The next morning, I’m still puzzling over my situation when Miguel finds me at breakfast. I’m sitting there, minding my own business, when he looms over me and doesn’t smile.
“Anton wants to see you,” Miguel says.
I glance up at him. “Tell him I’ll be there when I’m done eating,” I say.
“Now,” Miguel answers.
I sigh. I didn’t think that would actually work, I just wanted to test him. I can tell based on Miguel’s expression that this isn’t going to be a fun visit. I prepare myself, glad that I’ve been carrying my small pistol tucked in my pants for the last few days.
I stand and follow Miguel. We walk without talking, though I try to offer him a cigarette. He even refuses that, which does not bode well for me at all.
Anton is in his usual room. There are a few girls lined up along the wall, but they’re more like decoration than anything else. Anton is sitting alone on a couch with two thugs guarding the door. They glare at me as I enter.
“Boss,” Miguel says. “Logan here.”
Anton looks back over his shoulder. “Thank you, Miguel. Go watch the wall now, please.”
Miguel nods and leaves the room. I stare down Anton, wondering what he’s all about here. I doubt he’s going to kill me, since he could easily just do that at any point.
Anton smiles and walks over to me. “Logan, Logan, Logan,” he says, shaking his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
I cock my head. “What’s this about, Anton? I’m busy today.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are.” He grins at me. “Fucking your little pet is probably very tiring.”
That sends a chill down my spine but I keep it together.
“Training her,” I say.
“No, Logan. You’re not training her. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were in love with the bitch.” He laughs, confirming my suspicions that they were watching and listening. Anton looks over at the girls near the wall.
“You know how I trained her?” he asks, pointing at a brunette girl.
“No,” I say.
“I burned that one. See, she didn’t want to break. She thought she could hang on. So I burned her, left some real bad scars. Broke her, but ruined her worth, you know? Nobody wants a scarred whore.” He grins at me and I want to hit him. “Except for me, of course. I decided to keep her. She’s exceptionally good with her mouth, you know.”
“I understand that you don’t like my training methods, Anton. But I’ve done this before. I know what I’m doing.” I’m not sure if bluffing is the right move here, but it’s all I’ve got at this point.
“Maybe,” he says. “I checked with our bosses, the Russians. They still vouch for you, which is why you’re not dead yet, but what you’re doing does not look like training.” He walks over to the couch and sits back down. “Come here, Logan.”
I walk over and stand next to the couch. He motions for me to sit, but I shake my head. He just shrugs and turns the television on then hits a button.
A video starts playing, a VHS tape judging from the sound and quality. The screen shows a young girl, one I’ve never seen before, tied down to a chair. She’s naked and afraid, staring at the camera.
A man walks into the frame. He dumps a bucket of freezing cold water over her head, making her nipples hard. She starts sobbing.
“Why are you showing me this?” I ask Anton, trying to keep the disgust from my voice.
“This is training,” he says. “Just watch.”
Another man steps into the frame. He’s young, maybe in his early twenties, and after a second I realize that it’s Anton. He approaches the girl, cups her chin, and whispers in her ear.
When she shakes her head, he hits her, hard, in the jaw. They repeat this three times until she’s sobbing and finally nods her head.
He begins to take off his pants and takes out his dick. I look down at the real Anton.
“I don’t need to watch you get your dick sucked,” I say.
“You sure? This is the best part.”
“I’m sure.”
He shrugs and turn off the tape. “So, you see.”
“I saw you as a young kid hitting some helpless girl and then forcing her to suck your dick.”
“Training.” He grins.
I sigh. “You think that shit really works?” I ask him.
“I’ve trained thousands of girls. It works.”
“How long do those girls last?” I ask him.
He pauses. “A year or two,” he admits.
“A year or two,” I repeat. “Girls with ten good years in them last a year or two. Your method makes them into bombed out abuse victims. My method makes them into loyal, obedient fuck dolls.”