A tear slipped down my cheek. He was right. And it hurt. “I’m not hungry.”
He opened the box and scooped food onto his fingers. “Open your mouth.”
On his command, I obeyed, but first I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid from my seat. Kneeling between his legs, more tears fell. He cried, too, as he placed food on my tongue. We had fallen so far, I wasn’t sure how I would rise again.
Chewing around more tears, I laid my head on his lap, rubbing my cheek to his thigh.
Choking on his own tears, he said, “Thank you for saving me, Fire.”
A burst of emotions escaped me before I regained composure enough to talk. “Thank you for setting me free—” I stopped because I didn’t know what to call him.
“Bogdan.”
I peered up, so surprised he’d just told me his real name.
Bogdan caressed my face. “It means ‘God has rendered. To cause or become’.”
Yury and Master caused much pain in my world and left a mark that can’t be seen by all but lingers to this day. Bogdan, I like to think of him as a hero of mine. He’s not one I can speak of to most, but a select few know of him and treasure him making right of his wrongs.
Bogdan’s fingers ran through my hair. “All who knew my real name are gone. There is only you. Never another.”
When the plane landed, I had no idea what to expect. It was night time so I was clueless to where we were. As the door opened, I smelled a salty odor. I knew I was near water. After opening the door, Bogdan went first, holding my hand as we descended the airplane stairs. My black robe danced in the breeze.
“Whitney.” I knew that kind female voice. My heart started to pound erratically.
Yury said, “Pet. You are looking well.”
On the dark pavement, next to a dark windowed car, stood Link’s mother. Mr. Jones was holding her back while studying Yury. Marina squinted. “Oh my God… Yury?”
He dipped his chin. “I am no longer the seven-year-old boy you once knew.”
Flabbergasted, she eventually refocused on me. Her arms opened.
I took a step toward her but stopped.
Was it Stockholm syndrome or my imagination having me believe Yury cared? I still can’t be sure. Maybe those hearing my story can tell me. All I know is that the pain in my heart felt so real I didn’t want to let him go. I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him.
My abductor kissed my head. “I didn’t know I could love.”
Crying, I looked up to him. “I did. I knew.”
He kept swallowing as he pried my arms from around him, gesturing for Mr. Jones to retrieve me. “Coordinates now, or she goes with me.”
Mr. Jones grabbed my arm while handing Yury a piece of paper.
Yury told him, “I have to cut all connections to her.”
Mr. Jones cleared his throat. “I’ve known all along it would come to this.”
I was about to ask what they were talking about when Yury said, “All the ones that can bring her harm are gone.”
I held on to Yury’s hand. “Please.” My soul was being sliced in half. One part wanted my old life. The other a new one with my captor.
Yury kissed my hand. “One word, Fire.” His eyes were full of sorrow as if he knew how to get me to let him go. His lips trembled as he softly said, “Link,” and placed my silver necklace with Link’s water sign into my shaking palm.
Fresh air rushed into my lungs. Link.
As I slowly and bravely exhaled, I let go of Yury’s hand and the physical hold he had over me.
There was beauty in dying…
There was even beauty within all the horror…
Now, it was time to find beauty in in living, too.
(Keep reading for the first chapter of Volatile Waters)
There is no romance in sexual slavery—the epidemic we now live in. There is confusion and lack of compassion on many sides. There is a disconnect between the abductors/sellers/buyers and the victim. If a connection can be made, maybe money won’t be more important than the slave’s heart. She/He/They have one. I assure you. And, damaged souls are worth saving.
Damaged Souls Are Worth Saving is a foundation taking shape to raise money for survivors of abuse. Please sign up for my newsletter (on my website IndiaRAdams.com or India.Productions) for updates and ways you can help us help others.
Tainted Waters’ first novella, Blue Waters, was written to be a standalone for my newsletter signup. Link had another idea in mind, hence, Black Waters. Readers? They begged to know what happened to Whitney while Link waited for her to return, hence, Red Waters. After reading Red Waters, I’m sure you have picked up on the clues that Yury has a very dark tale to tell, hence, Volatile Waters coming in 2019. And, since I could never leave my readers without Link and Whit’s epic reunion, Ashen Waters will also be released 2019!
Volatile Waters
Chapter 1
One does not choose the environment they are born into, so can you truly blame what they become? Can you fault the cruel ones for being monsters when inhumane behavior is all they know? Babies are birthed with pure souls, but if compassion and empathy is never present from that day forward, a child will eventfully lose their natural kindness.
I would know.
And, if tears from victims are treated as victories, is it really a surprise that the same child soon yearns more wins?
Hiding at the top of the vast spiral staircase in my father and uncle’s mansion home, I stared down at the devils in disguise. Father and Uncle Семён. That is Russian for Semyon.
Father’s name was Макар—pronounced Makar in English.
Uncle and Father stood in our rich foyer, discussing the ‘package’ about to be delivered. Back then, when I was seven, I didn’t see the mockery of the of décor—everything was white when my family represented only darkness.
That darkness even hid in the shadows. In those shadows stood more male family members who were trained to watch Father and Uncle’s backs, and other attributions I would learn about as I aged. One member in particular was a cousin of mine, Кирилл—pronounced Kirill in English.
Father suggestively grabbed at his crotch under his fancy suit pants while speaking in our native Russian tongue. “The pictures he sent promise a beauty.”
The men in the shadows hungrily readjusted their stance.
As usual, Mother wasn’t home this night. She was incredibly young and far more interested in spending Father’s money than showing me affection or being present, yet I longed for her. Children can be so full of hope.
The dimmed chandelier glowed above while Uncle paced, staring at the closed front doors as if craving them to open and deliver a meal he could devour in minutes alone. “If she is half of what I have imagined, I do not want to sell this one.”
“Personal pet?” Father’s lifted brow danced suggestively.
“To train as we wish, finally.”
It would be only hours before I would understand that Father and Uncle’s employer, a human trafficker deep in the trade, did not appreciate them secretly building their own channels in the same line of business. Father and Uncle were going rogue.