Undercover Intentions

by Sapphire Knight

  I hate this man standing beside The Master. I hate him so much; I wish he would choke on his own spit and die. The things Yema does to us—to me—are sickening. I thought the man from last weekend was going to take me away, but Yema wouldn’t allow it. I swear he only did it so he could get another week to degrade me further.

  “Girl!” It’s said with distaste by the Master, as if I’m the scum on the bottom of their shoes.

  I never understood why they put us through all of this if they hate us so much. Why keep us prisoner? Why keep us locked up away from other people? You’d think if we were such a burden they’d kick us to the street. I often wish they would. I’d much rather sleep on a dirty street curb than here on a clean sheet only to be roused whenever one of them is bored or looking to get off.

  “He said, ‘Girl’!” The mean one yells again. This time a bookend flies toward my head. It crashes against the wall beside me, and I swear fury fills Yema’s eyes at the loud thump it makes hitting the drywall.

  “Yes, Master? How can I serve you?” I go to him, getting to my knees in front of him, pretending to worship him, as he wishes us to do. He thinks he’s the creator of all things, the one to offer us life, the Master. I’ve blocked out most of my feelings toward him, but I can’t help the craving in the pit of my stomach. I want to bend over and bite his ankle. Make him fall over, clutching the limb in pain. I want him to feel just an ounce of what the guard’s grip is like on the new women—the bite of pain from their strong fingers and hands as they control you.

  He’s wrong about being the one to save and provide for us. I remember my mother, the one who filled my heart with warmth and safety. I never had to fear her when she raised her hand or called my name.

  My name…I can’t even remember my real name anymore. Was it Sasha? Or did they just pick a new Russian name and make me believe it belonged to me all along?

  “I don’t see why anyone would want you with how slow you are.” He scowls, his cold, beady eyes glaring down at me. I could say the same about him, but I don’t. He would hurt me if I did; I’ve learned to remain silent.

  It drives me crazy, but even full of bitterness, his features are handsome. Maybe because I don’t ever remember having a father and this man has given me what little I do have? The others here I hate more, like Yema. They touch and hurt me whenever the Master gives them permission. It’s been so long now; I don’t even get sick from it anymore. I just make it fade away.

  I remain quiet as I’m supposed to. I’m not allowed to speak. Sometimes I’ll mess up, but I try not to. His hand comes hard and fast when I don’t mind his rules. His rules are everything here; it’s how you stay alive. Learn the rules, live them, and survive.

  Is it the businessman from the event who’s interested in me, I wonder? Could he be talking about the tattooed man who looked at Yema like he wanted to cut his throat from one side to the other? The handsome one, who stared at me like he was hungry for me?

  I hope so. He wasn’t friendly, but he had kind eyes. I’ve met very few men with a kindness shining in them like he had. Here you learn very quickly which men are the bad ones by the way they look at you.

  “You need to be ready for tonight. Go to the room and prepare yourself. Do not make Yema wait for you.” He flicks his hand off to the side as if to shoo me away.

  “Yes, Master,” I reply, staring at his feet until he’s turned away and my gaze is met with the white fur from the rug I’m kneeling on. Only once he’s turned his back on me, do I stand and make my way to the basement. I would love to drive a knife through him from this angle, but I’d never make it. They always leave us weak, so we don’t have the strength to fight back.

  Yema promised Mr. Masterson that he could take me this weekend. I’ve prayed every morning and every night that he remembers, that he comes back for me. He took Trixie, the angel haired one, last weekend. But that’s okay. I’ll be his new favorite, I know it; and if not, I’ll kill her.

  “Ready?” I glance down at the fresh suit my cousin gave me to wear. He said I couldn’t show up in the same as last week. I don’t give a shit, though. I’m not wasting money on clothes that I won’t wear again after this is all over with. This was the compromise. I didn’t have to spend any money, and Viktor got his way as well with me wearing a new suit.

  “I’m pretty sure these fuckers will shoot me, and I’m not on their magical list. They don’t like the Irish.”

  “You’re my guest that I’m bringing and you have money. I don’t think they’ll mind you spending it at their event. They won’t if they have an ounce of common sense.”

  “Aye, you owe me somethin’ good for this one, lad.”

  “I owe you? Nope, this is what it’s like having friends. You do shit for each other.”

  “I don’t come through California asking you to transport shipments for me.”

  “That’s different; I’m a cop.”

  “Yet yer asking me to buy women. Not seeing much difference in our levels of criminal deeds. Except yours is with humans and mine is with metal objects.”

  I huff. I’m not buying the women to satisfy my sexual needs, but to save them. Big difference compared to shipping and distributing illegal weapons to more criminals out in the streets. I’d understand if I were buying the women to resell them or for my sexual pleasure.

  Finn straightens his own black suit as we pull up to the museum, and I hand my rental keys over to the eager valet standing out front. There are twenty or so young guys in burgundy and black jackets running around, parking everyone’s vehicles and escorting them up the grand staircase.

  “Name sir?” an expensively dressed man at the door asks, with slicked back hair, peering down at a tablet.

  “Beau Masterson and guest.” I can’t believe I have to use that last name. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it. I have to think of it as an undercover assignment—different clothes, name and city to do a job, like usual. At least it’s not my father’s last name and only my cousins’. Going with my first name keeps it simpler, and if anyone digs far enough, they’ll see my father does indeed have a son named Beau. Thankfully, Masters isn’t linked to my birth certificate they’d find, or else they’d also discover what I do for a living.

  “There’s no ‘with guest’ listed on my list, Mr. Masterson,” the stuffy doorman answers. He glances at Finn from head to toe and then back up again, meeting his annoyed stare. “Your name, sir?”

  “Finn O’Kassidy, the Irish stallion,” he throws in, and I snort to myself. Cocky fucker.

  “Nope, you’re not on the list.”

  With a huff, I butt in. “Yema Capelloni invited me, and I’m bringing a guest with me. Now tell your boss to fix it. He’ll want to see me, and now he’ll want to see Finn here, as well.”

  The guy places his hand on his ear, talking into his wrist like he’s fucking 007 or some shit. He nods a few times while looking me over with curious glances.

  “Excuse me for that misunderstanding, just doing my job,” he finally says. “Mr. Capelloni welcomes you both and hopes you will have an enjoyable evening.”

  “Well then, that’s the spirit, lad!” Finn smacks the guy on the shoulder and struts right on by.

  I follow with a sharp nod in door guy’s direction. “Plan on it.” Mumbling, I snatch the first glass of bubbly wine off a passing server’s tray. It tastes disgusting like sour grapes and fizz, so I quickly discard it on a table. “Be nice to get a beer.”

  Finn overhears me and perks up, “Now yer talkin’ or maybe some whiskey?”

  “Careful with the liquor tonight, remember what I told you happened to me last weekend.” He nods, his eyes smiling, thinking I’m a weak drinker. I’m serious, though; I know I was drugged with something. I’ll find out soon enough once I piss hot.

  “Gentlemen, welcome!” Yema greets in his heavy accent, approaching us with a smug smirk planted on his face. Finn’s nose scrunches up like he’s had a whiff of some bad fish but shakes the hand offered his way.r />
  “Yema Capelloni, meet Finn O’Kassidy.” With him by my side, I was able to get away with leaving the few guards at the plane instead of bringing them with us. They’re here in the city if I sense trouble and need some backup; otherwise, they’re out of my way so we can keep a low profile about us. Finn is merciless when it comes to surviving. I have no doubt if we were in a beat down of some sort or trading fire, he could easily hold his own beside me.

  “Mr. Masterson.” Yema offers his hand after exchanging fake pleasantries with Finn. The name grates on my nerves and I feel like scraping a knife down the center of his face. “I assure you, everything is in place for this evening. I’m confident you’ll be highly pleased with our offerings.”

  “Good to hear.”

  I want to ask where Sasha is but hold myself back, not wanting to come off as too eager. I only need a glimpse just to make sure she’s here tonight. I’ve thought of her all week, and there’s no way she can be as beautiful as I remember. I think I’ve built her up in my mind over the days.

  Speaking of beautiful, Willow is already starting to bloom in our care. She’s been eating good meals all week. She can’t have a lot of food or else she’ll get sick from being starved for so long, but just the infusion of vitamins in her system is making a huge difference. Viktor had a doctor come over the day after she arrived and injected her with a few vitamin shots and a saline drip so she’d be hydrated as well. We plan to do the same for all of the other women too.

  She’s been so gracious about anything and everything offered to her and Alexei has taken her under his wing like a weak kitten. I’m pretty sure he’s smitten with her already.

  She does, however, have nightmares. They’re bad. Alexei says he wakes her up two, sometimes three, times a night. Whatever these fuckheads did to her in the past was in no way pleasant with the dreams that plague her so gravely each time she closes her eyes in the dark.

  We showed up kind of late tonight, but it was done on purpose. I’m not here to support the charity. As fucked up as that may seem, it’s the truth. I’m here for two things: Sasha and however many other women I can get out safely without raising suspicion.

  My father’s capped me at nine hundred thousand from his account and Viktor has offered me an additional five hundred thousand. I don’t know if it’ll get me many women, or if any at all to be honest. I told them that, but they reminded me that we don’t want to put too much money into their auctions or the puppets making them happen will become even more powerful.

  I understand their opinions, and I agree with them, but if someone outbids me for Sasha I may end up murdering them, and that’s not like me. There’s something about seeing her frail body that has made me want to protect her like no other. Of course, it’s a woman to bring this side out of me; look at my cousins and how they act with their spouses. They’d slay a thousand men for their wives if needed.

  I remember the first time that I met their women—they’re twin sisters, so it’s even crazier. I’d asked them if they had a triplet for me. I thought it was hilarious, but they didn’t quite agree. I guess they found out about each other by mistake, and when I asked about another sister, they were a little leery of responding.

  A middle-aged woman in an emerald-colored ball gown takes off with Finn, pulling him onto the dance floor and I can’t help but think it’s funny. Leave it to the lady in green to pick out the full-blooded Irishman in the room.

  The night dwindles on, much in the same fashion as Chicago, and I find myself wasting away the time by eating too many almonds and drinking a few beers. This place has a small bar, and I made sure the bartender handed me the beer bottles so I could open them myself. I’m not about to let anyone slip something into my drinks again. I can’t believe I fell for that rookie mistake last weekend.

  “Mr. Masterson.” The older guy that tried to speak with me last week approaches. He gave me his card, but later on, when I went to dig it out, it was gone. I don’t know how I could’ve lost it unless it somehow fell out when I was sleeping on the plane ride home.

  “Excuse me, but I am at a loss for your name. I don’t know what happened to your card.”

  He holds out his hand, and I shake it, my grip slightly too tight. I want anyone and everyone here intimidated by me as much as possible. It’ll help keep me alive.

  “I understand.” He digs in his inside jacket pocket and hands me a new one.

  “Thank you, Mr…” Glancing at the cardstock, it’s only a phone number, no name. I place this one in my inside suit pocket. I’ll do a search later and see if I can find any information on him.

  “You may call me Tory. I see you’ve been keeping busy with the finger foods.”

  “Yeah, they obviously don’t believe in chicken wings or anything good.”

  He chuckles. He doesn’t seem so bad, to be honest, but nonetheless, he’s a criminal, and I’ll figure out who he really is, soon enough.

  “I could go for those little slider burgers you get during football season.”

  “Those are good too.”

  “So, I was hoping to speak with you this past week. I wanted to introduce myself last weekend. I was friends with Victor once upon a time.”

  “I see. He’s no longer in charge.” The other Viktor, my cousin who was named after Victor, my father, has taken his place.

  His smile has a touch of sadness to it. “I know. I was sorry to see him go, but alas I understand. We must all retire at some point, I suppose.”

  “Do you really understand? You know how he was dragging our family through the mud with his distasteful habits?” Keeping my voice neutral is tough. Knowing what my father had his hands in is like painting me red, being related to him.

  “I’m afraid I do. It may not make a difference to you, but he thought he was helping people.”

  I keep my voice down, partially wondering if this is a test. “By dealing in human trafficking and prostitution? Oh, and let’s not forget all of the narcotics as well.”

  “Many of those women were drug addicts when he found them. They got clean under his care. Yes, he sold them, but they never went to bad men. They went to influential men who didn’t have time for a wife but wanted someone to be there when they could make it home.”

  “Sounds like they should’ve gotten a cat.”

  “In a sense, yes. I guess in a way, that’s what they were paying your father for. They’d get a willing woman who needed to be taken care of financially. The women would get security and a sort of stability. I understand why you may not care for your father, but he wasn’t completely corrupt in his ministrations.”

  So he does know who I am. I don’t know if I should just be surprised or a bit worried; there’s no telling who else knows who I am if he was able to figure it out.

  “Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

  He nods. “Isn’t that why you’re here; to offer them a better life than what they obviously have?”

  I find myself being a little too honest with him. “Am I that easy to read?”

  “No. I just know who your family is. Gizya’s boys have done a decent job of cleaning up their business, but in doing so, they don’t see everything going on behind the scenes anymore.”

  “But you knew who my father was without me telling you.”

  “Indeed I did. Perhaps I’ve known you a lot longer than you suspect, and it was like coming across a face from the past when you came down to that basement.”

  His words take me off guard. Do I know this man? And how? Who is he really?

  We’re interrupted by another hostess announcing that the evening’s events are over. We all know it’s a front though, a ploy to introduce the real festivities that the men all came here for.

  Finn kisses the green dress woman’s cheek and comes to stand at my side. “Are we leaving? I thought we were here for more?” he questions, and when I look over to Tory, he’s already walked off toward the elevators. I have about a million things I want to ask him now, but i
t’ll have to wait.

  “No, we’re staying. This is what happened last time too.” His eyes light up, remembering everything I told him from earlier. I wasn’t too specific how it went down; I was mostly vocal about what went on at the auction. “The guy that was just over here was the one I mentioned to you who tried to speak to me last time.”

  “What did he want tonight?”

  “To introduce himself and basically tell me that my father isn’t so bad.”

  He snorts and rolls his eyes, mimicking my thoughts exactly. Leave it to a fellow criminal to justify another’s reasoning and actions.

  “Right,” I agree. “I’m hitting the bathroom then we can head downstairs. I can’t believe that idiot didn’t let me see Sasha yet.”

  “Shady fucker no doubt. You think he’s up to somethin’?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see any of the women out and about at the charity last week either. They were kept away from it, and then shown off once we all got down to the basement.”

  “Then get the ruffles from yer arse and let’s go take care of some business.”

  I have been fighting since I was

  a child. I am not a survivor,

  I am a warrior.

  -The Success Club

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Yema mutters, his lips downturned in disgust. “I’m making the stupid Russian wait another week. He’ll pay more if he thinks there’s something special about you.”

  “No, please?” The plea leaves my lips before I have a chance to taper it away. I know better than to show them something I want. It’s best to make them believe everything about you is gone that you wish for nothing. They discover one little thing, and they use it to control you.

  His evil-sounding laugh rings out, drawing the attention of the other women waiting to be thrown onto the stage and sold to the first wealthy pig who’s willing to spend some money. “What is this, girl? You think this is some fairy tale?”

  “No…I…”

  “Have you forgotten your visit from Boris? He is Russian, the same as Masterson. They won’t give you pleasure. They’ll fuck you and kill you, that is how all Russians are.”