Page 18 of Prior Claim
Sevastyan held Rei tighter, rocking a little, keeping his slave focused on where their bodies touched. “Gang has an arsenal. His lover threatened to shut down major shipping deals to South Korea, among other contracts. He has the power to fight.”
“Bak only sells those who have no connections.”
“Bak didn’t know.”
“Can we kill him now?”
“The Merchari are calling in his debts and we won’t take any of his trainees as payment for the moment. Too hot. Bak may hang himself with his own rope.”
Rei drew in a slow breath. “And in Chicago, what are we doing?”
“Watching. Intervention as necessary.”
“And if they tell you to kill Jun?”
“That’s why we’re speaking to Anton.”
“Anton . . .” Rei’s voice trailed off. Disapproval colored his tone. Disapproval and lack of hope. His shoulders sagged and he looked towards the qing bái cài where it sat drying. His fingers twitched toward the knife, asking permission. Tidings such as these required time to feel, to absorb, to find a place to store inside the body.
Sevastyan’s fingers tightened on Rei’s waist for just a fraction of a moment. He bent his head, touching his forehead to the top of Rei’s, then stepped back. “Airport food is rubbish. Feed me.”
Rei picked up the knife. “You should eat before you fly.”
“Why would I, when I have you?”
Rei’s lips edged toward a smile. “How did you survive before you found me?”
“By begging for scraps from Baba Yaga.”
Rei laughed.
Sevastyan leaned against the wall, watching Rei slice the garlic and start water boiling. He didn’t move until Rei placed two bowls of noodles, fish, and qing bái cài on the counter with chopsticks and a deep spoon for each. The knife never once moved toward Rei’s wrists. But Sevastyan watched just the same.
Rei
Rei cleared the small table on the edge of the workroom at the end of the meal. The dishes in the kitchen took a few moments to wash up and put away. His hands moved on their own, passing water over surfaces, wiping them dry with the towel. His thoughts were wrapped up in a past that lived in his bones with a melancholy that had become a pain he loved to touch: days of little sleep and long hours in the training studios as a trainee in his company in Seoul, back when he was tween and teen, preparing to debut as one of Bak Gyeong’s K-pop idols. He’d made the cut, taking four younger boys under his wing as their leader, preparing to debut together: Jun, Geun, Jaewoong, and Yoihei. They were going to be known by the name PentaNow. But he’d never debuted. Late one night he’d been summoned to one of the studios. There had been two men in rumpled suits waiting. Bak had told him that he was to go with them.
Rei had known then. He didn’t have words. He hadn’t understood, but he’d had the deep instinct that if he walked through the doors with those two strange men, his life as he knew it would be over it. He’d backed away toward the door, but he’d never had a chance. Behind him had been a third man.
That had been the end of his freedom, or at least the hope for freedom when he came of age and finished his contract with Bak, the one his erstwhile guardian had signed when Rei was eleven. They’d grabbed him, gagged him, and secured his arms behind his back. He still remembered looking up at Bak from the floor, the pudgy drunk of a man who had ruled his days, demanding things of him and the other boys that he could not do himself.
No one was coming for Rei. The only ones who would miss him were other children, singers and dancers without voices of their own.
He’d been trafficked to Russia. There had been two dark months of training—a nightmare at the hands of a woman who hated her work and by extension him—and then he’d been driven to an estate in the mountains and dropped in an opulent foyer.
He’d met his first owner. An old man, retired, absent-minded, madly in love with the male form. He seemed to think Rei was an employee. And Rei had known better than to counter that notion. Or deny him . . . anything.
It could have been worse. It could have been like the much harsher treatment he’d been trained for in those first two dark months. His life had been that of a treasured pet, bed warmer, and ornament. He’d been expected to be beautiful every moment of every day, naked or adorned in revealing clothes. Some days were long, lying on a couch, holding a pose, his mind drifting. Others he was almost left alone. He’d learned to speak Russian, his owner teaching him like a dog being taught tricks. On his own, he’d built on the English and Chinese he’d been trained in while preparing to be an idol. Chinese was easier. His owner enjoyed Chinese films and indulged Rei with dictionaries and study books. He’d read Journey to the West about the Monkey King over the course of a year and entertained his owner with the Monkey’s exploits in broken Russian, the old man laughing at his attempts.
He was property. And who knew what happened to pets who outlived their owners?
Rei closed his eyes against the memories, against imagining Jun’s face in the same rooms. He knew the terror he’d felt that day when Bak had sold him. To know Jun had felt the same . . .
To know that Sevastyan had gone to oversee the crime . . . He wiped the last of the water from the counter. Something was changing. His past was folding back and meeting him again.
He dried his hands and went through to the bathroom, stripping off. Sevastyan was present. That meant certain routines, rituals they’d established over the course of years. Rituals to protect themselves. Rituals to remind themselves. Rituals to feel alive. Rites to keep his training instinctive.
Rei turned on the shower and stepped into the spray. He cleaned himself, inside and out, taking time to be certain he was sanitized and shaved from the shoulders down. He brushed his teeth and flossed and walked naked into the room where they slept.
