Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Not running a branch of a worldwide criminal syndicate.
I can recall at one point in time thinking about where my own work would lead me.
The increase in salary I might receive. Possibly having to change teams or locations.
But once I was in prison, those ideas disappeared.
I struggled to simply see myself living through the week.
Yet after being sold to Remy, some of the things I imagined myself doing returned.
Making blinis for my family.
Going to the ballet to honor my mother and sister.
Studying fish more in depth like my father always pushed me to do.
I dreamed of being by my master’s side at all times like I deserved to be.
Like I worked to be.
Like I continue to work to be.
However, there was never a moment I pictured myself conducting the purchasing I was acquired through.
I’ve learned life is often ironic like that.
Forces us to prove ourselves in unforeseen ways.
Presenting me the privilege to handle such an avenue is Remy’s way of demonstrating that she truly trusts me, and the fact that she’s never second guessed my decisions on who to return with – like she did Puppet – indicates just how much.
Over the years, I’ve finally crossed the threshold of where I use said trust to my advantage.
To pass better judgment on those up for acquiring.
No, there is no “good” version of purchasing a human being to be potentially slaughtered for other’s amusement.
But there is a more considerate execution of the process.
One that includes hope.
The same hope I was given.
Perhaps not the exact same as they will not be collared or rewarded the way my wife did me.
I’d personally end their life if they even thought about it.
However, getting a second chance at life can be incredible.
If they’re willing to fight for it.
And I only want the ones who are.
My chin kicks the direction of the male at the end, brisk beach air doing its best to send shivers down my black dress shirt covered back. “Where from?”
Kash, the salt and peppered hair male in charge of transporting who’s positioned to my left, checks the paperwork in his large hands. “Russia.”
I let my eyes assess his smaller stature, hunched over nature, and pasty bruised skin prior to inquiring, “For?”
“Political protesting.”
“Net.” Shaking my head is done quickly. “Send to Ackers or Bennett.”
He acknowledges the order with a silent nod.
“Next.”
Kash points a casual finger to the opposite end of the line while keeping his attention on the paperwork. “Brazil.”
Mentally critiquing his potential instantly begins. “For?”
“Armed robbery.”
The faintest hum of contemplation is given. “More.”
“Bank.”
Another small noise of consideration reveals itself.
Violence most likely occurred, which indicates to me the crucial information I’m in search of.
I only take those I believe are unafraid to get blood on their hands. Those hungry for an escape yet not starving for freedom. They have to be aggressive but controllable. Dangerous yet not a threat outside of The Diamond to those around them.
I don’t enjoy seeing them put down like dogs.
It lacks dignity.
Civility.
Two things I have been taught to treasure.
What I like even less is having to be the one to do it.
Kash is given the nod of acceptance prompting him to lift a finger and gesture it towards the bronze skinned individual.
One of the other men on the team stomps away from the edge of the nearby water to collect the prisoner and is immediately met by resistance from the restrained male.
“Salve sua força,” I command in Portuguese at the same time I shove my hands into my black suit pockets. “Will need.”
His dark, thick eyebrows twitch in surprise.
Uncertainty.
Question.
“Not fight now. Fight later.”
There’s only one additional jerk of resistance before he allows himself to be taken from the lineup.
He has promise.
Perhaps he’ll see real freedom again someday.
“Next.”
Kash drops his attention back to his clipboard and tips his head to the male bearing sand colored flesh directly in front of him. “Romania.”
“For?”
“Bribery of a city official.”
He’s denied with an immediate headshake. “To Bailey.”
Karen Bailey, the squeaky woman who can never remember my accent is Russian not German, is always in the market for new “help”. I honestly believe she’s started some sort of sex slave cult that includes those from all around the world yet can’t prove it.
Or maybe I just don’t want to go through the efforts of proving it.
I prefer to keep my distance when it comes to both her and her handsy husband.
I rarely even ask my wife questions if the subject involves them.
I don’t want to accidentally agree to a spouse swap and then have to figure out how to bargain my way out of it.
Again.
It really is a lesson in humility I’m alright only enduring once.
Kash doesn’t wait for me to inquire about the last captive who is directly in front of me. “He’s from Russia.”
Not surprised.
Prisoners they’ve stolen to sell into some avenue of trafficking is one of their higher unspoken commodities.