by Mia Watts
Open Sesame
A Not Quite Wicked Tale
By Mia Watts
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
P.O. Box 992
Edgewater, Florida, 32132
Open Sesame
Copyright © 2010, Mia Watts
Edited by Christine Allen-Riley
Cover art by Les Byerly
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-108-5
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic release: January 2010
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
To the inventor of beds and things that tie
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
“The Simsim Group? No, I’m glad I got out when I did,” Alister Baban said. “It wasn’t a month later that the company folded, and all the stock crashed.”
Cassimer, Alister’s uncle, lifted a fluted wine glass. The orange-golden glow of sunset winked through the ruby liquid, making it shimmer with the same wealth surrounding them. “I still say you should have stuck around a little longer. If you’d waited just another week, you’d be living in the same luxury I do.”
His uncle gestured with his raised glass, reminding Alister of the opulence around them. As though Alister could have missed the exotic marble floors, gold-plated domed ceilings and original fresco art on every wall.
“It was too easy,” Alister argued. “Nothing that easy comes free.”
“My eyes say otherwise.” Cassimer took a noisy sip of expensive, forty-year-old Port. “Your loss. I’m not sure if I ever thanked you for the investment tip. Are you sure you won’t drink with me?”
Alister shook his head at the proffered wine glass. His uncle’s home resembled an eclectic museum. Museum curators vying to display examples of every ancient culture could have decorated the estate. But it was impressive. For all its gaudiness, Cassimer had indeed proved his wealth to anyone walking through the grand front doors.
“I’m glad you did well, but overhearing those guys talk about the Simsim Group’s new power product felt dirty. That stock could have gone either way. I still don’t know why it crashed. The product seemed reasonable. The timing was good. We’re just lucky we pulled out before things went south.”
“It continued to soar well after you pulled out. I’m telling you, you should have listened to me,” Cassimer reminded. His visage clouded a moment. “I earned that money through careful planning of my investment. No one has the right to take it from me now.”
Alister’s brows rose in surprise. “Is someone trying to?”
“One of the board members thinks I had inside information.”
“Uh. You did.”
Cassimer flashed a wide, orthodontically enhanced white smile. “So did you.”
“I caught wind of a public conversation.”
“You never win if you don’t take risks.” Cassimer tossed back the last drop of ruby liquid, then started on the glass he’d originally offered Alister. “Fucking great Port. You’re missing out.”
“It won’t kill me.”
Cassimer paled slightly. “Why would you say something like that? Did you get a call?” He looked nervously around the empty room, out the solid wall of windows framing wide green lawns overlooking the valley touched by pinks and purples.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” His uncle laughed nervously. “There’s security here. Lots of security. You could stay here. It’s just me in the big old place. Bunch of cameras. Lasers. Security sweepers on the perimeter…”
The nervous chatter tumbled from his uncle’s lips, dotted with quick chuckles and fidgeting sweeps of his hands toward each of the mentioned measures.
“What happened?” Alister stalked toward his uncle. Several inches taller, several years younger, and many more hours in the gym stronger than his father’s younger brother, Alister hoped he intimidated the crap out of his uncle. Perhaps not his crap, exactly, but the truth in whatever form Cassimer delivered it.
“Nothing. I told you.”
His uncle gulped the rest of the Port down and hastily clapped the glass on the ornate bar next to the first. He took a step back. Purples and blues backlit Cassimer, putting him in shadow, but Alister was also keenly aware that though he couldn’t make out the full details of his uncle’s fear in the unlit room, Cassimer could see every tense line on Alister’s face with the dying rays of sunlight.
“So why don’t I believe you?” Cassimer may not have been the ideal relative, but he was Alister’s only living relative and a thousand times more reckless than anyone he knew. The chatter was exactly typical of his uncle, trying to cover up something important.
“Stay overnight. I’ll tell you at breakfast in the morning.”
“Why?” Alister asked.
“Because everything seems better in daylight.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Alister had no intention of humoring him. He turned abruptly and strode to the heavy wooden antique chair where he’d laid his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.” Alister snatched up his coat, ignoring Uncle Cassimer’s protests.
Alister stood on the reception porch. Spanning the entire front of the mansion and soaring high with huge marble pillars. The view stretched over the circular drive and manicured hedges making him feel as though he’d left a cave.
For all its airiness, Cassimer’s mansion felt heavy and muffled. It could have been the way his uncle had gained his wealth that made Alister think the ceiling would collapse at any moment, because he was fairly certain the structure was sound. And he was just as certain that Cassimer had done something to increase his chances of acquiring wealth.
A cave. It’s what Alister felt at his back as he took the five steps to the circular drive. The scuffle of feet reached his ears seconds before someone seized his arms. He tried to turn, catching a glimpse of jean legs and white running shoes. A dark sedan skidded to a halt at the bottom of the steps. A bag dropped over Alister’s head and he was shoved forward.
“Security!” he yelled. Where was all the fucking security Cassimer had just mentioned?
“Bribed, you sonofabitch. Like you bribed your way into Simsim stock,” a voice answered.
Alister lurched, freefalling. Leather seating slammed into his chest and face, his shins hit something hard and metal. He was being kidnapped? More hands shoved him from behind. Alister struggled, kicking his feet and connecting with the other man. With satisfaction, Alister heard him curse. Seconds later, a zip-tie wrenched his wrists tightly together at his lower back.
A gun cocked. Alister stilled. The sound of metal sliding on metal, the clink of a chamber filling was all he needed to know a gun pointed in his direction.
“Shit, Cain, put that away. What if you miss him? Someone will call the police,” one youthful male voice said.
“Miss? What if he hits him? Then how are we getting a ransom?” another said.
“We won’t get anything if you don’t hurry. Baban will be out here any minute with the ruckus you’re making. And don’t fucking use my name, asshole. Take the gun and keep it on h
im,” whoever must have been Cain answered.
“You said nothing about a ransom,” a fourth said in measured husky tones.
Alister’s body was hauled upright, and shoulder to hip, men slid to either side of him. Four car doors shut.
Someone whispered, “Hurry up, dammit.”
The force of the accelerator hitting the mat pressed Alister to the back seat; his head jerked with the suddenness and tires squealed outside.
“Should have waited until he cleared the property.”
“What do you want with me?” Alister asked sharply.
Conversation continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Fuck no. On the street? You shittin’ me? Anyone could have seen. Safer on the property.”
“What if the security guy reports it?”
“He won’t. I gave him Baban’s security code and reminded him he couldn’t loot if he got fired.” The speaker chuckled derisively.
“Whatever you want from Baban, let me go and I’ll mediate for you.” Alister tried to lean forward to catch the attention of the speaker who, from the direction of the voice, also had to be the driver.
Cold and hard through his dress shirt, unrelenting metal pressed against his sternum.
“Sit back, shithead. I have no qualms about making you suffer until we’re through with you,” someone said from the front passenger side.
His left shoulder pulled back, forcing him to comply. Alister twisted from the hand, succeeded in bumping the man on his right. Alister’s elbow hit firm muscle. A grunt fluttered quietly against his ear.
The man on the right wrapped long fingers around Alister’s biceps, righted him. “Sit still. Don’t antagonize them.”
Alister blindly turned to the man, would have faced him if a black opaque hood hadn’t covered Alister’s head. “Who are you people?”
The long-fingered hand dropped on Alister’s thigh. “Quiet.”
“He wants to know who we are,” the front passenger mocked. “Better people than you spend your time associating with.”
Using a simple spoken command and the warmth of his palm, the stranger succeeded in shutting Alister up in a way no gun could have. The hand squeezed almost imperceptibly before sliding away.
Alister felt imprinted. His thigh tingled upward to his groin and fluttered invisible feathers beneath his balls. Now he was uncomfortable for an entirely new reason. Whoever sat beside him had managed to bring Alister to full, aching arousal in the worst of circumstances. He fucking hoped the man didn’t notice. He didn’t appreciate his body’s mutiny at the moment.
The driver muttered, “I hope Baban misses this guy.”
“It’s not Baban, is it?” the young voice on Alister’s left asked.
He could hear the smirk in the driver’s words. “Definitely Baban, but not Cassimer.”
The car grew silent as the driver’s words settled in. Road noises filtered over them. Best as Alister could tell, the windows had to be tinted black, since they seemed to have no worry that other drivers would see his bagged head.
“Alister Baban,” the husky voice on his right concluded.
The man’s voice slipped along Alister’s abdomen. Alister focused on the way his arms ached from his awkward position, hoping to cool his erection. Plastic chaffed his wrists, and he tried linking his fingers. When that didn’t help, he overlapped his hands and tried sitting on them. It exchanged one discomfort for another.
The alternative, edging to the front of the seat and bearing the weight against his shoulders so that his arms had some room, didn’t even list as a possibility. Elongating his body would only offer up his hard cock for scrutiny.
No thanks.
“Alister is Cassimer’s only living relative. A nephew, am I right?” the driver asked.
He didn’t feel like answering.
Lefty swatted Alister on the back of his head. “Answer the man, shithead.”
“I’ll pass,” Alister said instead.
“You’re hardly in a position to argue,” Front Passenger noted.
The hollow echo of tires screeching and bouncing off walls reached Alister. Only one thing sounded like that, a parking garage. The car tipped downward. Inertia nudged him against Righty twice before tipping downward again and coming to a stop.
“We’ll take him through the service elevator,” the driver said.
Alister was hustled out of the car. Hands at each biceps, he shuffled until the springing dip to the floor and muted strains of Chopin told him they had packed into the elevator box. The doors dinged, his stomach dropped, his ears popped, and Alister yawned to accommodate the change in pressure. Finally, a second ding and clunking hitch of elevator doors heralded their arrival at wherever. Shuffling awkwardly, Alister corrected a trip when his feet went from hard surface to plush. He was dropped in a chair.
His shoulders screamed at the bounce when he hit, but Alister remained silent. He’d had time to think about the gruffness of the driver’s voice. He had to be Cain, the one who had initially pulled the gun on Alister before handing it off to the other guy.
“Cain,” Alister said abruptly. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re the leader of this little foursome. Mind clarifying exactly how abducting me can help you?”
A hand came down on this head, fisting the hood and yanking it off along with several of Alister’s hairs. Alister winced against the comparatively bright light and the eye-watering hair loss. Four men stood before him, all unspeaking.
The one with the gun, assuming he hadn’t handed it off to another person, had to be Front Passenger. He wore a sneer on his thin face. Lean and disheveled, the man looked like a bully made from his own sense of inadequacy. Alister would be wise not to piss this one off. Front Passenger would react before he thought it through if he believed he’d been personally affronted.
The one slightly in front of the others had the same dark, bushy eyebrows. His crowded together, and piercing intelligence shimmered from cocoa brown eyes. Swarthy and ordered, he was the first man’s physical superior down to his polished shoes. But beneath the surface rumbled fury and barely contained civility.
“You must be Cain,” Alister said, calmly.
Confirmation flared to life in Cain’s eyes with a subtle smile of pride.
“He knows your fucking name,” the third, Lefty, said in astonishment.
Lefty was barely more than a kid. Early twenties tops. The youngest, he was lean muscled but still wore his hair shaggy and his jeans, though cinched on his hips, bagged loosely beneath his belt. Lefty’s eyes darted between the Front Passenger and Cain.
“That’s because you used it, Reed,” the fourth, Righty said.
Reed huffed in annoyance, his identity revealed.
Righty stood off to the side, forcing Alister to completely look away from the first three to see him. Like the others, he had an olive complexion with a head full of dark straight hair. This brother’s hair swept off his face to skim the top of his broad shoulders. Trimmed but unrelenting black brows slashed over his mahogany colored eyes with very little arch.
The color reminded Alister of finely polished wood reflecting undertones of reddish tints. Like the sunlit glass of port had been spilled over one of Cassimer’s antiques. Chiseled and angular, there was nothing pretty about him. He was beautiful, startling, in the way ancestry had selected the best traits and bestowed them on this man.
Alister couldn’t help but stare. The white dress shirt had been rolled up his forearms, tucked neatly into charcoal slacks. He stood an inch taller than Cain, with a silence of conserved energy and motion. As Alister watched, the man folded his arms across his wide chest. Letting his gaze fall, Alister noticed the substantial disturbance in the line of the man’s slacks.
“You’ve recognized Cain. Now you’ve met Reed. Jeret is the one with the gun,” the man smiled knowingly, as though he knew Alister waited to discover his identity.
But he did know it. The brothers had been on the cover of Forbes this time last year as the Who’
s Who millionaires in the business world. The cover shot hadn’t done him justice. Oscar Adamo looked like sex.
“Oscar,” Alister said, controlling his features so as not to give away the blatant sexual admiration that the panting, drooling animal in his head demanded he reveal. His other head had no such compunction and aside from the way his bound arms pushed his torso forward, partially obscuring Alister’s groin, there was no stopping his obvious physical response. Alister’s cock wanted to make like a homing pigeon.
Oscar’s smile widened. “Oz.”
Chapter Two
Oz didn’t miss the slight flush on Alister’s throat. Oz had affected the man in some way, whether it was the preferred way had yet to be seen. Literally. The armrest of the stuffed chair blocked his view of Alister’s lap and his expression gave away nothing.
The profile article in the local paper had called Alister Baban the most eligible bachelor of rising small businesses. Unlike that picture, Alister wasn’t wearing a jovial, teasing smile. Thrust into a chair with his hands secured behind his back, the bondage could have been a tantalizing treat. Instead, the restrained irritation tightening Alister’s jaw and whitening his full lips didn’t reveal the man who liked windsailing and whose favorite color was green. This man was a businessman set on winning a tough negotiation.
Oz’s smile died. Probably hated gays, too. The conflicting messages between Alister’s slow perusal of Oz, much slower and purposeful than the way Alister had looked at the brothers, and the flat expression didn’t offer encouragement. Nor did the startling, clear blue eyes hint at attraction. Alister Baban could be as straight as they come, but damn if Oz didn’t want to nuzzle between his naked thighs.
“Don’t get too attached, Oz. We’ll get that ransom note over to Cassimer and then this guy is out of here,” Cain said.
“But he knows who we are,” Jeret argued.
