Saving Their Princess

by Tl Reeve

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Saving Their Princess

  Copyright © 2014 by TL Reeve

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-756-1

  Cover art by Syneca Featherstone

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  Decadent Publishing Beyond Fairytales

  Once Upon a Marriage

  A Riddle for Love

  Operation Owl

  Darkest Magic

  You Belong to Me

  Taliasman

  Hunter’s Mark

  Coming Soon!

  Razor

  Saving Sultan

  Her Real Life Hero

  Saving Their Princess

  By

  TL Reeve

  A Beyond Fairytales Adaptation of

  The Three Black Princesses

  ~Dedication~

  To Sara, Robyn, Rhonda, and Dakota, Thank you guys so much for all the late night pep talks and pointers along the way. I really hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. This really was a labor of love. *SMOOCHES*

  Chapter One

  Once upon a time…

  Stuart Renwick sat at his desk, going over his last case of the night. As a detective for the New Orleans Police Department, he should have been out of the station an hour ago. There was something about the breaking-and-entering case he was working on that, for the life of him, didn’t make sense. He flipped through the eyewitness report and sighed. Two witness statements matched perfectly, so how could a third be so far off it wasn’t even funny? How could a woman who lived more than five blocks away from the crime scene know what happened? According to her, she came out of her house at the sound of the commotion and watched a man dressed in black running away from the scene. She also gave a complete description of what he wore, right down to the shoes.

  “There’s just no way,” he grumbled, throwing the file back onto the desk.

  “No way, what?” His partner, Kyle Novak, came around the cubicles separating the detectives from each other and sat down at his desk across from Stuart.

  “Mrs. Johnson’s statement. There is no way what she said is the truth.” He sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his head. Kyle had been his partner for the last five years. All Stuart had to say was that he had a niggle of doubt, and the man believed him.

  “I read her report today, too. I agree. He was picked up three blocks from Mrs. Johnson’s house, going in the opposite direction. Not only that, he wasn’t wearing black at all.” Kyle’s green eyes narrowed as he read the statement once more. “Toss her statement. It does us no good.”

  Mrs. Johnson was a noisy woman. One of New Orleans’s busybodies—always trying to find out from the police what was going on in “her” neighborhood.

  “Wait. Which way did the surveillance feed show him heading when he left the store? There could be a chance she’s right. If she is, then we need to make sure we dot our Is and cross our Ts. There can’t be any reasonable doubt here, or else the defense will run all over prosecution.” He watched his partner flip through the file and smirk.

  “North,” Kyle said, pointing to the page. “He would have had to run west on Conti then south on White Street. Then he would have had to backtrack to St. Louis Street and run north on Dupree Street. From there, he would have been dumped back out onto Conti, in front of Mrs. Johnson’s house. Why the hell would he do that?”

  He wouldn’t have. Stuart knew it. If his clear shot to freedom was north, he would have continued his path. There was no logical reason to turn around and run in the opposite direction. “Okay, we can dismiss her testimony of what she saw that night. I have one more witness statement to go over, and I can get out of here.”

  “Fuck that,” Kyle spat. “Come on, the game is on at the bar. You’ve been working day and night on this case. It’s time to unwind.”

  “You’re always looking for a reason to get out of doing your job.” Stuart laughed.

  Kyle was a procrastinator but tenacious and loyal to a fault. Nevertheless, if Kyle had it his way, he would be out in the French Quarter picking up chicks and singing his version of the blues.

  That’s not to say Stuart wouldn’t be out there as well, but he wouldn’t be singing. He preferred to stand back and people watch. Mardi Gras festivities afforded him those pleasures. Many times, he stood off to the side while on shift and watched different women show their tits for beads. Yep, there’s nothing like New Orleans.

  Conversely, those skills he used to people watch came in handy as a detective as well. His ability to remember the minutest of details had helped them solve several cases. It had also helped him enjoy solo spank fantasies while recalling Debbie’s berry-red nipples and smooth-as-silk pussy. He smirked, feeling the front of his pants tighten.

  “True enough, but it’s Friday, man. Let’s go grab a cold one and watch the game. We can come back, refreshed, on Monday.”

  Stuart had to admit he did want to grab a beer, and his favorite team was playing. “Fine. One beer. Then I’ll see you Monday morning, and we’ll finish this up.” He stood behind his desk and returned the file to the locking drawer. “I’ll drive.”

  “I swear, it’s like you don’t trust me or something. That hurts my feelings.” Kyle gave him a mock pout then shook his head.

  “You’re completely dangerous. I feel sorry for any woman who marries you.”

  “So do I. She’ll have to put up with your ass, too.” Kyle laughed. A couple of years after they started working together, they’d figured out they made a good team in the bedroom, also. A couple of times, women asked if they were gay. The answer, of course, was a hard no, not in the least; they just enjoyed sharing. Finding the right woman, however, was a whole other story.

  “Too true.” Stuart smacked his best friend on the shoulder before they walked out of the station and headed down the block to the bar.

  The Iron Fist was a new bar on the outskirts of the warehouse district. The place had only been open a few years, but the guys at the station seemed to enjoy it. So, at least once a week, they all got together for a round of drinks. This week, not so much. Stuart knew it was his fault.

  They stepped inside, and he instantly relaxed. It was a higher-end bar. Modern tables filled the space along with six sixty-inch flat screen televisions. In the middle of the ground floor was a long rectangle bar done in natural lacquered walnut. There were seven taps of domestic beer and five taps of homegrown brews. The shelves were filled with only the best liquor, and the atmosphere was friendly without being overly touchy-feely.

  “What’ll it be, guys?” The big black bartender, Clancy, asked. The man towered over them at an impressive six-foot-four inches tall and weighed a hair over three hundred pounds. With coal-black hair and dark-brown eyes, he was intimidating, to say the l
east, but he was a giant teddy bear to all the women.

  “Two beers,” Stuart answered, taking a seat with a clear line of sight on the big screen TV across from them. “Who’s winning the game?”

  “I don’t know, man. I ain’t watchin’,” Clancy said, placing the long-neck bottles on the bar in front of them.

  “No, you’re too busy watching the honeys,” Kyle piped up. “I know you all too well, Clancy.”

  “Fuhgedaboutit, man,” the bartender answered, a broad smile tugging at his lips. “Anything else, guys?”

  “Nah, we’re fine, big man,” Stuart answered, turning back to the game.

  The score was all tied up. The bases were loaded, and his team was up at bat. It was already bottom of the eighth. Damn, he should have gotten there sooner. What a hell of a game. The batter took a couple of practice swings, adjusted his shirt, and set himself up for the pitch. When the first ball came in low and outside, he let it go. Stuart gripped his beer a little tighter. Anticipation curled deep inside him. One more hit. One more home run and this game was over. The batter swung with the second pitch and missed.

  Tension built in the back of Stuart’s shoulders waiting to see what would happen next. He had always been this way when one of his favorite teams was playing. Sure, it bordered on obsessive, but damn, this was his team playing. “Come on, Ortiz. You got this.”

  “Pardon me,” a lilting voice said, catching Stuart and Kyle’s attention.

  An old man, no bigger than a child, his beard the consistency of brambles twisting and springing in different directions, stood a few feet from their table. He wore green woolen britches, and a red shirt completed the gnome-ish look. His gait was strained as though walking was a chore for him. When he took a step closer to them, Stuart noticed his knees were like a bird’s, bending from behind. He stood there for a moment more then sat down and took off his hat, laying it before him.

  “Curious,” Stuart whispered to his best friend before addressing the man. “Hello.” It would have been impolite not say something to him after all.

  The little man laughed. “My name is Nicodemus. I be a travelin’ bard.”

  A what? “Okay.”

  “For a coin, I be tellin’ ye the tale of The Three Black Princesses.” Nicodemus’s hair fluttered briefly before lying back down. From under the gray-and-white locks of his disheveled beard, an electric-blue tarantula appeared and crawled up to perch on the man’s shoulder. It purred and chirped while the old man scratched its back and chucked its chin.

  Stuart sat back. The appearance of the man was one thing; the spider was another. He hated spiders with a passion. Just the thought of the creepy bastard made his skin crawl and his stomach turn sour. He swallowed hard, staring at the man who sat before them. I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, the spider will be gone.

  An amused smile filled the little man’s features as Stuart opened his eyes after counting to ten. The corners of his eyes crinkled with merriment, and the spider—the disgusting, vile spider—stared up at him expectantly.

  “Well....” He eyed the spider. “What could it hurt?” Stuart muttered, glancing over at Kyle. Stuart placed a coin from his pocket in the hat the man put on the floor in front of them. The spider popped up, wiggled its way down Nicodemus’s arm, gathered up the coin, and took it back to his owner.

  The gnome-like man sat forward. His eyes grew wide, sparkling with mirth, and his voice lowered to a hushed tone. “Once upon a time…”

  ***

  Sabine Babineaux woke to a splitting headache. The sound of water dripping onto a piece of metal made her cringe. The infernal tap…tap…tap rubbed her senses raw and made her right eye twitch. She ground her molars together while trying to gather her wits. What was the last thing she remembered? How long have I been out of it?

  She tried to peel her eyes open and found they wouldn’t budge. She brought her hand to her eye and grimaced. Something slimy and sticky covered it. Sabine picked at the glue-like substance, crying out when it pulled out a few of her eyelashes. Just like a Band-Aid. You can do it. She yanked. A strip of the gooey substance came off and caused her eyes to water. She bit her lip, holding back the cry of pain. Note to self; never do that again.

  Instead of cleaning her other eye, she tried to sit up and banged her already-throbbing head against the top of a cage, making the metal vibrate. Great. Just perfect. Not only are my eyes glued shut, I’m in a cage.

  “Don’t move,” a hushed female voice whispered. “It’s better if you don’t do anything.”

  Sabine turned her head in the direction of the voice. “What?” She guessed she should be happy she wasn’t alone, but it was still unnerving. “Where am I?”

  “You’re with the Master,” the voice rasped. “You need to stay quiet.” The woman didn’t have to add the or else part; the subtext was there.

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Three days or so.” The woman’s voice held a note of anxiety. “Please stay quiet.”

  Sabine swallowed hard and held her arms out in front of her, checking to see how big the cage was. The metal of the cage clattered when her palms came into contact with the front of the box. What in the fucking fuckery have I gotten myself into? Next, she tried to move her legs and realized she could stretch them out for at least two feet. The only way for her to know where she was exactly was to open her eyes. However much it sucked to pull that sticky shit off of them, she had to do it. Sabine grabbed the flap of goo and pulled. She cried out softly, shoving her knuckle into her mouth to stifle herself. Again, she tried to open her eyes and winced. Brilliant pinpricks of light bore into her vision, causing her head to pound even more. In those few moments while she adjusted to the bright light, she tried to figure out what had happened before her world had turned upside down.

  Her shift at The Three Princesses ended like any other. Her tips sucked, and the clientele was less than savory. Even though it was New Orleans, she figured she should be making better money. Tony still owes me twenty bucks, too, the asshole.

  She remembered walking out of the bar, checking her phone, then…nothing. Everything after looking at phone’s screen was a blank. A giant black hole. How does that happen?

  Behind her, Sabine heard several pairs of feet tap across the floor. She had to close her eyes or else she’d be found out. Sabine tamped down her breathing, giving the illusion she was sleeping. In the short amount of time she lay there, she tried to pick out how many people were in the room, but it was no use. As much as they moved around, it could have been three people acting like ten. Shit.

  “Ah, she’s awake,” a man said. Sabine held her breath and didn’t move. “Open those blue eyes, sweetheart.”

  Sabine refused. She wouldn’t allow him the pleasure of seeing her fear, nor would she allow him to torture her. No, he would have to deal with her non-compliance. She wouldn’t make it easy on him.

  “It looks like she’s playing possum, boss,” another man said. His footsteps were heavier as though he were trouncing across the floor instead of stepping.

  “Yes, she is,” the boss agreed. “And what do we do to rodents?”

  “Cut their heads off and feed them to the cats,” the other guy answered easily. Sabine’s stomach roiled. Bile bit at the back of her throat, and she swallowed hard. She shuddered at the thought of what they would do to her.

  The man in charge laughed. “Yes, we do. And Mama makes us a mean possum stew out of it.”

  Okay, that was just gross. No one in their right mind.... She paused. Obviously, these men weren’t in their right minds. “I love it when Mama makes us stew,” the lackey said. “So you want me to get her ready?”

  Oh, God. “I hear you,” she snapped. She knew they were baiting her to answer them, but, damn it, her self-preservation kicked in.

  “Hello, chér,” the boss crooned. She slinked back away from him. The bright glow from the single bulb light pierced her irises, causing her vision to flower. Eve
n if she could see anything in the room, it was impossible to focus. “Don’t be afraid. You’ll be out of that cage in no time. I promise.”

  Uh-huh. Nope, she didn’t believe him as far as she could throw him. “O-o-okay.” She could play the simpering sissy-la-la, especially if it got her a way out of there. If Sabine was only sure of one thing, it was that she would get out of there. No matter the consequences. “What do you want from me?”

  Chapter Two

  The sound of a phone ringing brought Stuart out of a deep sleep. His eyes snapped open and he groaned. What the hell happened last night? The bed was empty when he turned his head, and he regretted the movement. That’s the last time I let Kyle talk me into doing Jager shots. From the nightstand next to his bed, his phone beeped at him. Stuart closed his eyes and sighed. What a fucking way to start my Saturday. He reached for the phone and swiped his finger across it, saying, “Hello,” as he brought it to his ear.

  “Granger wants to see you and Novak. Twenty minutes.” Son of a Bitch. Couldn’t the chief wait till Monday?

  “Did he say why?” he asked, slowly sitting up. One look at the clock and he wanted to fall back into bed. It was early. Too fucking early.

  “New case,” the guy said.

  “Uh-huh, okay.” Stuart ran his free hand through his hair and leaned forward. The sheet bunched around his waist. “We’ll be there.” Tossing the phone on the bed, he stood up and stretched, hearing his back pop in several places. “I’m too old for this shit.”

  “Too old for what?” Kyle stood at the door of his room, looking right as rain.

  “Getting drunk with your ass,” he answered, moving over to his closet. “Get dressed. The chief wants to see us in twenty minutes.”