But years went by, and Vladek had remained elusive. Meanwhile, Caleb had become more involved in the world he wanted to destroy. With each act, he traveled toward the center of that world, until one day, when he looked back, he found he could no longer see the way he’d come. He had wanted out. It had been so long, years with no word of Vladek Rostrovich, of where he’d gone or what had happened to him. Rafiq’s thirst for revenge had seemingly never waned, but Caleb had at times wondered, if that too, had become little more than habit. Caleb had begun to formulate his plan, to let Rafiq know of all the turmoil inside him.

As fate would have it, it was in those very days, seven years after Rafiq had pulled him out of that brothel, that someone recognized the twenty-sixth richest man in the world, Demitri Balk, as the former gangster Vladek Rostrovich.

In seven years, Vladek had risen in wealth, privilege, and power. He had used the wealth gained from his underground activities to fund his legitimate business aspirations. He now owned most of the steel and a good amount of oil-rich land in Russia, diamond mines in Africa, and enough stock in large European companies to make the world forget his less than humble beginnings. He was heavily guarded and widely mistrusting.

If Caleb had had any chance of leaving the life he’d created, it evaporated in that moment. He and Rafiq were once again of a single mind, a single objective. They would make whatever sacrifice was necessary to achieve their critical goal. Caleb had gone far, he was now resolved to see it through. He owed Rafiq at least that much, if not more. But after twelve years of waiting, it wasn’t only vengeance that kept Caleb moving forward into the dark. It was the inane hope, that there truly was some metaphorical light waiting at the end of all this.

He let the curtain fall back into place, the view uninteresting as his thoughts turned to the girl sequestered in the room across the wide living area, and down the corridor from his room. Her role was more important than she could ever guess. He’d owe her too, one day. But for now, he needed her. Vladek had not been an easy man to get to, especially masquerading as Demitri Balk, billionaire. It had taken five years for him to return to his roots, to return to the slave trade.

Caleb rolled his head, wincing as a muscle in his shoulder contracted and coiled back into its tense position. He went through his closet. After twelve years of planning, maneuvering, and infiltrating, the moment Rafiq and Caleb had been waiting for was finally approaching. In four months the Zahra Bay' would take place in Pakistan.

The first phase of the plan was complete. As it stood, he was not yet certain of the girl’s virginity, but he’d find out. It would be a small setback if he brought a slave with no ‘flower’ to a flower auction, but Rafiq had maintained that her nationality, coupled with her beauty, as far as Caleb had described it, would secure her status as the most desired slave at the auction.

Caleb, half dressed, pulled on his Armani shirt and began buttoning with deft fingers. At first, he had not agreed with Rafiq, had not seen the purpose in seeking an American, with their loose morals and trademark willfulness. But now, currently experiencing some strange sort of allure, he had to admit Rafiq was right. The girl was somehow different, unique.

He raised his arms and finished buttoning his shirt, leaving his throat exposed. He reached for his cuffs.

When, not if, Vladek bid on the girl, he would have to inquire about her trainer. Then, however the moment unveiled itself, Caleb would offer Vladek the girl as a gift, a token of his admiration, his way of requesting an audience. From there, it was all about the impression he made. Vladek would have to be very impressed, not just with the girl, but with him. Impressed enough to grant him access to his tightly-knit life.

He would get access; he would find the best way to take from Vladek, all that he loved and cherished before killing him. Vladek’s death would not be as quick as Narweh’s. There would be no .44 Magnum to the face to end it hastily. Rafiq and Caleb had waited twelve years to taste revenge; they’d savor it accordingly.

In the meantime, Caleb expected the girl to behave as the survivor she was. Then, when it was all said and done. They would each, Caleb, Rafiq, and the girl, find a way to move on. Alone.

Fully dressed, he grabbed the key from the back pocket of his other pants and put it into his current pair. Then Caleb ran his fingers through his hair as he assessed his reflection. His lashes were too long, his mouth too full, his entire visage was contrary to his unquestionable masculinity. He was too damn…pretty and that had always been his problem. Had he some physical defect, however small, his entire life would have turned out differently.

Heading out the door, he took Dirty Harry’s gun with him; he needed the cold, heavy metal to remind him he wasn’t “pretty” anymore. He grabbed his jacket, pulling it on and situating his holster. Without looking back, he closed the door silently behind him. He walked down the corridor, past the antique sofa, toward the front door.

The dim setting of the lights in the house, at this time of night, was functional and for precaution. No one knew they were here, except those that had traveled with him, but Caleb trusted them less than he did strangers. Approaching the door, his eyes once again locked onto the girl’s bedroom door.

He had six weeks with her. Six weeks to make her understand all that would be required of her. Then, it was on to Pakistan to meet Rafiq. Given his unyielding nature, he would be less than kind to her if she did not obey the moment he ordered. Vladek even less so. She had to be ready to conform, to survive.

Caleb walked through the foyer, his shoes making soft whispers across the ceramic floor. As he opened the door, the night passed through him. He paused on the threshold. Suddenly he wasn’t restless, thirsty or horny. For a moment, he didn’t want to leave. But he knew he needed to, so he did.

The night was warm, but comfortable and some of Caleb’s uneasiness began to subside. The unpaved, dirt streets of the village appeared all but deserted. No sounds could be heard from inside the small, concrete or wood homes of the villagers. As Caleb walked, he paid close attention to the soft, nearly indiscernible thud of his steps meeting the packed dirt. Against the stillness of the night, the sound of the crickets rubbing their legs together furiously seemed a thundering sound, but a nice accompaniment to his steps.

The farther Caleb progressed down the road, the less he heard the crickets and his steps, until finally they were completely drowned out by music and noise. The bar in this piece of shit town was indeed open. Caleb’s mouth tilted up in the corners.

SIX:

It was raining outside. I could hear it. Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened my eyes, forgetting for a moment where I was, but then the sadness set in. I didn’t exactly know what day it was. He kept me in the dark, always, with only the nightlights to guide my way around the room. I didn’t know why he did things this way. If it was to disorient me, it was working. I never realized how the inability to account for time could wreak havoc on ones grasp of reality. It was easy to get lost in the endless dark and passing hours.

I thought a lot about home, about my mother and what she may or may not be going through. Perhaps she was sorry for all the times she never told me she loved me. Perhaps she regretted never giving me those hugs I had needed so desperately. Now it was too late. I wondered if they had any idea where I might be or if the police had already told my mother hopes of finding me were gone. I counted the days by inspecting my meals. I had eaten six breakfasts so far. I wanted to go home.