The Prince (32 page)

Nora squeezed Wesley’s hand as Talel—wearing jeans and a black shirt and looking as exotically handsome as usual—came down the stairs toward them with a smile on his face.

“It’s always a good day when the Prince of Kentucky and the Queen of the Underground come calling.” Talel shook Wesley’s hand and kissed Nora on the cheek.

“Ex-Queen of the Underground,” she told him. “I’ve retired.”

“I heard the rumors. I didn’t believe them, then. I don’t believe them now. Let me take you to the stables and hand you a riding crop. We’ll see how long it takes before you start swatting someone with it.”

Nora released a wistful sigh. “I do miss all my riding crops. I kept the red one, of course.”

“You’d be Arthur without Excalibur had you given it up. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Talel asked as he ushered them into the front room.

Nora’s eyes widened at all the silver cups and trophies that littered the massive living room. They sat on the fireplace mantel, the windowsills, on shelves and tables and podiums. Ribbons spilled out of the cups. Sashes draped across the trophies.

“Damn.” She nodded in approval.

“If you’re impressed by my winnings,” Talel said as he beamed his smile around the room, “it’s only because you haven’t seen the trophy room at The Rails.”

“No, I haven’t. Why is that, Wes?”

“Because Dad won’t let you in the house,” Wesley reminded her.

“Right. Forgot. Anyway, Talel…we just came by about Spanks for Nothing. What the hell happened?”

Talel sighed heavily and shook his head. “We’re trying to find that out. He was on some medication for some slight congestion. Possibly the dose was off. I can’t say for certain. It’s a tragedy. Amazing horse. Impressive speed and stamina. Could run on any track. Headed for the Derby.”

“And he was cute, too,” Nora said, frowning.

“And he was cute.” Talel gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“Who’s investigating?” Wesley asked, not even glancing at the trophies around the room. Nora saw him staring directly at Talel. Surely Wesley didn’t suspect him of any foul play.

“The usual—the track veterinarian, the insurance company. Spanks for Nothing was insured for forty.” He shrugged as he straightened a blue ribbon.

Nora felt her eyes nearly explode from her face.

“Forty million?”

“We were being conservative. Such a waste…” Talel sighed. “I’m trying not to think about it too much until they’ve finished the investigation. I don’t want heads to roll. I’m sure whatever happened was simply an accident. I’d just like my horse back.”

“I know how you feel,” Wesley said. “We lost Aphorism to colic last year. Dad acted like he’d lost his best friend.”

“Aphorism was a fine animal. Impressive specimen. As was Spanks. But we’ve a few fine specimens left.”

“Do you mind if we tour the stables?” Wesley asked. “Dad told Nora she’s not allowed near our horses. She’s been in the mood to play with the ponies.”

Talel paused a moment before answering. “Of course. I’d love to accompany you, but I’ve nothing but meetings today, about the incident. Should I get my manager for you?”

Wesley waved his hand. “We’ll find our way around.”

“Forgive me, but please, visit the stallion barn only. Our other barns are going through some renovations right now. For your safety. The stallions are in the main stable.”

“Definitely,” Wesley said. “Nora just wants to see some horses.”

Nora kept her face composed. Mr. Railey hadn’t banned her from the stables. He’d probably thought about it, but he hadn’t outright said she couldn’t be around the horses.

“Mistress, a pleasure as always.” Talel kissed her on both cheeks, and she patted him on top of his head, as patronizingly as she could.

“For old times’ sake.”

She and Wesley left the house and paused on the porch.

“What?” she asked as Wesley exhaled loudly through his nose.

“Something’s smelly.”

“That’s all the horseshit. I think I got some on my shoe.” Nora lifted her foot.

“Not literally smelly. I don’t know. Something’s weird about Spanks for Nothing. Talel should be more upset about it. That horse was a money machine. And forty million’s about what he’d make in one year on stud fees.”

“And?”

“Some horses live for twenty years or more. That horse could have brought in one or two hundred million dollars over the next five to ten years.”

“But Talel’s richer than God. That’s pocket change to him.”

“Nora, a hundred million dollars isn’t pocket change to anybody. Come on.”

She followed Wesley to the car, and in silence they drove half a mile to where half a dozen stables stood in a ring at the end of the drive. They left the car and walked to the nearest one. Nora whistled when they stepped inside.

“Wesley, this is ridiculous,” she said, glancing around. “I know Connecticut insurance execs whose houses aren’t as well decorated as these damn stables.”

“Tell me about it. The Rails has swimming pools for the horses, heated stalls, spas... Our top horses get massages, have homeopaths doing acupressure on them... It’s crazy how spoiled these damn animals are.”

They walked up and down the center corridor of the stable. Horses poked their heads out and whinnied peevishly at them. Nora reached out to pet one and Wesley pulled her hand back.

“I know, I know. These are Thoroughbreds, not kittens. They bite.”

“Exactly. And they bite hard.”

“So do I,” Nora said, baring her teeth at him. A big brown horse chomped at her and Nora growled in reply. He gave her a shocked look before retreating into his stall. “What, pray tell, are we—shit—!”

Nora grabbed the back of Wesley’s shirt as she tripped on something and nearly fell.

“Nora? You okay?”

“What the fuck? I kicked something. Sorry.” She bent down and dug through the straw, pulling up a piece of rotted wood with a rusted silver hinge attached to the end.

Wesley took the board from her hands and examined it.

“Weird.”

“Weird, what?” she asked.

Wesley didn’t answer. Turning around, he walked down the corridor again, pausing at each stall.

“Wes…what is going on?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Come on. Let’s go see the mares.”

With the rotted board in one hand, he grabbed her with the other and nearly dragged her from the stallion stable.

“Talel asked us to stay in the stallion barn.”

“I know. That’s why we’re not staying here. The stallions are the big money. They’re the ones everyone cares about. Those are the prizewinners in there. I want to see how the other half lives.”

Wesley seemed on high alert as they left the stallion stable and headed down a path toward a white barn with green trim. It looked just as elegant and well-maintained, but when he reached the door and saw a big silver padlock hanging off the door handle, he swore.

“Dammit. Locked.” He stared at it with such intensity Nora thought he was trying to open it with sheer mental power.

“Why would anyone lock up the mares, but not lock up the prizewinning stallions?”

“That’s my question.”

“Well, better find out the answer, then.”

Nora pushed past Wesley, opened her bag and pulled out her lock-pick set. “Cover me.”

“Nora, what are you doing?”

“Stop freaking out. I’m just picking the lock. Give me a second.”

“How do you know how to pick locks? And why do you have a lock-pick set in your purse?”

“Wesley, my boy, I got arrested at age fifteen. That was arrest number one. There have been twelve since. You get arrested as many times as I have, and you start planning for all contingencies.”

“Nora…”

She popped the padlock and it fell off the handle. They slipped inside the barn and closed the door behind them.

“Fine.” She turned her face up to Wesley. “Søren’s really into bondage. Huge shocker, right?”

“I’m stunned beyond words.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “I learned how to pick locks to piss him off. I wanted him to know that anything he put me into, I could get out of. Even if I didn’t try.”

“Why? I thought you loved him.”

“I do love him. Love and having an escape plan are not mutually exclusive. They are, in fact, both highly recommended.” Nora found a light switch and flicked it on. “Now this is weird.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

In silence they studied the stable. It was empty. Completely empty. No horses. No horse tack. No staff. No jockeys. No nothing. Just old straw on the floor rotting away in the sweltering darkness.

“Looks like it’s been empty for a long time.” Wesley peeked his head into every stall.

“Feels like it, too. Weird putting a lock on an empty stable and not on the one full of moneymaking horses.”

“Let’s check out the others.”

“I’ve got my picks.”

Nora followed Wesley from the second stable to the third. Again they found it padlocked. Again they found it empty. The fourth and fifth stables were also empty. No horses. No nothing.

“What the hell is going on?” Wesley stood in the final stable and stared at the nothingness it contained.

“You tell me. You’re the horse expert.”

“I don’t know. Unless Talel’s moved all his horses to another farm...makes no sense. A farm this size should have hundreds of horses—yearlings, stallions, broodmares. Even if he’d moved all his horses to another farm, he should at least have some mares here that he’s boarding for others. We’re boarding about a hundred horses that aren’t ours.”

“I should go ask him. He’ll tell me anything.”

“Don’t ask him. Not yet. I want to ask some of my own questions first.”

“Like what?”

Wesley held up the board from the stallion stable. “Fresh paint over rotting wood, Nora? My first question is going to be why can’t a billionaire afford to fix his broken stall doors?”

Nora looked at the wood and then looked up at Wesley. He saw something in her eyes, something like understanding. He waited, but she didn’t seem willing to enlighten him. Heavily, she exhaled, as the light in her eyes went out again.

“Damn good question.”

NORTH

The Past

Kingsley groaned in the back of his throat, a groan Søren swallowed with his mouth. He pulled on the rope that bound him to the cold metal at the head of the cot, but couldn’t free his hands.

Now this was pure torture. Kingsley lay with his hands and feet tied to the ends of the bed, while Søren slowly, gently kissed him. His mouth…his neck…his collarbone and chest received nearly five full minutes of attention...

“Please…
s’il vous plaît…
” Kingsley pleaded, and didn’t even know why he begged and what he begged for. Søren never heeded his pleas—neither for mercy nor for consummation. Everything happened in Søren’s time, by his will and his will alone. But Kingsley couldn’t stop himself from begging, from pleading. No girl had ever kissed him like this. He felt like an object and nothing more. When Søren kissed him, Kingsley knew it was for Søren’s sake alone. The pain was for Søren. The pleasure was for Søren. Kingsley existed for Søren and he knew it. A month ago he’d bragged to Søren about the privileged position he held, being the only son in a French family. His mother had worshipped him and asked nothing from him. His father had spoiled him. His sister did the work he was never expected to do. A little prince…that’s what he’d been, growing up. And every night, his mother read to him from
Le Petit Prince,
his favorite story. But underneath Søren, Kingsley ceased to be a prince or a king.

He was nothing but a slave, a servant, a body to be used by Søren and for Søren.

Nothing pleased Kingsley more than to disappear to the hermitage at night and find Søren waiting for him. The crown his parents had placed on his head, even naming him Kingsley, although a less French name had never existed…he’d take off that crown and lay it at Søren’s feet. And the prince would become a servant and the king a commoner all night long.

Søren slid his hand down the center of Kingsley’s chest, over his stomach, creeping ever lower. Kingsley moaned in near pain from the need, the incredible ache. He had to be touched…soon. But Søren’s hands and mouth roamed over every inch of him…except for the inches he most needed kissed, most desperately desired touched.

“You hate me,” Kingsley whispered, and Søren laughed into his skin.

“I don’t care about you enough to hate you.” Søren brought his mouth to Kingsley’s ear and kissed him from the nape of his neck to the tip of his shoulder. “You’re nothing to me.”

“Is that why you’re trying to kill me?” Kingsley raised his hips, seeking some sort of satisfaction and feeling nothing but renewed pressure in his stomach. He’d come if he wasn’t careful. And he knew better than that. Søren would beat him nearly bloody if he ever came without asking permission first. He had the week-old welt on his lower back to prove it.

“I would never kill you,” Søren said, sliding his hands over Kingsley’s inner thighs, massaging them, running his fingers to the very edge of Kingsley’s painfully straining erection before pulling away again. Only another man would ever understand the absolute agony of this kind of teasing. Only a sadist like Søren would ever inflict it. “It would be a waste of my valuable time, killing you.”

“You would have to find someone else to torture like this if you killed me,” Kingsley said, laughing even though his eyes held unshed tears of frustration.

“Exactly…a waste…” Søren kissed his rib cage. “Of…” Søren kissed his hip. “My time…” Søren kissed his stomach, only an inch away from where Kingsley so desperately wanted him to.

“I’ll die anyway if you don’t let me come.”

“Your penchant for exaggeration is embarrassing. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I am. Or would be if I had any shame…which I do not.”

“No shame? One would think someone with no sense of shame would beg more than you have been...”

Kingsley heard the hint in Søren’s voice and nearly laughed out loud with joy. Søren did that sometimes…guided him toward the desired response. At these times Kingsley most felt like a servant, a child, like property. Søren wanted Kingsley to perform for him—to beg when begging was desired, to cry when crying was desired, and always, always to submit to him, for submission was what Søren most desired.