"As I said yesterday, I understand your concerns and have thought long and hard about them," I said in Romani. "To that end, I spoke with my mother and her sister. They have agreed to act as my counselors and advisors, in a role similar to what they did for my brother."
I looked around the room and continued. "For the past few years, since my grandfather became too ill, my brother acted first unofficially and then later officially as the leader of our tribe. And in those years, despite the challenges to our home nations, our tribe has flourished. We're in a more secure position economically, politically, and even culturally than we were when Felix took over."
The discussion lasted for another few hours, but as time passed, I could tell I'd made the proper points. It was time. “Gentlemen, it’s time to make your decision. If you want me to be your leader, then take the oath."
The oath is perhaps the only thing that really separates a Gypsy King from any other respected family leader. We don't carry a crown, we don't have security details or Secret Service or anything like that. There’s no money to it, my grandfather had a few years where he was as poor as any other member of the family.
The oath, on the other hand . . . that was special. It was a blood oath, the strongest there is in Romani culture, that the family leader, and, therefore, the family, would agree to the decisions of the King. It was irrevocable, with dire consequences if broken. The only way an oath could be nullified was if the King died or was deposed, and that had never happened in the history of our tribe.
The room was silent, each man looking to the other, wondering who would stand first, if any would stand at all.
Finally, one brave man stood. "I will take the oath."
With the dam broken, one by one all of the other family members stood, until I was the only one left seated. After giving anyone who wanted a chance to change their minds, I stood as well. "I accept."
Chapter 28
Jordan
"But why the markings?" I asked that night after Francois had gone to the barn to mentally prepare himself. His coronation, which would be another public declaration of loyalty, would take place at dawn the next day. Before swearing the oath, each family leader would be allowed four very carefully placed blows with a whip or a rod on Francois's back. "Why the need for the pain?"
"In the old days, there was no concept of jail in our culture," Charani said, sitting quietly, pensive. She knew what faced her son the next morning, having seen it once before. "There were three forms of punishment. You could warn, a scolding if you would. The next was corporal punishment. The third, of course, was banishment or death. The marks are to show that Francois has already paid for the mistakes he’ll make when he is King."
I nodded. An interesting concept. "I wonder how many people would sign up to be politicians if we did that in the United States."
"You mean Canada?" Charani chided in good humor. She had regained a small sense of it, using it to keep me and Syeira out of the worst of the black depths of our depression.
“On a more serious note, though, Francois is going to have a difficult next few days. He’s going to need you for support. Not only does he have the stress of becoming our new leader, but we have the ceremony for Felix."
I felt the tightening in my chest seize for second before unclenching. "I know. I’m thinking of how I will memorialize him."
Charani nodded. She brushed off her pants and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "Then I will let you think. Good night, Jordan."
* * *
The ceremony itself took place in the backyard of the house. Two ropes had been strung from the post above the door to the barn, and two of the family leaders tied Francois up, his arms out at an angle to create a gigantic Y-shape. I winced when they lifted him into the air until his body hung two feet off the ground, his back muscles stretched painfully as he waited for his coronation gift.
Each of the leaders, sixteen in all, lined up in two lines of eight. One by one they approached and said something I couldn't understand in Romani before taking long wooden rods, maybe four feet long and about as thick around as two of my fingers. They then hit Francois across the back, taking turns to create the X-shape that I knew so well from Felix's back. Tears came to my eyes and I wanted to reach for him, but Charani laid a hand on my shoulder, shaking her head. There would be no interruption.
Francois's skin resisted the blows until the third pair, not rupturing until the man on his left swung so hard that his rod cracked in half with his blow. The ceremony didn't pause, but intensified, with each of the following pairs of men striving to open those wounds wider, the blood sheeting down Francois's back and staining his pants by the end. Tears rolled down my cheeks just as much, but still his head was held high, his eyes turned toward the sky, and I could see his eyes open and looking into the dimness of the barn.
Finally, the last blow was struck, and all sixteen men stood back, surveying their handiwork. One of them raised his hand, and in a single voice, they said something else in Romani. The man lowered his hand, and two more men ran forward, lowering Francois to the waiting arms of two more of the men. They carried him into the house, where one of them checked his wounds. He turned to Charani and spoke in Romani, her face impassive the whole time. She whispered out of the side of her mouth as the man took a bottle from what looked like an old-fashioned doctor's bag and started daubing fluid on the wounds. "He says that the wounds are deep, but that they’re just in the skin. The underlying muscles weren’t torn. For the Romani, this is good, as the scars will be wide and strong, unbroken. They’ll be a good sign of his position and the respect he deserves.”
I sighed in relief, then glanced at Charani. "Can I go see him now?"
“You can, but I’m not sure he’ll be conscious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t passed out already from all the pain.”
I went over to Francois and knelt by his shoulder. His eyes were closed, but his face was still a rictus of pain. "Francois?"
"I . . . I’m okay," he grunted in a low voice. "I will recover."
"Then sleep for now, my love," I said, kissing his temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
He drifted off. I don't know if it was into sleep or a pain-induced delirium, and the other leaders of the Romani families paid their respects and left.
I checked on Syeira and Charani and retreated to Felix's room, looking around. It still seemed surreal, that the very next day I'd be saying goodbye to him. I could smell him in the air still, and my mind played back memories of our times together. In the silence and solitude, I was able to admit to myself the truth that had haunted me since Francois came in saying that Felix had been killed. I may have been with Francois first, but Felix was the one who truly had my heart. I picked up his pillow and held it to my face, sobbing as I thought of going through the rest of my life without him. Even with Francois, Felix had been the perfect man for me. That he was generous enough to share me with his brother just made him even more perfect.
Somehow, in that sadness, I felt something bloom inside me. Perhaps it was just an insane hope, but I felt his presence, his spirit with me. My tears trickled off and my eyes cleared, and I looked around the room. If I was to say goodbye to Felix, how was I going to do it?
Guided by the spirit that was touching me, I looked, and saw on the dresser the violin case. Unlatching it, I opened the cover to reveal the deeply stained spruce of the front of the instrument. For the first time in years, I reached out and touched the neck without feeling the slightest turn in my belly of fear. Instead, love and sadness mixed, compelling me to pick up the instrument and pluck the strings, one after another, adjusting the tune as needed until I found the perfect tension. Sealing the case back up, I picked it up and slid the shoulder strap over my head, leaving it on my back.
I found Charani in the main room of the house, tending to the preparations for a light lunch. "I'm going out," I said, causing her to look up. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw what was on my back,
then she nodded in understanding. “I’ll be back when I’m ready."
"Let your heart say what it needs to say," she advised me. "That’s all you need to do."
I left and thought about it for a moment, before heading down toward the river. It wasn't the ocean, but it would do. I needed quiet, and I needed water. It’d always been my muse when I searched for the right notes to convey my emotions.
Chapter 29
Felix
"Wake up, my pet."
I groaned and opened my eyes, disorientation washing over me. I'd gotten used to the feeling, and knew it was a side effect of whatever the hell it was they were pumping into my container/cell. Other than plates of food that were delivered on a regular basis, I hadn't seen sunlight in what seemed like forever.
At least they'd started giving me light. It wasn't much, just a bare forty watt bulb that dangled on a wire, but at least I could see my surroundings when I was awake. Not that there was much to see, mind you. A pallet that I found was made of cardboard boxes that had been flattened out and piled up, topped with a thin foam rubber mattress, six more boxes that had been turned on their sides to create what could best be described as cubbyholes, and a plywood floor. There was nothing else if you ignored the opening with the small piece of rubber hose that they pumped whatever the hell it was that was causing me to sleep.
I didn't even know how long I'd been there. With the drugs that were most certainly inundating the air of the container, I could have been sleeping sixteen hours a day, or doing lots of two and three-hour naps that were meant to make me think a day had passed. Even when I was awake, I felt lethargic, so there was little to help me try to keep track of time.
Rolling to the side, I blinked. At least it was somewhat dim outside, roughly sunrise I thought. At least, that was what my inner compass was telling me, that the glow on the horizon was coming from the rising sun of the east and not the setting sun of the west. I shivered in my thin clothes, wrapping the blanket I'd been given tighter around my shoulders.
"My pet? Over here," the same voice repeated, and I shivered not at the cold, but at the desire to listen to that voice again. It was lilting and teasing, with that Russian accent that stirred deep within my body. I shook my head, fighting it. It had to be the conditioning, right? "Come now Felix, don't be a naughty kitty."
I looked, and had to repress the urge to swallow a lump in my throat. Even if I hadn't been under the influence of whatever drugs the Russians were using, she was a beautiful woman, that was clear. Tall, with deep blonde hair that hung all the way to her waist and ice blue eyes, she looked like someone had used her as the model for Elsa in that Disney movie. That she was wearing just jeans and a sweater that hugged every curve of her luscious body didn't help matters.
"Don't call me kitty," I said, trying to keep my anger going. I found that when I was pissed off, I at least could think a little bit more clearly. "I'm nobody's goddamn pet."
"We’ll see," she said with a knowing grin. "I'm Svetlana, your new mistress. Come, it’s passed time that you got a bath and some fresh clothes."
"I'd rather stay here," I said. “But if you're feeling generous, you can give me another blanket."
Svetlana smiled and quirked an eyebrow, and she looked more than ever like the animated Elsa — why the hell was I thinking about a Disney movie anyway? "I don't think so, Felix. You have two choices right now. You can come with me, get a shower and fresh clothing, something more appropriate for this time of year, and enjoy a day outside of this box along with some good food. Or, I can walk out. You’ll be gassed again, dragged inside, washed and strapped to a bed inside the house, where you’ll be fed gruel until you agree to behave."
"There must be a cold front moving through if you’re so concerned about getting me out of this box," I said, getting to my feet. It wasn't that I wanted to obey her wishes, but being strapped to a bed would leave me with fewer options for escaping. "Fine. What kind of food are we talking?"
"Let us get the day underway first, then we’ll see," she said. "I suppose I don’t need to remind you to not try anything stupid. I’m more capable of defending myself than it looks like."
I nodded, knowing that regardless of her self-defense skills, I was more worried about whatever other security that was around. "There’s no point in harming you right now," I said, making sure to keep a few feet away from her. As I got closer, it disturbed me to feel my attraction to her rise. Whatever they had been doing to me, it was already having an effect. “I’ll behave.”
Svetlana smiled and turned on her heel, leaving the container. I followed, noting a man with a rifle tracking me with his eyes as I stepped out onto a large estate. I could smell water in the distance, but not salt water. From my best guess, we were near a large lake or a river. Thinking about what I knew about the Ukraine, we were most likely close to the Dnieper River, which was large enough to be called a lake in certain regions. I decided to keep my knowledge to myself and play dumb. "This is quite an estate," I said instead. "Your uncle must be in with the power players of Kiev and Odessa."
"Vladimir is very generous, but your unspoken question is off on both points," she said with a small chuckle. "This property is near neither of those two cities. It’s a vacation house, given to me for the duration of your training."
"And Boris over there with the rifle?”
She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. "His name is Sacha, and he’s just security. You behave, and you won’t have to see what he can do."
We walked toward the main house slowly, my legs unsteady beneath me. Svetlana noticed. "Don’t worry, the weakness will pass."
I didn't fight it as relief washed over me, and we climbed the shallow hill to the big house. Inside it was warm, the heat settling into my suddenly chilled bones, causing me to shiver. "That’s why I decided to bring you inside," she said as I hugged my arms to my chest and shook. "Your body may have adapted some to that container, but you couldn’t have survived what is expected to hit tonight."
"How cold?" I asked, my lips quivering as she led me toward a roaring fire. I noticed a few other people out of the corner of my vision, but I had a hard time focusing on anything other than the electric feeling of Svetlana's hands on my shoulders and the warmth coming from the old-fashioned fireplace. Flanked in large stones, it looked like something from a castle.
"Minus ten," she said. I noticed for the first time she was speaking to me in English rather than Russian or French. "The container wouldn’t have stopped that much cold."
"Thank you," I said without thinking as she sat me down on a chair next to the fire. "It’s a nice chair."
She smiled at me. "You’re very lucky, Felix."
"How so?"
She chuckled. "If you’d been just some other Gypsy, you wouldn’t have been treated so well, nor given this opportunity. Thankfully, Uncle Vladimir recognizes your skills, and I happen to think American men, even half-blood French Gypsy Americans like yourself, are quite cute. If you hadn't been, you would never have left Calais. Now, warm yourself, and then we will see about getting you a shower."
* * *
As the days passed, I felt myself in a constant haze, confused. Other than that first morning, I knew I was constantly being drugged, most likely through the food that was brought to me. At least I was able to keep track of the days. My nights were filled with a strange mix of dreams and words being whispered into my unconscious self, yet every time I woke up, the room was silent.
Svetlana spent lots of time with me, her presence increasingly catching my attention. I didn't know what else was being done to me, but as she spoke, her words seemed to soak into my mind, my previous life becoming more and more hazy. There was something about her, the way she spoke and the way her clothes both teased and hid her voluptuous curves that left me wanting her.
More importantly to me, was that I wanted to please her. Not necessarily sexually, but to do anything she wanted of me. Three days after she brought me into the house, after lunch,
she set her spoon aside and looked at me with her head cocked and her eyes evaluating me. "You know Felix, you can’t lie around the house all day. Come, let's change clothes and use the fitness center. I won’t have you getting lazy.”
I don't know why, but I pushed myself that workout. Svetlana joined me. She went through a yoga routine that left my heart thudding even harder than my workout, and despite my trying to fight it, my cock grew stiff in the shorts I'd been provided with. She noticed and smirked, looking up at me and licking her lips suggestively. "You need to do your workout, my pet."
"Yes Mistress," I answered, a surge of pleasure going through me as I said the words. I don't know why I said them, but as soon as they left my lips I knew they were the right ones to say, and I wanted to say them again. I started my workout and lifted hard, going from the barbell to the gymnastic rings and overhead bar, pushing myself as I saw her eyes glowing with approval as I lowered myself into an Iron Cross.
At the end, both of our bodies were coated in sweat, her skin glistening as she came over to me. Her tight top showed the deep valley between her beautiful breasts, and I couldn't help but reach for her. "No, my pet," she purred. "Hands at your side."
"Yes Mistress," I immediately said, obeying. It was so good to obey her, the pleasure was almost as good as sex. The idea of sex with her, though, that was something greater than I could ever hope to have the chance to feel. She saw it in my eyes, and she smiled and stood on her tiptoes, kissing me briefly on the cheek. "Thank you."
She patted my chest and pointed toward the door with her chin. "Now, go take a shower and you can join me for dinner."
In the shower, the warm water did nothing to alleviate my arousal, my cock standing stiff and hard from my body. Closing my eyes, my mind flooded with images of Svetlana, the poses she'd held in her yoga routine. It’d been erotic torture, the way her hips had been thrust into the air, her long, lean legs slightly spread, and her breasts . . .
Double Dealing: A Menage Romance Page 19