by CJ Roberts
Matthew took a long, hot shower. It helped loosen his aching muscles. The damage was fairly miniscule – only a few bruises and welts on his ass. It was a relief to know he had no marks on him that would be visible when he was dressed.
He stopped for coffee on the way to work. He didn’t want to stand around the pot at the office. The officers sometimes tried to engage him in conversation, and Matthew just wasn’t in the mood. He walked in quietly, nodding in greeting to the desk sergeant and taking the elevator in silence to the chagrin of the building janitor who rode with him.
“This is Agent Reed.” Matthew set his briefcase next to his desk and his coffee next to his keyboard before he turned to acknowledge the officer’s presence.
“Yes?”
“Message came for you late last night. The desk sergeant brought it up this morning.” The young man handed the message to Matthew and walked away.
“Thanks,” Matthew muttered toward the man’s back and looked down at the message. The agent from the FIA had called. Matthew looked at his watch and hoped their offices were still open. He was cutting it close.
He rolled out his chair and picked up his phone to dial the long number. “Hello? Staff Sergeant Patel, please.” He waited for a few minutes while they tracked the man down, relieved he’d called in time.
“Staff Sergeant Patel speaking.”
“Matthew Reed, FBI,” he said quickly. “You left a message for me. What did you find out?”
There was a deep sigh on the other end of the phone. “We looked into private planes with scheduled arrivals in the next three days.” He hesitated. “You were right. There seems to be a lot more activity than usual. No information yet on Demitri Balk or Vladek Rostrovich, but we don’t have all the passenger manifests yet.”
“Can you send me a list of all the information you have available? I’d like to look through it if you don’t mind.”
“We do mind, Agent Reed. If there is something going on, then it falls within our purview and our office can handle it. Is there any other information you would like to share with us?”
Matthew ground his teeth hard enough to make his head hurt. He wasn’t in the mood for the bureaucratic games. “I’m willing to share information so long as we are coordinating. For that to be the case, information has to flow both ways. Time is limited, Staff Sergeant. Neither of us has time for a pissing contest.”
“You Americans and your colorful slang,” Patel said. “No one is ‘pissing’ on anything, Agent Reed, but I’m sure you can see the political implications of this. The world’s eyes are on Pakistan right now, and we need to know the situation can be handled discreetly and without embarrassing either country.”
“If you won’t share information, I’ll have to contact my superiors and have them reach out to your government. It could take days, and by then the slave auction could be over,” Matthew said.
“I understand you have a job to do, Agent Reed. I do as well. I will continue to gather information on the private aircraft, passenger lists, arrival times and scheduled departures, etcetera. In the meantime, I suggest you get in contact with your superiors. I will do the same and perhaps we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement?”
“Fine,” Matthew growled into the receiver.
“Until tomorrow,” SSgt Patel replied coolly.
“You can bet on it,” Matthew repeated and waited until the line went dead before he placed the handset back onto its cradle. He was careful not to slam it. He didn’t need the attention.
He had a few hours before Sloan finished with Olivia, so he decided to dig out his research on Demitri Balk. If Rafiq and Caleb were set on getting to the elusive billionaire, then Matthew would have to do the same. He was hesitant to get too close to the man through traditional channels. He didn’t want him spooked. He might decide to stay clear of the auction, and then Matthew wouldn’t be able to use him as bait.
Demitri Balk didn’t have much of an identity until the mid-90s. Balk Diamonds had appeared seemingly overnight with a long list of prominent investors that catapulted the price of the stock within minutes of it becoming public. Demitri Balk had been the primary share holder and was listed as the CEO of the company.
The large conglomerate was primarily billeted as a jewelry company but was also supported by a myriad of other businesses. The company had its share of controversy surrounding it. More than one story claiming Balk Diamonds did their mining in Africa could be found by doing a cursory search, but ultimately no formal investigation by any government had been conducted.
Blood diamonds were highly contentious, but no one had been able to directly link Balk Diamonds to any of the mines in Africa – probably due to the web of companies and subsidiaries associated with them. One of the subsidiaries caught Matthew’s attention. AKRAAN was established in Russia and dealt in weapons manufacturing and sales. More research revealed AKRAAN had been part of Balk Diamonds when it first went public, meaning the CEO would have direct knowledge of it.
Matthew wasn’t surprised to see a diamond company involved in weapons. However, what was surprising was the weapons company existed first, as early as the 1960s. The manufacturer, run by the government, sold weapons to several countries – most notably, Iraq and Pakistan.
How did Demitri Balk come to run both companies? As CEO, no less?
Demitri was described by Forbes Magazine as a “self-made billionaire with humble roots in soviet Russia.”
Matthew scoffed. “Humble, my ass.” He winced at his own words, remembering the very real way his ass had been humbled the night before. Sitting was definitely a chore. He tried not to fidget.
Finally, inspiration struck and Matthew made a call to his home office. After a brief conversation with his boss, the man had finally relented and agreed to give Matthew all the resources he would need to put his case together. He also agreed to start cutting away at the red tape between Matthew and the FIA.
Within the hour, two techs were running every picture and story associated with Balk Diamonds, AKRAAN, Demitri Balk, Vladek Rostrovich, and Muhammad Rafiq through facial recognition software and the National Security Database. Matthew predicted something would show up sooner rather than later.
He looked at his watch. He should probably get to the hospital. He called the nurse’s desk on Olivia’s floor to make sure Sloan had left for the day and then he gathered his belongings and headed for the door.
***
Olivia was furiously writing when Matthew walked in. She seemed in better spirits than the night before. Matthew gave Sloan credit.
“What are you writing?” Matthew asked. He put down his briefcase and took a seat. The chair was far more comfortable than the one in the recreation room. Also, sitting in her hospital room had the added benefit of making her more talkative.
“Dr. Sloan gave me a journal. Pretty sweet, huh? It’s been so long since I’ve written anything, I almost forgot how much I love it,” Olivia said. She smiled.
“Not what I asked, Miss Ruiz,” Matthew replied, but there was no bite in his words.
She sighed. “I’m…you know. I just want to preserve my memories before I stop trusting them.”
Matthew really didn’t know what to say, except, “That could get subpoenaed, you know?”
She looked stricken, dropping her pen with a rattle. “Seriously? Why would you do that?”
“Never mind,” he said easily, “forget I said anything.”
She looked at him, then down at her notebook and up at him again before she raised a suspicious brow and snapped the journal shut. “I don’t forget anything you say, Reed. Only an idiot would.”
Matthew inclined his head and winced. “Thanks for the compliment.”
“What’s wrong with your neck?”
Matthew focused on not letting his embarrassment show and did a fairly good job of it in his estimation. “Hotel bed. Hurts my neck.”
“Aww, poor Agent Reed,” she teased gently.
“Funny girl, b
ut let’s get this over with so I can go home and sleep in my own bed,” said Matthew.
She sighed. “Always business with you. Is that why Sloan’s mad at you?”
“What?” Matthew snapped. “She talked about me?”
Olivia gave him a confused look. “She asked if you were here this morning and when I said no, she seemed a little annoyed is all. You seem to bring that out in people… or just women. She didn’t want to talk about it. What’s going on with you two?” Getting even more curious, Olivia raised her eyebrows. “Did something happen between you two? Was there an FBI showdown?”
Matthew let out a breath he hadn’t realized he held. He was relieved and felt foolish for overreacting. “A showdown? No. Has anyone ever told you you’re overdramatic?” he dismissed her coolly. “Dr. Sloan’s usually more professional in keeping her focus on the case, not external distractions – whatever they may be.”
“Jeez, Reed. What the hell got up in your ass this morning?”
Matthew’s cheeks felt hot, but he forced himself to calm down before it could show. The things that could make him blush were limited, but damn it if the last few days weren’t designed to expose his weaknesses to the world.
“Just go on with your story. Please. I’m exhausted, my neck hurts, and I feel a headache coming on – so can we just get on with it?”
Olivia’s face was suddenly devoid of its light and humor. “Fine, Reed. Ask your fucking questions.”
He took a deep breath. “What did you and Sloan talk about? I’ll get her notes later, but just bring me up to speed.”
“We talked about Caleb. Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.”
“Tell me anyway,” Matthew insisted. He tried to work up a smile to re-establish their otherwise good rapport, but by the look on Olivia’s face, it would take more than a smile.
“I had a lot of nightmares when I first got to the mansion. Sometimes about Rafiq raping Nancy. Sometimes I dreamt about Caleb selling me. Mostly, though, I had nightmares about the night the bikers almost raped me. I dreamt about them beating me, stepping on my stomach, and slapping my face.” She swallowed.
“I could almost feel blood pouring into my mouth. I would wake up gasping. When Caleb was there…” Livvie sighed. “He would just hold me. Caleb liked sleeping next to me, I think.
“Morning was our problem. I would lie in bed next to Caleb, watching him sleep and thinking he was so child-like when he wasn’t so obsessed with training me or proving how much control he had over me—”
Matthew interrupted. “Was Rafiq still there?”
“No. He left a few days after I met him. He and Caleb had breakfast on the balcony. Rafiq used Nancy as a table, and I don’t know how many times I had to shut my eyes because I thought Rafiq’s knife was going to go right through his steak and into Nancy. It never happened though.”
“What happened to Nancy?” Matthew asked.
“I didn’t know it until later, but Rafiq took her with him when he left. And before you ask – no, I don’t know where he went.”
“To meet the boat. Remember?”
“Right, to meet the boat,” she said.
“So where did you eat?”
“On the floor, next to Caleb. He cut things up for me and fed them to me as he ate. That’s what I’m telling you, Reed – he was good to me. I didn’t really appreciate it until I saw the way Nancy was treated. Even Kid. Celia was treated better than anyone, though. Toward the end I’d sort of hoped…” She was starting to drift off.
“Hoped, what?” Matthew asked in an attempt to regain her focus.
“That Caleb and I could have what they did. Felipe isn’t a great guy. He wouldn’t be involved with Rafiq if he were, but…. I don’t know. Celia loves him, and Felipe seems to feel the same way. He’s pretty protective.”
“You want me to call Sloan?” Matthew asked patiently.
Her eyes drifted toward him, narrowing suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because you need a lot of therapy, Miss Ruiz. A lot.”
She shook her head at him, clearly amused by his bluntness. “Fuck you, Reed,” she said through a smile.
“Please. Continue your story…”
Chapter Twelve
When I opened my eyes and realized it was morning, it took me a few minutes to orient myself. The trepidation I felt during the night was slow to fade. I didn’t remember falling asleep – only lying in bed for hours trying to think of a way out of my situation that wouldn’t later involve Caleb having to rescue me.
The room I slept in was beautiful and immaculate. Every morning, the sun came spilling into the room when Celia came in to draw back the heavy curtains. I had told her I was more than capable of drawing back the curtains myself, but she simply ignored me as she went about her business of preparing the room for the day.
“She’s not allowed to speak to you,” Caleb said as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was only our second week at the mansion and he looked so tired, like he wasn’t able to rest at all. He complained he couldn’t go on sleeping in all his clothes forever. Yet every night, he did.
Caleb was more erratic than usual during those first few weeks. Yes, he was cruel. He put me through my paces, teaching me certain phrases in Russian and what actions to take when I heard them. He insisted I crawl, call him master, and that I go through a series of humiliations meant to make me get over my shyness.
For all that, he didn’t really touch me. He kept me clothed. He protected me by not letting others near me. I knew he stayed with me at night because I had nightmares when he didn’t. He slept in his t-shirt and shorts, seemingly content to just sleep next to me and not touch me unless I woke from some horrible nightmare and huddled close to him. He soothed me.
“Why isn’t she allowed to talk to me?” I asked in a sardonic tone.
Caleb glared at me for several moments before he replied. “Kitten, you should really watch the way you speak to me. Just because you’re hurt doesn’t mean I’m not keeping score.” He stared at me, squarely in the eyes, until I finally looked down.
“Sorry, Master.” He eyed me strangely. “Can I please know why she’s not allowed to speak to me?”
“Celia isn’t just her master’s lover – she’s also his servant. It’s not so unusual, I guess. I’ve never been involved with someone long enough to know the idiosyncrasies that go along with being in a relationship, but I know enough to say it makes sense. It’s not like he can use her for sex all the time.” My face must have shown my indignant shock because Caleb pressed his finger to my lips to keep me from speaking.
Even though I shouldn’t have and it might’ve pissed Caleb off, I spoke anyway. “Don’t you think that’s a silly rule? It sounds pretty mean to me.”
“Well trust me – sometimes talking to you is what is mean,” he commented, but smiled.
I smiled back. Asshole. Perversely, I thought about how much I would miss him after he sold me, and I wondered if he would miss me too – perhaps even enough to come for me. You’re not a princess and he isn’t the handsome prince come to save you. Or don’t you remember? I sighed at my inner voice. I was talking to myself more and more. Not only was I going crazy, but I was bitchy company.
Some days I could almost forget I was being held against my will. I never did, but I flirted with the idea every now and then. Caleb would have Celia bring us breakfast and we’d eat it outside, just the two of us. Out in the sunshine, eating fresh pastries from Caleb’s hand and sipping hand-squeezed orange juice, I thought: This isn’t so bad.
Of course, some days it was nearly impossible to forget I was Caleb’s prisoner. I was still moving slowly from my injuries. The bruises had nearly faded away, but the pain in my ribs and shoulder was always there to remind me about a lot of things. It was a deterrent against running away again. It was also a reminder I had gotten off easy with Caleb. Still, leave it to Caleb to think of a way to use the pain toward his own ends.
One morning in particular, he’d left
me alone in the room with Celia and, against my better judgment, I decided to talk to her.
Celia’s eyes avoided mine as she went about my room straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened and dusting. I really pitied her. She was beautiful and her demeanor hinted at her immense inner strength, and yet…she was a slave. I wondered if I would be half as graceful as she when my time finally came. I did note, with some hope, she didn’t appear to be abused. There were no bruises on her, no outward signs to suggest she was suffering. Yes. There was definitely hope in that.
“Celia?” I spoke her name haltingly, scared she would answer me and scared she wouldn’t. Her gaze fell upon me kindly, with only a quirked eyebrow in question. It wasn’t really a response, but it was more than I’d gotten from her before. I figured since Caleb wasn’t present she would speak to me. “How long have you been here?”
She stared at me for a long while, until I grew uncomfortable and squirmed. I didn’t think it was a complicated question, though at some point I wanted to ask her those, too. Finally, her mouth quirked to the side and she nodded briefly; neither was for my benefit. She looked at me with a smile in her eyes and held up six fingers.
I wanted to yell at her for not using her words, but I was sure it wouldn’t get me anywhere good. “Siiiiiix…months?”
She shook her head.
I took a deep, fortifying breath for my next question. “Years?”
She nodded and smiled.
Fuck. Years? She’d been Felipe’s slave for six years. I couldn’t imagine. “Did you never try to escape?!” My voice was apparently too loud. Her eyes were suddenly frantic, and she looked at the door as if it would burst open and something horrible would happen. She scurried toward me and held her fingers to my lips.
