He found Daisy, his ten-year-old black and white cat, peacefully sleeping cozily on his bed. Jasha’s hands trembled as he reached for his suitcase from his closet, the weight of Mr. Bronson’s words pressing down on him. He had ten minutes—just ten minutes to gather everything he held dear. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat, a reminder of the limited time he had left.
He started with his laptop, carefully placing it in the suitcase. It was more than just a device; it held memories, work, and a connection to a world he might never see again. Next, he grabbed his phone and iPad, slipping them into the pocket. These were his lifelines, his means of communication and escape.
Jasha moved to his closet, pulling out his favorite clothes. Each piece of fabric felt like a fragment of his identity, a part of the life he was being forced to leave behind. He folded them neatly, trying to keep some semblance of order amidst the chaos. Everything he loved would be gone!No New York University! No friends! No father!
As he packed, tears welled up in his eyes. The fear of Mr. Bronson’s wrath was overwhelming, but so was the sadness of leaving everything he loved. He could feel the clock ticking, each second slipping away faster than the last. The last item he placedinto the suitcase was a picture of his father and him on a trip to Coney Island. His hands shook violently, making it difficult to zip the suitcase closed.
He gathered a sleeping Daisy into her carrier and put her records into the outer pocket of his suitcase. With one final glance around the room, Jasha took a deep breath. He had packed everything he could, but the sense of loss was immense. The suitcase was heavy, not just with his belongings, but with the weight of his fear and sorrow at leaving his father. He knew he had to face Mr. Bronson, and the thought made his stomach churn. He was scared—terrified, even—but he had no choice. He picked up the suitcase, and the carrier, then walked out, each step feeling like a step away from the life he once knew.
Mr. Bronson still had the gun to his father’s head as he glared at Jasha. “Remember, if you run away from me, your father is a dead man. He’ll suffer a long painful death, piece by piece.”
Jasha’s heart shattered into a million pieces. He was being sold, traded away like a broken toy. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he dared not make a sound. The monster was coming for him.
“I won’t run away, sir.”
Mr. Bronson moved his weapon from his tearful father’s head. “Your father can buy you back at any time.”
His father wrapped his arms around Jasha, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’ll get the money and buy you back,” he whispered into Jasha’s ear.
Jasha knew his father would never find that much money to free him from Mr. Bronson. The only good thing was Mr. Bronson had allowed him to bring Daisy with them.
“I love you, Papa. Don’t worry about me.” Jasha spoke in Russian without thinking.
“I’m so sorry, Jasha. So sorry.” His hoarse, raspy voice confirmed the pain he was going through. The last time he had seen his father cry had been when his mother passed away in a Russian hospital bed.
“Follow me, boy,” Mr. Bronson ordered.
His father clung to him tightly, reluctant to release his grip.
“Let him go,” Mr. Bronson ordered, the words echoing through the room as he tucked his gun out of sight.
Jasha untangled himself from his father’s grasp and retrieved the suitcase and carrier. He obediently followed Mr. Bronson out of the apartment. Jasha turned back for one last time to see his tear-faced father watching them from the doorway. The image of his father’s expression, marked by desperation and sadness, would be seared into his mind forever.
Chapter Two
Jasha
Once they were inside the elevator, Mr. Bronson took the suitcase from Jasha and carried it when they exited outside. Daisy meowed a few times, then fell back to sleep.
“Suck this,” Mr. Bronson ordered, as he handed him a cherry-flavored lollipop, its vibrant red color catching his eye. As their hands touched, Mr. Bronson held onto Jasha’s a tad longer than necessary. At the same time their eyes met, the intense,tingling sensation of their connection pulsing through Jasha’s every fiber.
Jasha blushed, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, then gingerly pulled the paper away, the sound of its crinkling echoing in his ears, before discreetly tucking it into his mouth. Mr. Bronson’s words certainly could have meant besides sucking a lollipop, something sexual. The unfamiliar thoroughly delightful feeling left him unsure if it was excitement or fear. Clearly, when Mr. Bronson touched him, he couldn’t deny the waves of pleasure inside his jeans.
Side by side, they made their way to the waiting limo parked outside the dilapidated apartment building. Saying goodbye to Brighton Beach meant saying goodbye to the unique experience of exploring the Russian stores and restaurants that lined the streets. This was the place where he felt at home, surrounded by friends who embraced the same culture and language.
“There’s a surprise inside,” Mr. Bronson declared, shattering his nostalgic moment. “All you have to do is suck hard enough.”
Was Mr. Bronson flirting with him or sending him messages about things he wanted from him? He’d said he belonged to him and was under his protection. Could he trust Mr. Bronson’s words?
When they reached the sleek black limo, the driver hopped out to greet them.
“This is Jasha Kozlov. He belongs to me, so he is under my protection as is Daisy, his kitty.” Then he turned to Jasha. “This is my driver, Adam Mason.”
Adam looked a few years older than Jasha. His blond hair stood out against his tan skin, creating a striking contrast, and his blue eyes mirrored Mr. Bronson’s exact shade. Jasha focused on the smattering of freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks, giving him a youthful, innocent appearance. He was dressed ina black suit with a crisp white dress shirt underneath. The sight of a perfectly knotted black tie around his neck highlighted his polished appearance. Standing tall and self-assured, he exuded confidence with a courteous smile, his polished black shoes reflecting the streetlights. They exchanged greetings and Adam took the suitcase with a firm grip then graciously opened the door for them.
“Get in.” Mr. Bronson pointed to the limo’s open door.
Jasha climbed into the luxurious car, sinking into the plush leather seat with the carrier beside him. Every inch of his body trembled uncontrollably. Once seated, he inhaled the lingering scent of the man’s cologne, giving him a sense of familiarity.
