped toying with her plaything and forced him to the ground beside the other kneeling man. She turned off the balled shock device and took her seat upon Sona’s throne. Amaranth leaned back with her knees high in the air while using both men as footstools. They were on their knees, facing her while she rested her feet between their shoulder blades. The tips of her stiletto heels dug into the back of each man’s neck. The men continued to praise her while Amaranth surveyed Frost in Sona’s stead.

  “Amaranth so loves her work,” Sona commented as she approached Radzinski; she stood eye to eye with the weary Marine. She was tall, and with her heels, she was nearly as tall as him.

  Radzinski could feel her breath on his lips; it tasted like vanilla with a hint of coffee. “I can see that,” he said. Radzinski was transfixed by this stranger.

/>   “People from all stations aboard this ship visit Frost in search of release. A man desperate for the pleasures of the flesh will tell you anything if you coax him just right. What is it that you seek?”

  “Sorry, lady, I don’t know anything.”

  “Not yet.”

  Radzinski scanned the crowd. At a dark booth, a man and a woman who were clearly from the off-limits upper decks of the ship were taking turns pouring hot wax on someone. At another table, a worker from de-cons sipped her drink and chatted with a man in a mask. Two of Lady Setsuko’s guards drank with a member of Todd’s security. Upon a second glance, Radzinski was sure he saw one of Amaranth’s footstools in Captain Kayembe’s wheelhouse only a few days ago.

  “Walk with me?” Sona gestured for Radzinski to take her side. They would walk as equals or not at all; the choice was his. A stark contrast to the demands he experienced with Lady Setsuko.

  “This is the second time today someone’s asked me to walk with them. Does this tour end with me on my knees, too?”

  “I am no monster.” Sona’s eyes oozed sincerity, and she reached out her hand for Radzinski.

  Arm in arm, they slowly passed through the packed room. Every employee of Frost and the guests alike greeted Sona like she was a goddess in the flesh. Even a clearly well-to-do couple standing with a latex-clad woman greeted Sona with the same admiration.

  “Esteban, Victoria,” Sona greeted them with a nod and a smile.

  The well-to-do couple addressed Sona with polite nods of their own as she passed.

  The crowds thinned as Radzinski and Sona made their way to the brightly lit living quarters section of Frost. Fresh paint and a variety of artwork decorated every corner and hallway. The entirety of deck five was welcoming and full of life. It appeared that no one begged for scraps here or lived in squalor or fear. They approached a nondescript room in line with all the other living quarters. From the outside, it looked no different from any of the other dozens of staterooms lining the hall.