Page 1 of Jasha
Chapter One
Jasha
Twenty-one-year-old Russian immigrant Jasha was old enough to understand the weight of a silent room and to feel the undercurrent of fear as it rippled through their small Brighton Beach apartment in New York. Tonight, the silence was suffocating. His father, Valentin Kozlov, was a shadow of his usual jovial self. He had spoken Russian all day and night toJasha, showing something was wrong. Jasha had never seen him so tense, so afraid.
A sharp knock shattered the stillness. Jasha’s heart pounded in his ears. It was Mr. Kaleb Bronson, the man with cold blue eyes and a reputation as ruthless as the winter wind. The mere mention of the name sent shivers down his spine, as it had become one with a terrifying nightmare. Jasha knew the name, a whispered terror in the hushed conversations of Russian immigrants in the streets of Brighton Beach. However, Jasha still thought Mr. Bronson was the most handsome man in the world. He had everything any man could want—money, power, and raw sex appeal. According to his father, Mr. Bronson was gay, which suited Jasha just fine.
Standing still, Jasha held his breath and watched the drama play out before him. His father, who taught Russian at the local high school, had always been a source of strength and admiration for Jasha, but now he was reduced to a quivering, diminished figure.
“Valentin.” Mr. Bronson’s speech was like ice, sharp and unforgiving. “Two hundred thousand. Now.”
Valentin’s hands shook as he reached for an empty drawer beside his recliner. “I don’t have it, Mr. Bronson. Please, just a little more time.”
Mr. Bronson laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Time is up, Valentin. You know the rules.”
An icy dread crept into Jasha’s heart. He saw the glint of metal in Mr. Bronson’s hand. His father’s eyes widened in terror when the man pointed a gun at his forehead. Why did his father owe so much money to this thug?
“Pay up, or I blow your brains out right in front of your son.” He pressed the weapon against his forehead, making an imprint on his skin. “But if you give me your son, you live.” Then he cocked the gun.
The click echoed in Jasha’s ears, sending a shiver down his spine. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Jasha was no longer a silent witness. He was a commodity, a bargaining chip in a deadly game. His father’s eyes met his, filled with sorrow cutting deeper than any physical pain.
Valentin’s voice was a hoarse croak. “No, Mr. Bronson, please. Anything but him. He’s all I have after his mother passed away.”
Mr. Bronson’s grip tightened on the gun. “Your choice, Valentin. You give me your son, or I blow you away.”
Jasha watched as his father, his protector, his world, made a choice that would change their lives forever.
“What will you do with him?” his father asked.
“He’ll be mine and under my protection. I know Jasha is gay, so he’s perfect, which is lucky for you and him.”
“I’ll go, Papa. I don’t want you to die.” Jasha feared his own words coming from his mouth, but his love for his father was deeper than his fear.
“Take him,” Valentin whispered, as if Jasha couldn’t hear him.
“Can I bring Daisy, sir?” Jasha asked without thinking about who he was addressing. He couldn’t part with Daisy.
“Who is Daisy?” Mr. Bronson raised his eyebrows.
“My kitty, sir.”
“Got a carrier to travel?” His tone turned softer.
“Yes, sir.”
“Shot records?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring her.” His lips formed themselves into a tender, sentimental half-smile. He had never seen Mr. Bronson crack anything resembling a smile until that moment.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You may take one suitcase of your personal items and Daisy in a carrier with her records. You have ten minutes, or you leave here with nothing.”
“Yes, sir.” Jasha raced to his bedroom, the sound of his hurried breathing filling the air.
A cold sweat broke out on Jasha’s brow. He was aware of every creak in the floor, every shadow that seemed to elongate and darken. Mr. Bronson was a predator, and he, Jasha, was the prey. The ticking of the non-existent clock grew louder in his ears, a relentless reminder of his impending doom.
