by Alta Hensley
Kings and Sinners
Alta Hensley
Maggie Ryan
Blushing Books
©2018 by Blushing Books®, and
Alta Hensley and Maggie Ryan
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
The trademark Blushing Books®
is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Alta Hensley and Maggie Ryan
Kings and Sinners
v1.3
EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-828-5
Print ISBN: 978-1-61258-890-2
Cover Art by Jay Aheer
Simply Defined Art
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Contents
Maddox
Stryder
Anson
About the Authors
EBook Offer
Blushing Books Newsletter
Blushing Books
Maddox
Chapter 1
Holy hell, and I thought it was hot in Texas. Despite temperatures that soared into the hundreds the moment the orb of the sun broke over the horizon, and tuning out murmurs of conversation around him, Maddox Steele didn’t take his attention away from the show. And that was what this was. A handful of prospective buyers had come to watch, to assess, to covet and to bid on the beasts. Money would exchange hands… a great deal of money, if he was any expert, and he was. Arabian horses were known for their speed, refinement, endurance, and strong bones. Breeders bought them to have a stallion put to stud, all in the hopes of either producing a winning racing champion or to improve their own stock. God knew, with the men assembled, some would be purchased simply to earn the right to brag about besting another to secure the magnificent stallions.
Grains of sand shifted beneath his boots, the rumble growing louder, causing him to lift his head to stare across the vast Arabian Desert to see what at first appeared to be dust clouds rolling in, growing ever closer. The brim of his Stetson provided the only shade, his eyes watering a bit as heat waves shimmered across the land under the broiling sun. He was dressed in what he considered his business best, which included a sports jacket and a black button down shirt tucked into a pair of crisply starched black jeans. The gold of his belt buckle was the only color that broke the dark palette of his clothing. His feet were encased in a pair of black hand-tooled cowboy boots, their morning shine dulled by fine grains of sand, the layer growing thicker as the dust clouds grew nearer. The vibration beneath his boots grew until, finally, the source of the agitated sand drew close enough to distinguish. Dozens of horses, hooves pounding, raced across the land. Stallions of all colors blended into one mass of horseflesh, still far enough away to be indistinguishable from each other… except for one.
Maddox watched as a horse peeled away from the others, taking the lead without appearing to strain to do so. Even from a distance he could imagine the muscles bunching, the long legs churning, conquering the desert sands with seemingly incredible ease, the power in every movement undeniable. The black mane whipping in the wind was due to the animal’s speed, as not even a puff of a breeze offered any relief from the intense heat.
And, what an animal. The stallion had to be at least fifteen hands, would most likely tip the scales at half a ton, and yet despite its size, it was sleek. Beautiful. Magnificent. His attention was only diverted from the stallion when the sound of a laugh reached him. His eyes lifted from the animal’s flashing hooves to gaze upon its rider, discovering that a woman was on the horse’s back, her hands fisted in the black mane, the traditional scarf, called a hijab, flowing behind her as she lay over the animal’s neck, one with the beast, her eyes finding his with an almost teasing gleam. It was with great disappointment that he saw her guiding her mount to the left, leaving the other animals in her dust as she continued to race, only to disappear over a sand dune, the laugh wafting in the air to disappear as quickly as it had come.
“What do you think?”
“Quite a show, but it’s easy to miss a flaw when only catching a glance.”
A low bark of laughter was given, as well as a shake of a head. “Are you talking about the stallions or the rider?” Everett Forrest, a big, burly Australian, asked.
Not bothering to turn his head, Maddox gave a non-committal shrug. “Either.” He glanced to the front again. The herd had slowed, each rider pulling away from the others to prance their mount to and fro, parading before the prospective buyers, vying for the best spot to showcase the individual stallions. Horses were bobbing their heads up and down, their knees lifting high, snorting and blowing hard, cooling from the race.
When a man spoke in a British accent, making a remark about one particular black stallion, claiming the beast would be his, Maddox didn’t respond but knew that any bidder within earshot had just been given a warning. Charles Legeaux and his trophy wife—number three, if Maddox remembered correctly—were often splashed across the society pages of London’s newspapers, touted for their generous donations to any number of philanthropic endeavors. An invitation to one of their lavish parties in their home on Victoria Road in Kensington could move one up the ladder to enjoy the view or, when the post didn’t produce the exquisitely hand-crafted envelope, inform you that your standing had plummeted to the depths of hell. Though Legeaux was lauded as running one of the most successful and profitable extensive breeding programs in England, beneath that aristocratic façade lay a man who didn’t take being bested lightly. Thoroughbreds might be what was seen on his acreage outside London, or standing in the winner’s circle with a wreath of roses about their necks at one of many races, but if one dug beneath that surface they’d find illegal arms and drugs waiting to be ferried all over the world. It took a lot of money to maintain the lifestyle that Charles evidently thought he deserved and woe betide anyone who challenged that belief. Still, he’d just thrown down a gauntlet and Maddox wasn’t a man to scare so easily. That stallion would not be going anywhere near the UK if he had anything to do with it.
A man stepped to the front of the assembly. Not only the crowd, but even the horses quieted, seeming to understand the importance of his words when he began to speak. “Gentlemen, the auction will begin promptly at three o’clock. All bidders are required to submit a letter from the bank providing all routing information, as funds must be immediately ready for transfer if you are the lucky winner of one of these magnificent animals. Until then, please examine the stallions at your leisure. The riders are knowledgeable about the pedigree of their mount.”
Maddox knew the man didn’t need to remind them that each person standing on the sands had been carefully vetted before receiving an invitation to this event. It wasn’t often that outsiders, foreigners, were allowed to enter the United Arab Emirates for such a sale. These families tended to keep not only their day to day business activities close to their chests, but their prized horseflesh even closer. If there were a single man standing who couldn’t prove his solvency well into the millions, he’d eat his Stetson, ten pounds of added dust and all.
“Shall we?” Everett asked. Maddox gave a single nod and followe
d the man towards a beautiful horse, understanding neither would show any true interest in the black stallion… not until a paddle was lifted or a nod given to steal the animal from Legeaux, that was. It was all part of the game.
An hour later, a servant announced that refreshments were available inside at the bidders’ leisure. Maddox thought the sudden temperature change was probably capable of sending a person into cardiac arrest as he and other guests moved inside. Blasts of artificially cooled air caused the beads of perspiration on faces to chill instantly. Crystal flutes of champagne were offered on silver trays, a long, lavishly decorated table held chafing dishes displaying middle-eastern delicacies such as lamb and vegetables skewers, chicken swimming in various curry sauces… some hot enough to burn the taste buds off an unsuspecting tongue. Warm pita bread sitting beside bowls of hummus and tabbouleh beckoned, as did platters of baklava filled with dates and nuts. Maddox had little interest in the food, filling a plate without even considering the fare. His intent was to take advantage of the opportunity to mill about the room, his ears open to any conversation having to do with the upcoming auction.
In an undiscussed but orchestrated move, his father, the patriarch of The Black Stallion Ranch, moved in the opposite direction, gathering his own information. Though they’d speak about their choices, they’d only do so moments before the bidding began. Maddox and Drake both knew that theirs were not the only ears that were open. Giving almost an imperceptible nod towards Drake, Maddox strolled towards a group of men who had just accepted a third round of drinks, having moved from champagne to harder liquor two drinks earlier. With any luck, the alcohol would not only loosen the men’s tongues, the resultant conversation would draw the attention of the crowd away from his father. Lifting a piece of baklava to his mouth, Maddox chewed without even tasting, much less appreciating, the delicate crunch of the dozens of layers of flaky crust or the burst of sweet dates on his tongue as one guest slipped away from the gathering.
“So, Steele, what beautiful creature captured your attention?” Charles asked, gesturing for Maddox to join their group.
Maddox took the time to swallow and wipe his lips with a linen napkin before speaking. “Every horse has their own qualities.”
“What sort of answer is that?” a blond man asked, his accent giving away his Russian heritage. “Charles has told me you’re considered some kind of expert on horses. Surely you can do better. What ‘qualities’ come to mind when you consider the white stallion? He was quite the beast, wasn’t he? Did you see the size of his fucking cock?”
Maddox lifted his glass, having exchanged his champagne flute as well, but the liquid that slid down his throat was nothing more than ginger ale, the bubbles helping enhance the illusion that he was continuing to imbibe. He didn’t know this man and didn’t appreciate either the question or the condescending tone in which it had been asked. He shrugged and grinned. “I stopped comparing size a great many years ago.”
Everett’s laughter boomed across the room, drawing the attention that Maddox had wanted, keeping the guests entertained as they drew closer to see what was so funny. Neither Charles nor the Russian appeared amused but gave a small nod as they took another sip of their drinks. For a country that frowned upon the consumption of alcohol, private parties such as these evidently had no such limitations. Maddox spent another hour mingling with the others, offering smiles and tidbits of ambiguous information about each horse that would be purchased, keeping his true interest hidden. Catching a glimpse of his father, he placed his empty glass on a table before excusing himself. Striding down the hall, the two nodded at each other, softly whispered words exchanged in passing.
It wasn’t until he reached the end of the long hallway, heading for the bathroom that a different voice slowed his steps. An Arab man was speaking, his accent growing sharper as his words grew louder.
“The girl should have stayed in the house, out of sight. Though you’ve yet to see fit to inform your own family, you know the danger…”
“You are overreacting. I’m still not convinced that the supposed danger you imagine is anything but a figment of your imagination,” a second man said, his tone not as sharp though it was definitely patronizing. “And I’m not sure I appreciate your deception by involving Americans…”
“I know I don’t appreciate you questioning my decision. As for the danger, I promise you it is not the railings of a senile old man. At the very least, caution should be taken. She should not have been allowed to join the ride…”
“I admit it was unexpected but no harm came from it. I’ll speak to her later. If you’d paid attention, she didn’t stop until she was out of sight and was dressed appropriately. Yes, she is impulsive but she is a good girl. No one noticed.”
“You are a fool. Only a blind man wouldn’t notice that stallion.”
“See, you prove my point. It was the horse, not the rider that drew attention. These men are here to take advantage of a once in a lifetime opportunity to acquire one of our stallions.”
“Still, she is no longer a girl. She is a woman… an educated one who takes liberties that can place her in danger…”
“Not today,” the younger sounding voice countered. “Please, put this from your mind. Come, we’ve left our guests alone too long. The auction starts in just a few minutes. I assure you I have it all under control and will consider your suggestion.”
Maddox moved behind a pillar, not wanting to announce his presence in what appeared to be some sort of family disagreement. As the pair moved from the room where they’d been holding their conversation, he saw his host, his expression showing nothing of his difference of opinion with the older man who walked beside him. Once they were out of sight, Maddox visited the lavishly appointed bathroom, washing his hands. Yes, he’d noticed the stallion, but despite his host’s words, he’d definitely also noticed the stallion’s rider. Though the deep, sapphire blue abaya she’d been wearing and the matching scarf covering her head had given her the anonymity of middle-eastern women in this part of the world, he knew he’d recognize her eyes anywhere. Drying his hands, he left the bathroom and returned to the party.
“I have a bid of twenty thousand,” the auctioneer said calmly.
“Damn,” Charles said, shooting a glance around, his furrowed brow announcing his annoyance at being forced to bid higher for the black stallion. The lift of his paddle increased the bid.
“Thank you, I have twenty-two.”
Charles’s beam of victory quickly faded as the auctioneer quickly said, “Twenty-three.” The Brit scowled, not attempting to hide his glance to the right, as if ready to accuse Maddox of increasing a bid for a horse he obviously knew he had set his hat for.
Maddox simply shrugged, both hands in his jean pockets as if the outcome didn’t matter to him in the least. It wasn’t until the auctioneer began to end the bidding that Charles whipped his paddle high into the air, keeping his eyes on Steele, as if waiting to catch him yanking his own from where it was tucked inside his jacket to force him to go even higher.
“Twenty-four,” Charles said, breaking the established protocol of remaining silent during the bidding.
“I now have a bid of twenty-five thousand,” the auctioneer said, without even appearing to have glanced at the crowd.
Charles sputtered. “Who the fuck is bidding against me?” His head swiveled about but all he could do was increase his bid when unable to catch the culprit. “Twenty-six,” he bit out.
The auctioneer’s call of, “Thirty thousand,” instantly countered his bid.
Maddox’s expression revealed nothing but he knew it was over before the auctioneer gave Charles a warning that he had only a few seconds to either up his offer or admit defeat.
“Sold. Thank you, gentlemen, that concludes today’s auction. Please see Mr. Basara to arrange payment and collect your bill of sale. Transport arrangements for all animals must be made before the end of the week.”
“Did you see who won?” Charles asked
, defeat written across his face as Maddox gave another shrug. “Well, at least I didn’t lose to you. I thought you were here to play.”
Before Maddox could respond, Everett nodded towards a man attired in the flowing khandoura or dishdash, a white robe that covered him from his head to his ankles, and the ghoutra, or headscarf, held in place by a black agal. “Seems like that stallion won’t be leaving the desert.”
“Damn, we shouldn’t have to bid against locals,” Charles muttered. “I came all this way for nothing!”
“Hardly nothing, that stallion will make a fine breeder, and you bought three others,” Maddox said, somewhat placating the man as he smiled and nodded. Turning, Maddox extended his hand to Everett. “Congratulations on winning the white stallion. You have a good eye.” He meant what he said and also had to wonder what happened to the Russian who had disappeared within moments of the auction’s opening gavel. Walking away, he heard Everett assuring Charles that they’d spend the next few days enjoying other pleasures.
It was time to drop the pretense. Despite it being considered the Pearl of the Gulf, Maddox knew that barely concealed beneath Dubai’s supposedly tolerant surface, there remained a deep mistrust of foreigners, as well as corruption. It was time to learn why his father had consented to travel thousands of miles from the family ranch in Glenrock, Texas, to stand on the undulating sand of Dubai. It had taken less than an hour to spend over seventy grand, and that was just for the cost of the three horses they’d purchased. Of course, for a “small” additional fee, a private plane had been “suggested” to fly the animals to the states. Small and suggested evidently had different definitions across the world, but the Steeles would take advantage of the offer. Not only would the horses be safer traveling with an experienced pilot who understood their needs, but Maddox knew that the additional payment would help ease the journey, as authorities could become quite adamant that every piece of paper was in order, with every “i” dotted and every “t” crossed before the foreigners were allowed to take what many considered yet another treasure from their country.
