Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT: OUT OF THE HOUSE

Previously: The Royal Family, having stashed Alexei and Matti in the trunk of their rental car (a romantic spot for a date', according to Matti), and secured Abdullah with a straitjacket, need only two things to consider their trip to Russia mission accomplished': (1) to locate Jamal, who is hiding, and (2) to convince Pyotr to open the gate so they can leave. Their strategy is to pressure Dmitri by fixing Pyotr with a castration device. But Dmitri turns the tables on them, threatening to broadcast Jamal's preference for bottoming over fucking, a humiliation which would ruin the Royal Family's reputation. Worse, Nikolai has claimed him as a slave – a status which Jamal welcomes. The Prince Regent concedes and allows Abdullah to stay on in Russia as Matti's master. To help the Prince Regent explain the disappearance of his two eldest sons, Tcherepnin offers to fake their deaths – which also necessitates faking Declan's. Declan, in need of a new home, finds one with Dmitri's friend Horst.

Despite this felicitous result, Alexei sees impediments to his future happiness with Matti: Dmitri could sell him after the next Little Big Man, and Abdullah could move out, taking Matti with him.

ALEXEI: SATURDAY, MAY 6 – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

The date of this entry is later than it should have been. Nothing that has happened in the last two weeks is relevant to what I am about to write. It has just taken me this long to get things into anything resembling perspective. And I'm not sure that I have. There was nothing much to write about until about three weeks ago. And since then I've been gathering my thoughts. They don't make a bouquet.

There is a period in American History known as the Era of Good Feelings, largely during the presidency of James Monroe. It is a period where Americans started to feel unified, after their victory in the War of 1812, and comfortable identifying themselves as Americans, rather than as Virginians or New Yorkers.

Something similar happened over the three months following the tumultuous visit from the Prince Regent. The confrontation between Master and the Royal Family felt something like a war from which our side had emerged victorious, and Matti and I started to feel unified and comfortable identifying as slaves rather than as abducted Americans from Minnesota and Wisconsin.

Afterwards, Master and I had one of our rare talks. He told me that he had a sufficient explanation for my decline in performance in the months following the September visit to the IAMSO Convention, and did not need for me to write my diary on a daily basis. However, I should continue to write `if something of critical important happen'.

I suppose I could have written about some minor events that occurred during the next three months, but it wouldn't have been `of critical important'.

Abdullah moved into the Crimson Room, and Matti with him. Ruslan reverted to being handyman and disciplinarian, satisfied to wait until after Little Big Man Europe to obtain his own slave. There were the usual parties. Life went on.

Matti was content. He had grown accustomed to the former prince during his time at the palace, and now was able to have his cake and eat it too – the Master he wanted to serve but without the harshness and danger of life in the royal palace. We could still converse only on Sundays, but it was enough.

With two slaves in the house, there was no need for guest slaves at parties, which meant I had no contact with Rhody. Other than that, I had everything I wanted. I was in a safe, secure environment. I had lots of sex – and by now I craved the sensation of a cock penetrating my ass. Being used at the parties made me feel valued, and being flogged was now more relaxing than painful. My work kept me busy and focused and I felt useful. I was doing a good job in all aspects of being a slave – even Ivan was handing out nuggets of praise. And I knew my place. In Master's phrasing, I was proud of having no pride. I gained worth by being worthless.

I was with the guy I loved, and I was surrounded by Men I had grown attached to. I relished the afternoon fuckings I received from each of them in their own way. Pyotr on Mondays, Henri on Tuesdays, Grigory on Thursdays, Ruslan on Fridays.

I skipped Wednesday, didn't I?

Wednesday had been Oleg's day. I was happy enough about that. Oleg was kind and thoughtful, and, while not the most talented fucker, did have a nice long cock which reached further inside me than anyone else save Grigory (who was, after all, six-seven).

But Nikolai's departure with Jamal left a void in Matti's schedule. Master transferred Oleg to Matti to fill it, and assigned an outsider to fill the hole in my schedule – as well as the hole in my butt. Why did Master assign the outsider to me and not Matti? Because he had specifically requested me. For the outsider was none other than Nikita Bobrovsky.

My lucky day. Bobrovsky was as sexy as Pyotr, and while Pyotr fucked me hard, Bobrovsky surpassed him in enthusiasm. He could propel his hips forward faster than anyone else and sustain the tempo for prolonged periods. He was young, but he knew how to control his orgasm and avoid spilling his seed into me if he had the luxury of time. He didn't kiss me – he always took me from behind – but he kept up a constant stream of encouraging talk while pulverizing my rectum.

It all could have continued like that indefinitely – assuming Master didn't sell me after Little Big Man – if Ruslan had not taught Abdullah to drive.

DMITRI: TUESDAY, 14 FEBRUARY – LIBRARY (THREE MONTHS EARLIER)

The events of that eventful Sunday three weeks ago had necessitated some adjustments. Both Alexei and Matti had changes in their sex duties, most prominently that I had to bring in Nikita Bobrovsky to fuck Alexei on Wednesdays.

They adjusted – slaves know they must; Abdullah was another matter. I had Ruslan work with him to monitor his progress as a Master. Ruslan had only been a Master for a week, whereas Abdullah had been one for two years. But Abdullah's immaturity soon evidenced itself; he was far too familiar with his slave and sometimes even joked with him. I think he was rebelling against the rigidity of the system at the palace and veered too much in the opposite direction. Ruslan, though still in his twenties, was much more mature and I was confident he could shepherd Abdullah into being a proper and responsible Master.

It did not take long for Abdullah to become bored. At the palace, he had spent significant portions of his day going to classes – some online at the local university, and others in person at the palace, the latter focusing largely on the ins and outs of royal behavior – after all, he was being groomed to be the Prince Regent's eventual successor.

Abdullah told me that he wanted to continue his education. He said he realized that he couldn't stay with me forever and would have to find a means of supporting himself – the Prince Regent had staked him an initial balance he could draw on, but he couldn't rely on that indefinitely, especially as he was now officially `dead' and no longer acknowledged as a family member by his father.

He said there were some courses he could take online but there was one in the fall that required in-person attendance, plus he would need to learn Russian as well if he was going to live here long-term. To increase his sense of independence, he wanted to learn how to drive.

I was pleased at this attempt to display some maturity and take control of his life, and so readily agreed. Pyotr, not speaking either English or Arabic, could not be the one to take the former prince under his tutelage, but Ruslan could speak both languages and could drive. So I arranged for the driving lessons.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

ALEXEI: SUNDAY, APRIL 16 – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

In a sense the Era of Good Feelings came to an end on this day. This was the day that Master departed for America. Little Big Man was starting up again, and the first state contests were the upcoming weekend.

We had a conversation on the morning of his departure.

• So, Alexei, I leaving Ruslan in charge. You be good boy and not disappoint. I call for you end of May. You go on Little Big Man boat, stay on bridge deck – boys they never see you. We do contest as usual. In Mogadishu I sell you or I sell boy from Little Big Man. If I have to make decide now, you stay. You embrace being slave, yes?

• Yes, Master. I am happy here.

• Matvei here make big difference, yes?

• Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. That made all the difference.

Master had begun to refer to Matti as Matvei', giving him an honorary Russian name. This was a good sign – he was pleased with Matti. Abdullah still called Matti Matti' though, so it was always a bit of a shock to hear Master refer to `Matvei'. But it was a reminder that Master actually owned Matti, not Abdullah. Which meant that Master, and not Abdullah, had the power to sell him as well.

But unless something happened, I felt confident that Master would keep both of us.

Something happened.

SUNDAY, APRIL 23 – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA (ONE WEEK LATER)

Master had been gone for seven days. The week had passed pretty seamlessly, following a routine similar to what had happened on Master's previous business trips – without secret visits from Latronius.

Then it was Sunday – the day when I had limited responsibilities, usually being well-marked and sore from the previous night's party. The staff had the day off, and, it being a sunny spring day, Oleg and Sasha had driven most of the staff into the city. Ruslan left separately a while later – I had no idea where. Only Pyotr remained, out in the garage, monitoring the gate.

I was surprised when Abdullah summoned me to the Crimson Room. Matti was standing obediently in the corner. I was even more surprised at the first thing that the young Master said.

• Alexei, when was the last time you were out of the house?

• (uh, why are you asking me this?) Yesterday, Sir. I assisted Daniil with the roses.

• No, I mean outside of the property.

• I guess that would be when we were at the Royal Palace, Sir, in January.

• Not since then?

• No, Sir.

• Matti hasn't left the grounds, either. He doesn't even get outdoors much. I think it's time we changed that, what do you think?

• (shit, I have to answer that?) What I think is unimportant, Sir.

• Would you enjoy a ride in a car?

• (sure, I love trunks) I . . . I'm not sure, Sir.

• I'm sure. Matti needs a change of scenery, and you do, too. Meet me at the garage. Wait until you see me before you come up out of the slave tunnel. Understood?

• (not at all) Yes, Sir.

• (Matti) Yes, Master.

And so we traipsed downstairs through the empty house and into the slave tunnel. At its end, we waited about thirty seconds at the bottom of the stairs before we saw Abdullah motioning us urgently, as if we were co-conspirators and not duty-bound to obey his every word and gesture. When we emerged, Pyotr was nowhere in sight. I'm not sure what Abdullah had done to distract him, but he was not visible as Abdullah ushered us toward the Maserati.

The Maserati. Abdullah WOULD choose the Maserati. The trunk of the Maserati was too small to fit two slaves into – even one would be a squeeze. And so I was astonished even further when Abdullah ordered us into the back seat, and told us to get down on the floor so Pyotr wouldn't see us.

I heard Pyotr's voice about thirty seconds later, muttering in Russian. I wondered how the two of them had managed to communicate, but I guess Pyotr had learned a few words of English, as I heard him say, "Is good".

I waited, my heart in my throat, for several tense seconds, until I felt vibrations and heard the hum of a motor. And then we were moving.

Abdullah was almost giddy with delight.

• I told him that I had tried to lock the house up, but didn't know where the keys were. Could he do it? Of course, I can't speak Russian, but I used an online translator and wrote it out longhand, and handed him a note. He had a set of house keys, so he went running back to the house, which gave me time to sneak you guys into the car.

Once past the gate, we stopped for a minute, and Abdullah told us we could sit up.

• Don't worry. If somebody sees you, they'll see your bare chests, and it will just look like we're going to the beach. And if anybody sees lower down – well, Daniil says there's a nude beach not far away. I can say I'm taking you there.

I was partly taking this in, and partly taking in the scenery.

Scenery. Wow, scenery.

There were leafing trees all around us, the branches forming a canopy over the road which would be glorious in mid-summer when the leaves were fully out. The barks and incipient leaves were dappled as sunlight broke through in a mottled pattern. It looked like rural Wisconsin in early April. I felt small pangs of nostalgia – and large pangs of guilt. Driving on country roads in Wisconsin had bad associations. I wiped them out of my mind and watched the countryside.

I knew that what we were doing was dangerous, but I was loving every minute of it. Watching trees fly past at sixty miles per hour, the occasional little stream, the – look, there's a doe and her fawn! I was in heaven.

As was Matti. He was grinning from ear to ear as he grasped my hand. It felt like playing hooky. We were cutting class, innocently enough, not harming anyone – and tomorrow we'd go back to school, but we were loving the moment and the pure joy of movement. Even though we knew that, as slaves, it was completely wrong for us to do so.

Abdullah accelerated and soon the speedometer read 143. I pointed to it and looked at Matti. He read my mind, and my Finnish Calculation Wizard converted into miles per hour: "About ninety."

Which, given that this was a country road and not the autobahn – or whatever they called such roads around here – was really, really fast. But, in a Maserati, it felt like we were just cruising along. Abdullah gave us a warning.

• Get ready.

I braced myself for a sudden surge of speed, which didn't happen. What did happen was that the top popped down.

I had never been in a convertible, much less a Maserati convertible.

It was warm for April – mid-70s in Fahrenheit – but at this speed the wind resistance against my bare skin was both bracing and chilly. I took the liberty of pulling Matti toward me and embracing, with Abdullah smiling his approval in the rear-view mirror.

• Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

Not a reference I had expected from a child of the Middle East.

• I feel like a rebel. (Pause.) Wait! I have an idea!

He slowed as we approached a small dirt road that led off into a thick wood. He pulled far enough in so as to be sure that we were unobserved, and put the top back up. Then he turned to Matti.

• Matti, want to drive?

• (Matti) What? I mean, what, Master?

• (Abdullah, laughing) Want to drive? I bet you never drove a Maserati before.

• (Matti) Master, I've never even seen a Maserati before.

• (Abdullah) So wouldn't you like the chance to drive one? This may be your only chance.

• (Matti) Master, I would love the opportunity. But I don't know how to drive a stick.

I did, and was hoping there wouldn't be a follow-up question.

• Alexei, can you drive a stick?

• (Shit, shit, shit!) Yes, Sir.

• So how about it? Give it a go?

• Sir, I would prefer not to.

• Really? Opportunities like this don't grow on trees.

• Really, Sir. If I have a choice, I would decline.

• Why?

• Sir, if I had an accident, Master would be extremely upset and might sell me.

• Aren't you being a bit paranoid? Have you ever had an accident before?

Boom. There it was. Yes, Your Former Highness, I've had an accident before. On a country road just like this one.

• Yes, Sir, I have.

• Oh, wow. That's surprising. Would have thought you were more responsible than that, Alexei. Smash up the car pretty good?

Actually, there wasn't a scratch – on the car.

• No, Sir.

• How much damage?

• Sir, the car wasn't actually damaged.

• Well, then, nothing to worry about. Matti, don't you think he should give it a whirl?

• (Matti) No, Master.

• Why not?

• The car wasn't the object damaged, Master.

• What? He hit a deer or something?

• Not a deer, no, Master.

• What then?

Matti looked at me. I looked at him. He squeezed my hand. I nodded, giving him permission.

• A person, Master.

• What, were they hurt?

• Killed, Master.

• Oh my god, that's terrible. Who was it? Like a child, or an old man, or -?

At that point, I could stand it no longer. I was breaking slave protocols all to hell, and Ruslan would beat the shit out of me for it, but I just burst out with it.

• It was my brother, Sir. I killed my brother!

Matti pulled me into his arms and held me as I poured out my tears onto his shoulder. There was a stunned silence from a chastened Abdullah, and then Matti, apparently deciding that I shouldn't be the only one who got into trouble for speaking out of turn, added:

• It was an accident, Master. It wasn't his fault, it just –

• It was, it was, Matti. It was my fault. I was drunk, I . . .

I couldn't continue. I was overwhelmed with renewed grief and guilt. It had been months since I had given Adam a moment's thought. The most critical moment of my life before I left America, and it was almost as if it had been wiped from my memory. And that was as much a source of my guilt as the event itself.

One of the things that slavery had taught me was control over my emotions. To a slave, emotions were luxuries, and they got in the way of doing your job. Doing your job, serving your Master, was all that was supposed to matter. It had taken me months, but I had mostly gotten there. I had not eliminated emotions from my life – I still loved Matti, and Rhody in my way, and anxiety was omnipresent when I thought about the future – but in my day to day existence I had suppressed allowing these emotions to come to the surface, especially in the last three months.

But today was a day for breaking the norms of slave behavior, a virtual act of rebellion even if it had been Abdullah who had initiated it – and along with that I broke the norm of not wearing my emotions on my (proverbial) sleeve.

Abdullah felt terrible about having caused me this distress.

• You know what, guys?

• (`Guys'?)

• I'm going to take you to that nude beach. We're going swimming. All three of us. As if we were just three guys hanging out together.

This seemed like a very bad idea indeed.

Ten minutes later we had arrived. Abdullah placed the Maserati at a distance from other cars, apparently fearing a scratch on the door. And stripped down while still in the front seat.

He emerged from the car, fully nude, and broke another protocol by opening the door for us. We got out, tentatively, gazing at him in wonder. Abdullah grinned in response.

• Like I said. Just three guys hanging out together. For the next hour or so, no more Master, no more slaves. Let's just have a good time.

I looked around. In the parking lot, most people were clothed, but I still found the sight startling: Some of these people were women. I hadn't seen a woman in over ten months. I had forgotten they exist.

Abdullah took note of them, too.

• Daniil warned me there would be women here. I've seen them in the city, of course, back in the Kingdom – but never really come up close to one. Much less seen one naked. They look really weird. Daniil said there was an all-male section about a quarter mile to the west.

I saw a young woman, naked, whom a year ago I might have approached. Now, it produced no reaction in me whatsoever. No, that's not true. I actually felt slightly disgusted. I wanted nothing to do with women anymore, happy to be living in an environment where they were completely off the radar.

Ignoring the female nudity on the beach, I enjoyed the sight of some of the men in the heterosexual section. I was sure that where we were heading would not be considered a `gay beach', but would have been projected to the public as an area where men could enjoy the sunshine without being tempted by the proximity of female flesh, or for those shy about showing themselves around the opposite sex.

Whatever cover story worked for them was fine with me. I was happy as a clam – a clam with a boyfriend – as we approached an area where bare flesh was abundant, and not a boob in sight.

The water was sparsely occupied. Yes, it was warm, especially when the sun hit your skin directly - but this was still April and we were pretty far north. And warm air didn't translate into warm water.

Matti and I exchanged looks. Water was like a siren for us; we had to do it, even if it was cold. At least for a little while, and then we would hang out on the beach (alas, without beach towels) and sun ourselves, as we had done on the Fundamental Experience so many times.

The water was, indeed, freezing. But I had spent many an hour shoveling snow with only a bit of cellophane wrapped around my feet, and I had learned how to absorb the cold. Matti, having spent most of the last year indoors, had more sensitivity to the cold, and was reluctant to stay in for more than a few seconds. I coaxed him back out, and, after he had submerged everything from the neck down for a while, he acclimated, and we actually started to swim together.

It was ecstasy. An ecstasy that was a mixed blessing. Some part of me was cursing Abdullah for giving us this experience – wonderful as it was, it undermined my self-perception as someone who did not indulge in selfish pleasures. But I tried to bury that part; as Abdullah had noted when offering me the chance to drive, I might never experience this pleasure again.

We swam out to where the water was over our heads and then embraced, treading water with our feet as we held each other and kissed. Matti's taste was as salty as you would expect, and he tasted wonderful.

• I'm surprised you found this water cold. This is, after all, the Gulf of Finland. Shouldn't you be in your element?

• Cold water is what you jump into after you come out of the sauna. We skipped the sauna part.

• Ah, so you ARE a Sauna Fiend.

• Let's go back to the beach and find one.

• Boris has a sauna. He's in Moscow though. A little far.

• Which one is Boris?

• Peter, from the boat. Nodak's Master.

• You're sure he's not Boris Badenov?

• Wow, you can not only quote Casablanca, but Rocky and Bullwinkle, too. A true scholar.

• Yes, well right now this feels a bit like Frostbite Falls.

• You're saying you want to go in.

• I am, Cheesehead. (swimming to shore) Where's Abdullah, anyway? We probably should hang out with him. They say you gotta dance with the one that brung ya.

• Over there, way at the end. Talking to some big dude, maybe trying to make a date, who knows?

• Where?

• (approaching the shore) Over there? See him? Probably flirting with that big dude, kinda looks like Master Ruslan from this distance.

• (pause, as Matti stopped swimming) Uh, Alex?

• `Alex'? I'm Alex now? We're taking back our old identities now that we're temporarily not slaves?

• No. It just came out.

• What's wrong? You look worried.

• Yeah. You see that big dude that looks a bit like Master?

• I'm the one who pointed him out to you. What about him?

• That IS Master.

• Oh, shit.

• Oh, shit, motherfuck with a cherry on top.

• Well, at least we know now where Master Ruslan went this afternoon.

• That we do, Cheesehead. That we do.

DMITRI: MONDAY, 24 APRIL – BOZEMAN, MONTANA

The first weekend of state contests was now history, and successfully so. I'd take a couple of days enjoying the mountains and relaxing in the hot tub at my lodge before flying down to Cheyenne for Friday's contest. I expected to have a few peaceful days before things got busy again.

Until I saw the text that greeted me this morning. It read:

BOSS – EMERGENCY. WAITED UNTIL AFTER MONTANA EVENT BUT MUST TALK A.S.A.P. – R.

This was not what I wanted to read while greeting a plate of fried eggs, sausage, and the American version of pancakes.

I looked at my watch. 9:15 a.m. It would be 7:15 p.m. in St. Petersburg. I decided to wait another 45 minutes before calling so that I didn't interrupt dinner.

• Boss, we have major trouble. I mean major.

• Calm down, Ruslan. What happened?

• Abdullah took the slaves out of the house yesterday.

• What? Where are they?

• Oh, they're here, he brought them back. But he took them out in the Maserati.

• In the Maserati? How is that possible? They can't both fit in that trunk.

• He didn't put them in the trunk.

• WHAT?!!

• They rode in the back seat. He even put the top down. He wanted to give them an excursion. A day out of the house.

• (pause, fuming)

• Boss, it gets worse. Guess where he took them? The nude beach near Kharlostov. The one I go to sometimes that Daniil told me about.

• He took them to a nude beach.

• And he stripped down with them and told them that there was no Master and slave here, everyone is naked, so no one would know who they were.

• This is not funny, Ruslan. April Fools Day was weeks ago.

• It's no joke, Boss. This really happened.

• How did you find out about it?

• I was there. I had no responsibilities, I thought I could trust Abdullah with the slaves, and it was an unusually warm day. So there I was, on the beach, and all of a sudden I saw Abdullah. I thought maybe Daniil had told him about the nude beach, but I wondered who was minding the slaves – just Pyotr? And then I saw the slaves coming out of the water.

• What did you do?

• I drove them home. Sorry, Boss, I couldn't put them into the trunk in the parking lot, not with others around. I had to put them on the floor of the back seat until I could find someplace private enough to transfer them to the trunk.

• Of course, Ruslan, I understand. How the hell did Abdullah get the keys to the Maserati?

• He tricked Pyotr into going back to the house to lock it. And then he swiped the keys and sneaked the boys into the back seat. Pyotr had no idea what was going on. That was obvious from the way he reacted when he saw them climb out of my trunk.

• What was Abdullah's explanation?

• I haven't asked. So far as I'm concerned there's nothing that would excuse his behavior, as long as I have the truth. I got the story from the boys – independently. I suppose they could have made it all up –

• They didn't. Alexei wouldn't do that. The only lies he's ever told me are ones he's told to himself. No way would he make up a crazy story like this. Matvei either.

• And Pyotr's version of events is consistent with what the boys said. Oh, one more thing I learned from the boys.

• . . . I think I'm afraid to hear this.

• Abdullah offered to let them drive.

• WHAT??!

• He pulled into a secluded area and offered to let them drive the Maserati. They both had the good sense to refuse. Matvei can't drive a stick shift, and used that as an excuse, though he said he wouldn't have done it anyway. Alexei got very dark when I asked him about that – I got the sense he was holding something back – but Matvei confirmed that Alexei refused the invitation.

• Taking slaves out on an excursion so that they could enjoy themselves. Putting them in the back seat. Taking them swimming. Telling them at a nude beach there was no difference between Master and slave. Offering them to let them drive – a Maserati, no less. If Abdullah belonged to IAMSO, any ONE of these would have gotten him kicked out.

• I know. This couldn't have come at a worse time, with you in America.

• That's why it happened now, Ruslan. Abdullah was taking advantage of my absence to break loose. And I thought he was developing a sense of responsibility. . . .

• What should I do?

• You have no choice. You must expel him. His father gave him a small fund as a cushion; he'll have to live on that for a while. Find his own place, find a job, support himself. He's not living in my house any more.

• Boss, that seems a little harsh. He's only just turned twenty.

• Old enough to know better. Matvei will have to go as well.

• Matvei? Boss, I could –

• No. Abdullah has to learn that actions have consequences, consequences that affect slaves. Arkadi had to pay for Pyotr's indiscretions – and Pyotr suffered for it. And so Matvei will have to pay for Abdullah's indiscretions. And Abdullah must suffer for it. Don't kick him out until Matvei is gone. Make sure he witnesses it. If he asks for an explanation, just tell him he's gotten too close.

• And what do I do with Matvei?

• Send him to Abdul. Tell Abdul to rent him to the Red Lion on a two-month lease. Suleiman can use him as one of his brothel boys until we bring the new LBM slaves to Mogadishu in June. Abdul holds a supplemental auction that same day for pre-owned slaves. If Suleiman wants him permanently, he can purchase him then.

• This will devastate Alexei, boss.

• I know it will. Abdullah bears responsibility for that as well. Move Matvei out as soon as you can arrange it, and make sure Alexei witnesses it. Abdullah needs to realize he's responsible for Alexei's grief. Then – after Matvei is gone – interrogate Abdullah about the incident. No matter what he says, he's out the door the next day.

• And Alexei? It doesn't seem fair, Boss.

• It's not. Fairness is not a concept that applies to slaves – they know that. And don't you go all soft, Ruslan. I know you're fond of him, but slaves are not entitled to justice. Alexei will either get over it or he won't. If he doesn't, I'll sell him in Mogadishu. Besides, Misha tells me he's found a blond boy in Connecticut that I would positively drool over. There is life beyond Alexei.

Later I wondered if I was trying to convince Ruslan of that – or myself.

ALEXEI: WEDNESDAY, APRIL 26 – LIBRARY

Sunday had provided the best hour of my slavery – being outside, with other men at a nude beach, swimming in the water with Matti almost as if I were free.

Today had provided the worst.

The afternoon had started off decently enough – Bobrovsky tossed me over the arm of a chair in the library and treated my ass like it was a block of asphalt he needed to break up with a jackhammer. Ruslan walked in as he approached climax, waited until Bobrovsky pulled out, and told me to wait in the corner. Bobrovsky hung around, wondering what was happening, perhaps hoping for a second helping.

But then Abdullah came in with Matti, both looking as if they had no idea why they were here. But from the stern look on Ruslan's face, it was evident that neither had much choice in the matter.

And then Daniil and Grigory entered, toting a large trunk. The last time I had seen a trunk like that, it had transported me from Mogadishu to Master's house. I could only hope that the resemblance was simply superficial.

• Alexei, open the trunk.

Oh, fuck. Please, let this not be –

It was. Inside I could see the same breathing apparatus used to keep me alive during my trip here. Oh, God, please no.

• Matvei, get in the trunk.

My heart stopped beating.

I looked over at Matti, who was as stunned as I was. No bravado here, no jokes, no foolish grin. Matti looked like death, not warmed over.

Abdullah was outraged.

• What are you doing? Matti is mine! Okay, maybe I fucked up the other day, but Matti had nothing to do with it. It was my doing, not his!

Ruslan was unmoved.

• Get in the trunk, Matvei.

Matti got in the trunk. I couldn't look.

• Abdullah, Matvei has been sold. Contrary to your assertion, he is Dmitri's property, not yours, and Dmitri and only Dmitri has the right to decide his future. And he has decided to sell Matvei.

I started to cry.

• Alexei, insert the breathing apparatus into Matvei's mouth.

At this moment, I loathed Ruslan with every fiber of my being.

For the third time in my life, I thought, `this is the last time I ever see him and this is not the final image I want to take with me'. The first time had been in Mogadishu, in the bare cell when they took him away and he didn't look back and I thought he hated me. The second time had been at the swimming pool in January when he had just tanked the last dive and thought he was condemned to death. And now.

If I couldn't control my last image of him, I would do something else. And pay the consequences. Before applying the equipment over his face, I leaned over and kissed him. I knew it would earn a punishment but they could give me a thousand lashes and I wouldn't care. This was my last chance to kiss Matti and I was going to get that kiss, no matter what it cost.

He looked into my eyes and mouthed, I love you, Cheesehead' and I mouthed back, I love you, Sauna Fiend'. And both of us were crying so hard that I could barely see to put the equipment on him. Ruslan pushed me aside and checked Matti to make sure the equipment was on securely.

And then he said, "Nikita?" and Bobrovsky came forward with a syringe.

A small measure of panic hit me. The FSB assassinated people with syringes. Bobrovsky bent over Matti and injected him. I was jealous of him for that intimacy, for having a last view of Matti, after my own.

Bobrovsky said something in Russian, and then translated, apparently for Abdullah's benefit: "He's out."

I fell to the floor and sobbed uncontrollably.

• Alexei! Alexei, control yourself!

Oh fuck you, Ruslan.

He came over and slapped me in the face. I looked at the traitor I had formerly trusted, and realized, `No, this is Master's doing, not Ruslan's.' Master owns Matti, just as Ruslan had said. This must have been done on Master's say-so.

I was glad that Master was half a world away. Because I hated him even more than I hated Ruslan.

Abdullah came forward, nearly as devastated as I.

• Where is he going? Who did you sell him to?

• There is no reason I owe you this explanation, Abdullah.

• Please! I have to know! I have to know you didn't sell him to my father! Khalid will kill him!

There was a pause as Ruslan considered this.

• He was not sold to your father. That is not to say that your father will not have the opportunity to purchase him in the future, should that be his desire.

Abdullah fell to his knees and pushed his head down on the floor as if in prayer.

• Alexei, you will assist Daniil and Grigory in carrying the trunk out to the van outside.

Like a pallbearer carrying the corpse of the man I loved.

On Thursday, Abdullah spent hours trying to apologize to me. It was clear he was nearly as devastated as I was. I was in no condition to do much of anything. I lay there limp as Grigory forced his way into me in the afternoon, and I wasn't very careful with my teeth when Sasha came for a blow job. I earned punishment blows for the first time in months that night. But I didn't care. My life was over. There was no joy in sex. There was no satisfaction in hard work. There was no point in anything anymore. They might as well just kill me. I was dead already inside.

Then on Friday, Abdullah suddenly wasn't there anymore.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE - LITTLE BIG MAN REDUX]