SLAVERY UNBOUND: Cruelty & Lust with the Emerging Eastern Mafia (Noah Reid Action Thriller series Book 4)

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  “Hello, Noah, what do you need now?” asks Sam at the other end of the line.

  “Got a question for you. How do you entertain teenage girls?”

  “You got a Ph.D. in stupid? How do you entertain teenage girls? With teenage boys. Duh. Look at Justin Bieber. Those aren’t twenty- and thirty-year-olds buying tickets to his show, or if they are it’s because Mom or Big Sister is treating fourteen-teen-year-old Mary.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait. You talking about the Russian girls?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Some nice foxes in there. Walrus and I are your guys.”

  Foxes? They’re children, Sam. As are you.

  “Hey, Noah, you got some action for us? Sam and I’ll be there in no time flat,” says Walrus, Sam’s best buddy in New York.

  “That’s what I’m worried about, Walrus. That’s what I’m worried about. TTYL.” Noah shakes his head as he closes the phone.

  “They’ve got a point,” says Olivia.

  “No, the foundation is not going to start a club where kids who can’t even shave pick up girls who can’t even wear a bra.”

  “That’s called meeting them where they’re at,” defends Olivia. “You want to be relevant in New York? Give the boys and girls a chance to play with each other in healthy environments. Call Sam back. Tell him and Walrus to come over for a late dinner and to hang out tomorrow.”

  ***

  In a small room somewhere in The Ranch, Prince lies on a medical examining table with a 150 long, thin acupuncture needles stuck in his body from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Looking at his the wounds, the gashes, the lacerations... hell yeah, this guy has gone to war. Prince’s going through a mental calculation. Five hundred total audience. Two hundred paid twenty grand at the gate. Three hundred presales average about ten grand a pop give or take. Presales went to pay for construction costs, so I own the entire complex clear title. With the gate, I got four million in cash. Hmm. Enough to retire on?

  Alexei walks into the room. “You were very brave. You are a warrior like no other.”

  “Who are you?” demands Prince. “I gave instructions not to let anyone in.”

  Alexei reaches inside the little suitcase he carries and places three stacks of one hundred-dollar bills beside Prince. “Fifty grand. I told them I would only give my gift in person. That’s about five percent of what I made today on betting.”

  He made a million bucks off me today for sitting on his ass and having a good time with his buddies? He should pay me double.

  Alexei continues. “I know your father and your sister, Queenie. My condolences about her. She was a fine woman. I also mentioned I have also killed men with my bare hands, and that while you might survive in a fight with me, your flunkies definitely would not. And that’s how I got in despite your orders not to let anybody through.”

  Prince says nothing, breathing deeply as he allows the long thin needles in his body to evoke their ancient Chinese healing. His ears also perk up at Alexei’s knowing about Queenie’s death. News of her death was buried. The fact that Alexei knows indicates he’s more than just another Russian thug.

  Alexei continues. “I recognized some of your moves. I have seen your father do the same with tigers. I am Alexei Gudonov. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  Prince tries to hide his growing interest. “One Russkie is the same as another. Drink like fish, stink like pigs.”

  Alexei ignores the insult and speaks quietly. “You are better than your father ever was. Several times I approached him, but he did not want to do business with me. You are the younger generation. Don’t be a fool like your old man.”

  Now that is a way to start a conversation. But damned if Prince will let the Russian know he’s got hit attention.

  Prince sneers. “I don’t need to do business with anyone. You saw tonight. You saw my operation. I have a dozen men working for me, all of them nastier, tougher, stronger who will die for me and I for them. The Leopards work for no one.”

  “I don’t want you to work for me. I want you to work with me.”

  “I fly solo.”

  “I respect that, but sometimes the sum of the parts is greater than what any one person can imagine.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  That’s because you’re as stupid as your father. “The two great super powers of the world are Russia and China. Eastern Europe and the Far East. Let us unite and form “The Eastern Bloc.”

  Alexei reaches into his bag and pulls out two shot glasses and a bottle of Stoli Elit: Himalayan Edition, one of the world’s most expensive vodkas.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “You don’t drink?” If Prince had told him that he had a third nipple, Alexei could not have been more surprised.

  Suddenly, Prince jumps off the examining table, grabs the $3,000 bottle of vodka, smashes it, grabs Alexei’s hand and holds the broken bottle by the Russian’s jugular. With all the needles sticking out and brandishing a glass weapon, he looks more than scary.

  “Now you are going to tell me why the hell you are here. And no bullshit about Eastern Bloc, super powers, blah, blah, blah.”

  Alexei tries to break out of Prince’s hold but can’t. He forces the words out. “Okay, okay. The people who killed your sister are a Chinaman called JJ and a white guy called Noah Reid. Both are a little older than you, and they have cost me a lot of money. My recording studio in New York - Skyscape - got trashed - it’s going to cost me a fortune to rebuild.”

  “I’m not a carpenter.”

  “I want you to kill them and get back something of mine they took.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Girls, twelve to seventeen.”

  “Sorry I’m not into kiddie porn.” Prince throws Alexei to the ground and kicks him for good measure.

  “It doesn’t matter what perversions anybody has. Business is business, and we could do very good business together. One million dollars, Prince. Not bad for a day’s work.”

  Prince snorts. “No.”

  “Yes, and I’ll you why.” Alexei stares Prince with eyes of ice. “I don’t like you; you don’t like me. You don’t like Russians; I hate Chinese.”

  “And that’s going to help us do good business?” asks Prince skeptically.

  “Yes, because neither of us trusts each other. I will watch you like a hawk, and you will do the same to me... We will keep each other honest. And if you succeed, your father cannot ignore either of us.”

  “I’ve just had the best day of my life. I don’t need you, I don’t need my father, I don’t need anyone and I definitely don’t need to do your dirty work for you.”

  Alexei gets up, reaches into his pocket, pulls out a cell phone and places it on the table.

  “I have a thousand of these,” sneers Prince.

  “It belonged to Queenie. I thought you might like to have it. It also has my direct line that very few people have.”

  Alexei walks toward the door, then turns. “I’m waiting for your call.”

  CHAPTER 8

  For a person like Prince whose life is centered around action, lying still on the examining table with needles stuck in him is torture. To top it off, Alexei’s conversation has got his mind racing at a zillion miles per hour for all kinds of reasons.

  Prince, like the rest of his siblings, has a complicated relationship with his father. Prince was never as interested in money as his siblings. What drives him is raw, physical, brute power. The show today is the epitome of what he is all about - he wants to show that he is the baddest badass in the world.

  There is no doubt that the word is going to get out about his bout with the leopard. There were a ton of smartphones with HD video capabilities in the audience. No doubt he will be, if he already isn’t, a YouTube sensation.

  Maybe now his father will give him some respect. After all, he outdid his old man with the leopard—beyond anything his father did in fighting a tiger.
Even Alexei says that.

  He also knows why his father won’t do business with Alexei. He also knows why Alexei would never tolerate for long working with his father. His father and Alexei are both old school - they both believe that they belong to the “master race.” For Alexei, that means the East Slavic ethnic group; for Chin, it’s the Han Chinese. Prince’s view of the world is multicolored - he’ll take advantage of anyone, regardless of ethnic group or color. If Prince gets involved with Alexei, it’s not to do business with him; he’ll figure out a way to stick it to him.

  Especially if there’s a million bucks to be had.

  And he knows just how to do it. Alexei mentioned the girls. Prince brushed it off in front of Alexei, but truth be told, that’s also Prince’s fatal flaw, his Achilles heel, his weak spot. Prince’s sexual appetite begins with girls the moment they hit puberty, somewhere around twelve. Now in New York, it is a Class D violent felony to have sex with someone younger than thirteen, but if that rule were enforced, there wouldn’t be enough jails in the state to house everybody that was guilty, so practically speaking, Prince, just like Alexei, just like the thousands of other men wanting young meat, can engage in his pleasures with impunity.

  For Prince, again it was his father’s influence that made him want young girls. Because Prince’s mother had him when she was fifteen, Prince always thought that fifteen and younger was the best age for them to be had. And there’s another little secret. Prince’s crazy, abundant use of steroids was making his performance in bed not quite it should be. A girl with some experience would know that immediately - an inexperienced person wouldn’t.

  Prince sits up and motions for his cell phone. One of his henchmen quickly brings it over.

  Prince punches in a number.

  “Hello, Son,” answers Chin’s voice.

  “Hello. I’m going to do a deal with Alexei Gudonov,” says Prince with a touch of “you gonna disagree with me?” tone in his voice.

  “Do you know stupid you are?” says Chin with no malice in his voice.

  “Not stupid at all. We’re calling ourselves ‘The Eastern Bloc.’ Eastern Europe and the Far East.”

  “What’s in it for Alexei? What’s in it for you? What is that he wants to do?”

  “We’re going to get some young girls that were taken from him... ”

  Chin blows up, interrupting before Prince can finish. “Prince, the Russians are the most brutal gangs in the world. You know why Alexei wants you. Because either his own men couldn’t do the job or he thinks you’re expendable. Don’t kid yourself. He doesn’t want you; he needs you. The question is, ‘Do you need him?’ And you have already answered the question without saying a word. It’s the girls. How can you be so stupid to let yourself to be run by wanting a taste of tail?”

  Prince resists his desire to hang up. He’s put up with this kind of bullshit all his life, and nothing he has done has ever been good enough for Chin.

  “If you had let me finish, there’s part two. It’s more than just the girls. Alexei wants me to take out someone called JJ and another person called Noah Reid. He says they killed Queenie a few days ago.”

  The phone is silent for a moment.

  “Hello?”

  Then Chin speaks. “I’m digesting. JJ and Noah killed King too. And Noah killed Duke.” Duke and King were Prince’s two stepbrothers.

  “Let Alexei do his own dirty work. You would not last against either of them. They have been trained by the masters of Heaven.”

  “You never think I can do anything,” growls Prince.

  “I didn’t say that. The risk has to be measured off by the reward. What’s he offering you?”

  “A million dollars,” says Prince proudly.

  “Chump change for a job like that. Turn it down.”

  Prince hangs up. Calls with his father always wind up like this.

  ***

  Prince’s response is exactly what Chin expected. Telling Prince not to do something was a personal challenge he knew that his pigheaded son could not resist. Especially when those same people killed two of your siblings and almost killed your father.

  Prince may not care a whole lot about money, but Chin definitely does. While Prince may not have been the smartest of his kids, he certainly is the toughest. And with Chin pressing the right buttons... well...

  CHAPTER 9

  There’s a party happening at the apartment. Sam and Walrus made a beeline for the apartment the moment they got the invite to find the most horrible meal that either of them could possibly imagine - all vegetables, mainly tofu. While it might have had a certain attraction for austere Shaolin monks and rabbits, it was definitely not fit for man or womankind.

  They got on the blower right away, and within twenty-seven minutes the atmosphere changed from desperate to delighted. Perogies, pizza, kung pao chicken, collard greens, Korean Kalbi ribs - it’s an international food fest with Sam and Walrus taking charge of the festivities.

  When Noah and Olivia show up with the ingredients for mojitos, white wine spritzers and sangria, the soirée is complete.

  “Lighten up, JJ,” says Walrus, who displays his new talent as bartender.

  “You’re too young to drink alcohol,” says JJ. “You have to be twenty-one.”

  “Man, I been drinking since I was eleven,” says the thirteen-year-old. “My daddy, he’s gonna teach me responsible drinking so that when I can officially expose myself in public to the demon rum, I’m not gonna go and make a fool of myself.”

  “Besides, in the presence of a guardian, it is not illegal for those under twenty-one to have an alcoholic drink. Two mojitos, one for JJ and one for me,” asserts Abby, stepping in.

  “You got it, babe.”

  For a guy who can’t even grow a mustache, the cheeky Walrus makes a mean mojito.

  JJ and Abby step out onto the balcony. JJ drums his fingers on the rail.

  “Don’t look so down, JJ. You tried,” consoles Abby.

  “Trying isn’t good enough. They need more than that... You need more than that,” says JJ.

  “You can’t expect to live in a monastery for twenty years and understand the world right away.”

  JJ takes a deep breath and looks to the open windows in the apartments in the next building. Someone is watching the Yanks on television, someone is running around with a fly swatter, someone is taking off their clothes and posing for him... “I don’t think I could ever understand the world.”

  “I’m there to help you try,” murmurs Abby. She puts her hand on him.

  JJ stiffens. He takes her hand off his butt and holds it instead.

  “Thank you. I need that.”

  Inside the apartment are a dozen pairs of eyes that eye the couple on the balcony. Most of them are thinking the same thing. What universe is JJ from? The rest are thinking that JJ is about the lamest dude they’ve ever met.

  Of course, it’s what Abby’s thinking that is most important, and her sparkling eyes are impossible to read.

  ***

  Acupuncture treatments over, Prince gets up and walks to the empty Arena. This should have been a good day. Millions richer and the promise of more to come, should he want. Having the adulation of hundreds of live spectators and millions on the Internet seeing him defeat the leopards. And thousands that are trying to track him down with offers of insane amounts of money if he would just “give them a few minutes of his time alone.”

  But for Prince, the thrill and satisfaction isn’t there. His father yet again managed to undermine his accomplishments. To not so subtly remind him that Prince is not the man that his father is or was. No matter how many leopards he could kill with his bare hands, no matter how much money he made, it would never be enough.

  But still, he just doesn’t have the will or energy to try and change things. Maybe he will wake up in the morning or next week or next month and think the toll he’s gone through is worth it. After all, most women swear they’ll never have another kid if you ask them about future
children right after childbirth. But wait a little while, and almost all will change their minds.

  If he were going to do it again, and that’s a huge if, what would he do?

  Prince steps into The Arena and looks around proudly. He built this. He found the money. He’s made it profitable.

  He looks around the bleachers. The chain-link fence has been taken down. If he’d had his druthers, he’d rather not have the fence there. It adds to the excitement for the crowd. Maybe next time there won’t be any, and he’ll give machetes and guns to some of his underlings to be strategically placed so that if a cat leaps into the crowd, it can be easily dispatched. Now that’s marketing! Gotta get more thrills because instead of the average of fifteen grand a ticket including discounts, there will be no discounts. He’s gonna figure out a way to get a hundred more seats, and the price will be at least twenty-five g’s per seat.

  Or he can take it easier, have a boring money-making life that doesn’t entail the risk of being shredded by some of the most vicious felines on the planet.

  Not sexy, but safe. And guaranteed. Rebuild his core businesses. Drugs and prostitution. He’s taken a back seat for the last while because of the training for the fight and it’s time to get back in the saddle. After all, it’s worth a bare minimum of ten grand a month after expenses when things are popping. But business has been down - not even making expenses. Hired hands are just - hired hands who haven’t the brains to run even the simplest operation properly.

  Speaking of which, “Where the hell are Leo and Tony?” Now that he’s focusing back on business, he realizes he hasn’t seen them all day. Did he miss them at the match? They would never have missed it. And then he doesn’t remember their offering congratulations. Did Prince get one concussion too many? Maybe Prince was too pre-occupied to notice them?

  Prescient thinking or in touch with the cosmos?

  Suddenly, the door of The Arena crashes down, and a familiar onyx-black SUV comes screaming at over a hundred miles an hour right at him - it’s the vehicle Leo and Tony were driving.