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  “I thought you were going to kill me tomorrow if I didn’t figure out my father’s puzzle.”

  “Tomorrow is tomorrow. We can be enemies then.” He bent to nuzzle the curve of my cheek, then to sprinkle gentle, teasing kisses over my lips and chin. He kissed me, biting and sucking on my lower lip before letting it go. “I want us to be lovers now, princess.”

  I thought about his request. A part of me wanted to rationalize it all away: if I could only make Perez want me enough, he might not kill me, even if I didn’t figure things out tomorrow. But the truth was, I wanted him. I wanted him the way a woman just wants a beautiful man. And if I had to die, my life cut off at twenty-one, I didn’t want to die without feeling Perez inside me one last time.

  I stared up into the seething darkness of his eyes, then shifted slightly beneath him so he had better access to me. He immediately covered my breast with his big hand, squeezing the pert nipple until it was swollen and throbbing. I arched my back into the sensation, stretching like a lazy cat beneath him, and he moved his other hand, hot and heavy, down my belly and between my legs. He traced my wet seam with one finger before lowering his head and sprinkling yet more gentle kisses along my ribs and belly.

  I moaned at his touch, then gasped when two of his fingers slid inside my slippery sex. He stroked me inside while whispering soft, wanton words in Spanish against the jumpy skin of my lower belly. Meanwhile, his thumb brushed a fiery path along my perineum before circling my anus. He pushed a third finger forcibly inside my cunt and I felt my stomach muscles writhe as a sudden, pleasurable g-spot orgasm seized me and I trembled and came insanely fast for him, ejaculating all over his hand and the front of his bare chest.

  “So sexy, my princess,” he said and rubbed my wetness against me, then used that lubrication to enter my anus with his thumb. He added a fourth finger to my cunt, and then he was curling all of his fingers inward so I felt like I was some puppet and rubbing the walls of my sex and ass deep inside so my hips jumped on the bed and I found myself thrusting wildly and wantonly against his touch until I came a second time.

  I fell back on the pillows, panting and exhausted.

  He pulled out and lowered his head to lap at all the wet slippery cream between my legs. He licked my cunt and ass clean of juices. He speared me with his tongue, and I rolled my hips for him once more, groaning and thrashing as he coaxed yet another orgasm out of me. It almost hurt this time, I was so dry.

  After he finished with me, he let me touch him, let me run my fingers over the incredible hardness of his girth, slide the foreskin back and watch the pearly drops of precum as they poured from his tiny hole. He grunted as if in pain. “Turn over and give me your ass, princess.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Anything I want.”

  I turned over on the bed and drew myself up on my knees. He used the belt on his robe to lace my arms together from elbow to wrist in the small of my back, then pushed me down so I was lying face down on the pillows, naked, with my ass up, completely at his mercy.

  He rubbed his fully engorged dick against my ass while moaning, “I would play games with you, princess, but the truth is, I just enjoy listening to you making those kitten noises as I spank you.”

  And he did just that, cracking the palm of his hand against one cheek and then the other, creating a kind of rhythm that had me yelping, moaning, jumping and thrashing under his ministrations. And just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore of him, just when I thought the heat in my ass was too great, he stopped to tear open a condom, gripped me by the hips to steady me, and plunged his steely cock into my seeping hole. He gripped fistfuls of my hair, yanking me to my knees and against the front of his body while he pumped me quickly and roughly from behind, going deeper and deeper until I screamed and convulsed and he trembled violently in release and came inside me.

  Then we turned over in bed and I found myself atop him. He lifted my hips and let me plunge down upon his already quickly stiffening cock. I took him deep inside me and rode him while he squeezed my breasts and played with my clit. I came a fourth time, squeezing him so tightly with my inner muscles that he cried out as he spent himself a second time inside me.

  Then he untied my hands and pushed me down onto the bed, spooning me and burying his cock deep inside my body one last time. He kissed the back of my neck and my hair. “Ah, my beautiful princess,” he said, and together, still connected, still enemies, we drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  The story goes that before your father died, he taunted my father by telling him that he gave the coordinates to The Golden Hand to his greatest treasure—you—and that I would never discover it.

  I thought about Perez’s words even as I sat there at the desk in my room the next morning. My daddy had written something similar to me the day he died. Let this locket guide you to your treasure, my daughter. I love you always, Daddy.

  On a whim, I unclipped the locket I still wore (my “something old” for my wedding day) and looked it all over, but I didn’t spot anything unusual. Finally, I opened the clamshell lid and used the tip of a pen I found in the desk drawer to peel up the little oval photographs of my mother and father. Written in tiny script on the backs of the pictures were a series of numbers I immediately recognized as a latitude and longitude.

  At that moment, I heard a door being broken down and a shout in Spanish. I immediately recognized the voice was Alejandro. He had found me! I clipped the locket shut and rushed to the door and started pounding frantically upon it, calling out to him. A few moments later, the digital lock was destroyed by a gunshot, and Alejandro pushed the door open. I all but flew into his arms and he hugged me against his huge body.

  “Florecita, are you all right?” he asked with concern.

  “I’m fine, Alejandro, just fine,” I said as he walked me out to the living room where several of Alejandro’s heavies had Perez down on his knees with his hands folded behind his head. It was almost a shame because he wore such a beautiful, handmade suit today, but the seams had torn in several places from the men’s rough handling of him.

  Perez looked at me with pain-filled eyes, as if this, now, was the final indignity. He gave Alejandro a dirty look. “You may as well kill me, you murdering pig,” he spat.

  “Shut up, you dog,” Alejandro said, releasing me to pull his handgun from his armpit holster as he kicked Perez down onto the floor. “I don’t want to hear a word out of your filthy mouth.”

  I felt a pang of terror in that moment. I hadn’t liked Perez’s methods, but I understood why he had done the things he’d done. “Alejandro,” I argued. “Do we have to kill him?”

  “Of course he has to,” Perez spat bitterly. “He must kill the son the way he killed the father.”

  I looked at both men. “I don’t understand.”

  Perez threw Alejandro a look. “This man is the one who started the argument between our two fathers…” but Alejandro immediately interrupted him by pushing his gun in Perez’s face.

  “I did not want El Padre to be cheated by your pig of a father, Perez. He was a bastard dog, and you are the bastard dog’s offspring…”

  “My father would never have cheated El Padre!” Perez shouted, spitting upon him. “The Los Lobos paid homage to our king, but you…” He sneered at Alejandro. “You came demanding more than half, and when El Padre told you ‘No, we will not cheat the Los Lobos,’ you threatened us…and you threatened El Padre. You called him weak!”

  Alejandro muttered violent curses in response and cocked his gun, preparing to execute Perez before he told anymore secrets, but I stepped between the two men and Alejandro hesitated. I looked down at Perez. “Is this true?” I asked him.

  He looked up at me, but for once he looked tired and defeated. “Si.”

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier? Why didn’t you tell me Alejandro was involved?”

  Perez smiled bitterly. “As if you would believe me, princess.”

  Shaking,
I then turned to the man who had all but raised me after my father died. “Alejandro…did you incite the violence between our two families?”

  “Get out of the way, florecita,” Alejandro said softly, wagging the gun. There was bloodlust in his eyes.

  “No,” I told him. “And you may not execute Perez!”

  “Is is my right as head of the family…” he began, but I interrupted.

  “No! This is my family, Alejandro. I am the head! I am all that is left.” I stretched out my hand. “Give me the gun.”

  Alejandro laughed and it was an empty, dead, mocking laugh. “You are no El Padre, florecita. You are but a child.”

  “I am my father’s daughter, and I am head of Le eMe. Give me the fucking gun, Alejandro!” I shouted.

  Looking amused by what he interrupted as my childish antics, he leaned down to hand me the gun grip-first. The moment my small hand curled around it, I took the safety off as Perez had shown me and trained the gun on Alejandro. He looked mystified by my actions. “Perez, get up.”

  Perez didn’t argue, gliding smoothly to his feet. Keeping the gun trained on Alejandro, I tore the locket from my throat and handed it to Perez. “Take this. Inside are the coordinates to The Golden Hand. Hopefully, this will pay back the blood debt that my family owes you.”

  Alejandro’s eyes traced the journey of the locket from my hand to Perez’s pocket, and I knew then that what I was doing was the right thing. I could not give Perez back the father that had been taken from him, but I could give him a chance at his dream. It was all I had to give. My hand shook, though, and in that moment, Alejandro lunged at Perez in an attempt to seize the locket. I saw the flash of the small knife hidden in his hand. I squeezed the trigger as Alejandro fell upon Perez, and the explosion was deafening in the room.

  The other two heavies moved to intervene, but I urged them back with a flick of the gun.

  Perez heaved Alejandro off his body. I hadn’t killed Alejandro, but he was bleeding enough that he would need a doctor. I told the two heavies to take him to the nearest emergency room. Alejandro gave me cold eyes as his men led him out the door and down to his waiting car.

  In the silence of the aftermath, I lowered the gun, but I didn’t release it. It felt very much at home in my hand, and I realized in that moment that I had most likely proven myself my father’s daughter. I was now head of the family, and I found I liked it. It meant I could protect those I cared about.

  Perez walked up to me and extended his hand, offering me the locket.

  I looked at him steadily. “I said you could have it. The Golden Hand is yours, Perez. What more can I give you?”

  He reached for my free hand and put the locked in it, then closed his hand over mine, the locket sealed between our two hands. “Perhaps we can negotiate a new arrangement between our two families, princess,” he said in a throaty soft voice and drew me into the cradle of his arms to kiss me soundly.

  And that’s how I became the first female head of Le eMe and wound up marrying the man who kidnapped me on my wedding day.

  * * *

  CINDERFELLA

  By Alex Crossman

  “Ash, how you would like to be promoted to my sexual companion?”

  I forgot I was fitted under Mr. Chase’s desk as I tried to discover what plug was giving him trouble and hit my head on the underside. I barked out a curse before sliding out and standing up.

  Mr. Chase stood at the wet bar, mixing a Tom Collins, an intrigued look on his handsome, chiseled face. “Are you all right?”

  I rubbed at the smarting crown of my head. “I think I gave myself a concussion.”

  “Please sit down, won’t you?”

  I sat down on his leather settee, giving him a goofy smile to cover my embarrassment. Maybe I hadn’t heard him right? I mean, I’d been crushed under a desk when he’d said it. Then I saw his concentrated expression—what I called his Wolf Look—and realized he wasn’t kidding. Not at all. “Are you serious?” I croaked.

  Mr. Chase narrowed his cattish eyes the way he did when he was dealing with a particularly difficult client or employee. As head of WGR Studios, an all-news channel located here in Upper Manhattan, he fielded a lot of difficult clients and employees. But he’d never used that look on me before. “Perfectly serious, Ash. I’ve given this quite a bit of thought, and I’ve decided I would like you to work as my courtier, if the position interests you.”

  I was a little bit flattered, admittedly. Christian Chase wasn’t at all hard on the eyes. A tall, powerfully-built, quiet man, his sharp, determined features, wavy red hair, perpetual 5 o’clock shadow, and broody green eyes always made me think of heroes on pirate romance covers or actors in Robin Hood movies. At forty-five, he was considered the youngest man to ever own and control a TV station in New York.

  From what I understood, he’d started out in the mailroom when he was sixteen years old and had steadily worked his way up the ranks, helped very little by formal education. Then, in 2001, he was one of the first reporters on the scene of the 911 attacks. He fearlessly reported all through the burning of the World Trade Center, gaining a reputation as “The Wolf,” the man who could sniff a story anywhere in the city. From there, he’d shot up the ranks of news casting, eventually becoming VP of WGR. Even today, they said he had an impeccable nose for a good story.

  When you put all that together, it was hard not to feel a little inadequate. Having grown up a poor farm boy in Iowa, I’d come from similar circumstances, but even aided by an excellent education that my parents had spent half their lives scraping for, I was nowhere I wanted to be in my life. I’d come to the big city with dreams of developing video games. Instead, I was repairing video equipment at WGR.

  The station had a ton of competitors, and in today’s field of internet sabotage, a few cyberattacks were all that was needed to bring a huge media empire to its knees. When Mr. Chase discovered I had a knack for cleaning out viruses as well as electronic repair, he promoted me to head of what he called “Tech Security” on his team. The work was important and the pay excellent. Mr. Christian was like a dream to work for.

  Well, had been, anyway.

  I took the drink he offered. He looked me up and down and I could almost hear his silent disapproval of my outward appearance. For his head of Tech Security, I was a bit of a mess these days.

  Since I had a tendency to work on electronic repairs in the oddest of places—under desks, in murky basement corners, and computer rooms crammed with stinking cleaning chemicals—I usually stuck to a uniform of jeans worn shiny from crawling along floors, old washworn T-shirts with fast food stains on them, threadbare pullovers and hoodies, and running shoes patched with duct tape. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford better; I just didn’t see the point. I was the first one here in the morning and usually the last to leave the building at night, sometimes working up to midnight on repairs that couldn’t wait. When I got back to my loft apartment, I was often so exhausted I just crashed, got up in the morning wearing the same clothes I’d slept in, and ran off to work without a shower, shave or washing my hair.

  I was something of a slob. Sue me. But who was looking at me? I was the tech guy, the guy no one ever wanted to see unless their computer crashed or their Blackberry went on the fritz. There was a time before my twenty-fifth birthday when I could still make a man or woman’s head turn, but I knew damned well that those days were behind me. My last partner had left me, citing the fact that he could no longer live with my slovenly, workaholic self. My ship had long sailed. Mr. Chase’s offer made no sense to me.

  “I think I mis-heard you…” I began.

  “No, Ash, you didn’t.” Again he looked me over, but his look was different this time, more intense, and I squirmed under it. He settled on the arm of the settee and gave me his sharp little wolf eyes. This close, I could smell his spicy cologne—which just made me want to squirm more. I’d always been a sucker for a guy who smelled really good. “There’s no easy way of explaining this, so I
’ll just be blunt and go ahead. I’m part of a private society of gentlemen who keep sexual companions. Courtesans and courtiers, depending on their gender. I’ve been part of this society for many years. In fact, I’ve kept a courtesan for more than five years now.”

  I drank down a gulp of bourbon as I digested that. “So you have a…courtesan…sexual companion, whatever. What do you need me for?”

  Mr. Chase’s mouth quirked up in a brief smile. “The Society has recently opened its doors to same-sex couples in a very big way. Up until now, taking a same-sex companion was discouraged, but the people I know have evolved gracefully into the new century and they want to give those of us who are bisexual or gay more play space, so to speak.”

  I almost choked. Mr. Chase had never, ever, struck me as anything but straight up all-natural, boring vanilla. “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted. “Isn’t soliciting sex from someone a crime?”

  Mr. Chase looked unperturbed. “The Society predates such laws. And I am not soliciting sex from you, Ash, although sex would be involved. I’m offering to make you my companion in the Society. Being my companion—my courtier—is much more involved than just soliciting your services as a stud.”

  I couldn’t believe I was actually considering this, but I asked, “What exactly is involved? The sex part I get, but…what else is there, really?” I flinched when I realized how hard and cynical I sounded.

  Mr. Chase tilted his head as he answered. “Gatherings, functions, balls, intimate dinners. All the things that companions share.”

  “Like…dating?”

  “We can include that, yes, if you want.”

  I thought about dating Mr. Chase, which I found, admittedly, pretty exciting. But something about what he’d said about me being a courtier stopped me from saying yes just yet. “It’s not…I mean, you’re not talking about an even partnership, are you?” A thought occurred to me. “Are you a dom or something? I mean, are you into kink?”

  “I’m a gentleman,” he said only, then rose to fetch a manila folder from his top desk drawer. He offered it to me. It was thick and I realized then that he was really serious about this stuff. “Everything you need to know to make your decision is here. If you decide to take me up on my offer, stay after work and meet me downstairs in the underground parking garage by my limousine. If I see you there after dark, I’ll know you’re serious about being my companion.” He took my hand brought my knuckles to his lips, kissing me like a suitor in some Jane Austen novel. “I do hope you’ll make it,” he said before dismissing me for the day.