Page 37 of Prior Claim
So close. And still so far away.
Rei’s evil world had touched Jun and Jun had survived. Jun had done what Rei had never been able to do. He’d fought. He’d taken a life and claimed his own.
Rei moved his hand, studying the lines in the pads of his fingers. Could he have done what Jun had done? Was it his fault that he’d broken?
There’s more than this one back there, if this one doesn’t work out.
The words of a man whose face Rei had long since forgotten echoed through his head. There had been days early on when he’d considered ending everything or running away. There had been four reasons not to.
Jun. Yoihei. Jaewoong. Geun. His brothers. But most of all Jun. The one whose family never wrote, never visited. The one who had no one except them. The one who wouldn’t be missed.
The threat had been a tether, chaining him to existence through each violation, destruction, and change. There had been hours when the only thought left inside his head had been, This ends with me. No one else. As long as I’m here, they won’t take anyone else.
He’d clung to that imagery. Jun, Yohei, Jaewoong, and Geun were on the verge of debut. Once they were in the limelight, they would be fire. The world’s eyes would be fixed on them. They wouldn’t be able to disappear. The world would know their names.
He’d thrown himself at seducing his first master with the same determination he’d once thrown at dance training and languages. He’d made up fantasies in his head: for every word of Russian or Mandarin he learned, he was buying another boy a minute of freedom; for every time he lay back on the sheets beneath a snuffling, clutching body, Jun would dance for another day. Practice had become habit. Habit became limits. He’d become a rabbit, huddled inside a cage, not even testing the edges, clinging to his illusions.
Then his first master had died. Men had taken him from the house during the night, driven him through the dark, kept him in windowless rooms, and then delivered him to another mansion in chains.
From then on it had been one bed and one room, and one new master after another. One orgy to service before another orgy to service. One more favor to one more special friend, all interspersed with frantic showers and sharp orders from keepers to stay on top of his skin care, his exercise, his makeup. The idol catamite they’d called him: the one who was always beautiful, always slender, always graceful and beguiling. It had become harder to cling to his fantasies of protecting Jun and the others, harder to merely breathe. It wasn’t hard to be thin. He’d started to waste away. Only desperate fragments of his own oaths kept food between his lips.
He’d been the fantasy. They’d called him names of other celebrities, dressed him in clothes they’d seen other singers wear, and ordered him to perform dances other idols were doing on TV.
With or without the fire that had taken his face, he hadn’t had many months left. Lying in bed, recovering from the burns had been the first rest he’d known since his initial master. The only thing that had kept him alive was Sevastyan. Like a Chinese fantasy, there had been a red string between them from the very first time their eyes had met across the room of a party. A single moment and Rei had remembered. In a swamp of sex, drugs, and alcohol, they’d been two sober souls—Rei standing behind the microphone, Sevastyan passing through the back of the room, a full tumbler of amber liquid in his hand, his sleeves rolled up to show black ink tattooed on his forearms.
And then months later, at a different party, under a different master, Sevastyan had dragged him out of the flames.
And asked for nothing.
Until he’d taken everything.
No, Rei had never done what Jun had done, but perhaps he’d given Jun enough time to grow into the man who could.
And now Sevastyan was stalking him.
Rei
In the Berlin airport, Sevastyan collected the luggage. They changed together in facilities at the airport. It was so late it was almost early. Early and quiet. Sevastyan phoned Alexi of their arrival, while Rei repacked their bags and discarded what they wouldn’t be bringing with them. A small briefcase of items would be left with Alexi. It was a drill Rei was long familiar with. Flying commercial was more difficult than charter flights, but Sevastyan had caches of weapons, papers, and clothes in several major cities in North America. Sevastyan had the remaining luggage taken away for their next flight. It was too early to check in normally, but concierge could do anything for a price.
Neither Sevastyan nor Rei had slept in over twenty-four hours, but at least the trans-Atlantic flight was direct to Chicago and Sevastyan had booked private first class bunks. They’d be able to sleep for the duration.
Rei kept his eyes downcast and focused ten feet in front of himself as they moved out to the curb. Sevastyan paused at the crossing to the taxi stand. He put his arms around Rei’s waist, bringing him in and blocking Rei with his body from an oncoming flow of pedestrians.
Rei drew in a breath and dropped his eyes completely, letting Sevastyan move him. There was nothing in his vision but their shoes, Sevastyan’s leather boots, and his own shining black Armani. Sevastyan’s watch pressed against Rei’s skin through his clothes.
“Breathe, little one,” Sevastyan murmured.
Rei forced his lungs to expand. His throat still hurt from Sevastyan’s demonstration. He wanted to step in closer, ask for all the comfort his master usually gave him for his submission. Not breathing was what kept him from giving in to his impulses.
The crowd dissipated and the light changed. Sevastyan dropped his arm and stepped forward. Rei followed. There had been a time when he had assumed he was meant to walk behind Sevastyan in these moments. Sevastyan’s caution refused. “How will I know if someone snatches you?” he had said, with outrage, the first time Rei had hung back.
Rei stretched his legs to keep up with Sevastyan’s longer stride and touched his face, making sure his mask was still in place.
It was only a few minutes before a taxi rolled up. Sevastyan spoke briefly with the driver and opened the back door, motioning Rei to get inside.
Alexi’s house was one in a line of grand rowhouses with small gardens in front. Sevastyan touched the intercom button and declared himself in German. A moment later the gate buzzed open into a tiny front garden. Sevastyan guided Rei through and strode forward up the stairs to the porch. The door opened as he approached. Alexi stood there in a brocade housecoat and leather slippers.
“Come in, come in.”
