The Dark Prince's Prize (Curizan Warrior Book 2)

by S. E. Smith

  “I’ll put them in a vase. You two enjoy the snacks I left out,” she instructed.

  Adalard watched her return to the narrow kitchen. Several pots simmered on the stove, and the makings of a salad were on the counter near the sink. He returned his attention to Bear when the other man spoke.

  “She has really made this place look nice,” Bear commented.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  Bear cleared his throat. “So… how are you enjoying your stay here? Has Mason taken you out on the course yet?”

  Adalard frowned, trying to follow the other man’s question. It took a second for him to remember that Bear believed he was here to do the survival training. His expression cleared and he shook his head.

  “I am not here to complete the training,” he replied.

  “If you’re not here for the training, what are you here for?” Bear asked.

  “I am simply visiting your world,” he replied.

  “My world? That definitely confirms that you aren’t from around here,” Bear chuckled, picking up one of the bruschetta appetizers that Samara had placed on the small table near the window.

  “Bear, could you pour the wine?” Samara called.

  “Sure,” Bear responded, stuffing the small piece of garlic, tomato, and mozzarella topped bread into his mouth.

  Adalard silently cursed his slip of the tongue. His irritation and jealousy were making him sloppy. He held out his hand and took the wine glass from Bear when the man returned. He noticed the slight, puzzled crease on Bear’s forehead and knew the man was thinking about his reply.

  “You know, I don’t think Samara ever said exactly where you were from,” Bear began.

  Samara eyed the clock. It was already eight-thirty. The past two hours had flown by so fast that she wasn’t sure if it was the wine making her head spin or the speed with which the evening progressed. She feigned a yawn.

  “I guess it is getting late. Let me help clean up,” Bear offered, seeing her cover her mouth.

  She shook her head. “I’ve got this. Thankfully there’s a small dishwasher and most of the dishes and food have already been put up. All that’s left is the dessert plates,” she said, rising to her feet.

  “You should have left the dishes for us to clean,” Adalard said.

  She laughed. “If the kitchen was bigger, I would have taken you up on it. It was easier to wash everything as I went so I had more room. I’m used to it.”

  “Dinner was fantastic. I haven’t had homemade spaghetti sauce—ever! Mom always bought the stuff in the jar,” Bear replied.

  “My mom loved to cook. She would make her own sauce and can it. We had jars of it in the pantry growing up,” Samara reminisced.

  “Well, if you ever have any extra, you could always send some my way. The guys in the bunkhouse would love it,” Bear stated with a cute, hopeful gleam in his eye. “That reminds me, tomorrow we are gathering the last of the yearlings to move south. Mason decided that with the early snows, it might be wise to move the schedule ahead a couple of weeks this year.”

  “I’ll be there,” she promised, taking the last of the dishes from the men.

  “I’m heading out. Do you want me to drop you by the main house?” Bear asked, looking at Adalard.

  “That would be great!” she interjected before Adalard could respond.

  She bit her bottom lip when Adalard gave her a surprised glare. Guilt tugged at her, and she turned her back to him and finished loading the dishwasher.

  “Yes, I would appreciate a lift,” he answered.

  She straightened and looked at him with a combination of surprise and relief. Wiping her hands along the sides of her jeans, she cast a covert glance at the clock again. She would be cutting it close. Hopefully whoever the guy from Vegas was, he would either show up late, or better yet, not at all.

  “I’m really tired tonight. I had an early morning, grocery shopping, and dinner—especially dinner and the lovely wine. Wine always makes me sleepy. I need a good night’s sleep so I can be up early and fresh tomorrow to help,” she babbled before internally wincing.

  She was a horrible liar. Forcing an apologetic smile on her lips, she waved for both men to head for the door. It might be better to just usher them out and keep her mouth shut before she had a meltdown and confessed the stupid stunt she was about to pull. She could already sense the pressure of Adalard trying to penetrate the wall she was struggling to keep between them.

  “Thank you both for coming tonight,” she cheerfully said.

  Bear pulled on his coat and awkwardly bent to kiss her. She turned her cheek to him at the last second. Her eyes connected with Adalard’s. He was studying her with an intense expression.

  “Goodnight, Bear. I hope your grandma gets better,” she said.

  “Yeah, so do I,” Bear replied, pulling on his hat. “I’m going to go warm up the truck. I’ll meet you downstairs,” he added with a touch to his hat.

  Samara remained silent as Bear pulled open the door and departed down the stairs. She returned her attention to Adalard and waited as he pulled on his long jacket. She didn’t give him time to say goodbye. Instead, she rose on her toes and captured his lips.

  “You’re not going to tell me what you are up to, are you?” he asked when she pulled away.

  She gave him a shaky smile and shook her head. “Good night,” she murmured.

  She stepped back and held onto the door. She swallowed when she saw the flare of emotion in his eyes. It was impossible to ignore that he wasn’t happy about leaving. She didn’t like it either, but she needed to handle this alone. It would be far too dangerous to pull Adalard into the mess that her brothers had created.

  He stepped onto the landing, turned and faced her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “You bet your ass you will,” she promised.

  She slowly closed the door after he started down the steps. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply to calm her nerves. Once she felt in control again, she hurried to her bedroom where she had hidden her cashbox. She retrieved the box, her coat, hat, gloves, and truck keys before pulling open the door and stepping out.

  “Just get this over with, Samara, and never, ever look back again,” she muttered to herself as she pulled the door closed behind her.

  The two men in the truck silently watched as Samara pulled away from her loft apartment and headed toward the main driveway. Bear turned on the truck lights and grinned at Adalard who was sitting beside him in stony silence.

  “Samara never could lie,” he shared.

  “This has something to do with her brothers,” Adalard grimly responded.

  Bear slowly pulled out, keeping enough distance between his truck and Samara’s so that she wouldn’t get suspicious. He tightened his fingers around the steering column and nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah. There was talk today about something going down tonight at the Cattleman’s. That was the reason I made up the story about my grandmother,” Bear confessed.

  Adalard shot him a surprised look. “Your grandmother is not ill?”

  Bear chuckled and shook his head. “Hell no! She’s on a cruise in the Caribbean at the moment with some of her lady friends,” he answered.

  Chapter Twenty

  Samara groaned when she saw the two identical black SUVs in the parking lot that screamed out-of-towners. So much for her dream that the Lee-Stephens’ run of bad luck would magically disappear. She pursed her lips when she saw Brit step out of the darkness.

  She pulled into an empty spot on the outer edge of the overflow parking lot. It looked like the whole frigging town knew about what was going down tonight and wanted front seat admission. She shifted the truck into park and turned it off. Before she could unlatch her seatbelt, her brother was pulling open the door.

  “You came! I knew you would,” Brit breathed with relief.

  She gave him a dirty glare. “If you were so confident, then why were you waiting outside?” she snapped.

  Brit
stood back, giving her room to slide out of the truck. She slammed the door and locked the truck but kept the keys firmly in her hand with the metal tips protruding between her fingers. With the wad of cash she had stuffed in her pockets, she wasn’t taking any chances—including with her own siblings.

  Desperate times make even the sanest people do stupid shit, she thought.

  “Rob thought it would be best if I stayed outside. He knows I’m not good at fighting and didn’t want me to get hurt,” Brit grumbled, shoving his hands in his front pockets.

  “Rob always was a dick. If he really cared about you, he wouldn’t drag you into shit like this in the first place,” she retorted.

  Brit uttered a strained laugh. “Yeah, I didn’t think of that,” he replied with a shrug.

  She fought the impulse to roll her eyes at him but gave up. “Of course you didn’t. You’re as stupid as the rest of them. If you were smart, you’d leave like Wilson did and never look back,” she growled.

  Brit gave her a confused look. “Where would I go?”

  She stopped, took a deep breath, and counted to ten before she reached out and gripped Brit’s arm. He stopped and faced her. Her anger softened when she saw the vulnerability in her brother’s eyes. He might be older than she was in years, but in maturation and self-reliance he still had a long way to go before he grew up.

  “There’s a whole world out there, Brit. Don’t be like Dad or the rest of them. You’re young, strong, and not afraid to work. Get out of here while you still can,” she softly advised.

  “I don’t know how. This place… Rob… I don’t know nothin’ else, Samara,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “You know logging. Go to Alaska. You know how to work on engines. If nothing else, join the military! Grow a pair of balls that Rob and the others don’t have a leash attached to! Just get the hell out of here before it is too late!” she raged.

  “Geez, Samara,” Brit grumbled.

  She threw her hands up in the air. “I’ve done what I can for you. Tonight, I’ll do what I can to help the others, but this is it, Brit. After tonight… after tonight I don’t ever want to see any of you again. I’m going to take my own advice and get the hell out of here. I have to—otherwise I won’t be able to survive.”

  The realization that she needed to take her own advice suddenly hit her like a punch in the gut. It was true. If she didn’t leave her hometown, then one way or another, her brothers or just the reputation of her name would keep dragging her down.

  “Where would you go, though? You don’t know no other place either,” Brit said.

  Her face tilted up to the sky. She could see a few stars shining despite the light pollution. A soft laugh burst from her and she turned to grin at her brother.

  “Who knows? There’s a whole universe out there to explore. Maybe it’s time to check it out,” she replied.

  “Brit, have you— Samara! I hope you brought some money,” Rob said.

  Samara sighed and began walking toward the door of the bar. “I see you’re the same prick you were a few hours ago,” she observed, pulling open the door.

  Rob grabbed her arm in a fierce grip. “Campeau brought along some serious backup. They look like fucking military types,” he warned.

  “I suggest you be nice to me then—if you don’t want me leaving your ass to deal with him,” she snapped, giving a pointed look at his hand on her arm.

  Rob released her and stepped back. “Come on. I don’t want to leave Gary and Jerry alone with that bastard for too long. Jerry is already being an ass. We’ll be lucky to get out of this place alive tonight,” he muttered.

  Samara stepped into the bar and scanned the room. The regular crowd was there plus a few who normally only came by on the weekends. Most people were sitting at tables drinking but a few were playing pool. It didn’t take her long to deduce where the meeting was being held. The two men standing on each side of the doorway to a back room normally reserved for special functions were drawing a lot of curious looks.

  “Did everyone in town come to see what a huge idiot Gary is?” she dryly inquired.

  “They’ve always known that, Samara. They just want to see what the guy from Vegas is going to do,” Brit replied to her rhetorical question.

  Rob glared at Brit. “Shut up and go wait in the truck,” he ordered.

  “But I want to see what happens,” Brit complained.

  Samara placed her hand on Brit’s arm. “Listen, one of us needs to be outside in case things turn ugly. Who knows, I may need you to bail my ass out of jail this time,” she said.

  Brit’s mouth dropped open before he nodded and retreated back outside. She shrugged when she saw Rob’s surprised expression. At this point, she imagined anything was possible.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

  She crossed the room to the two men standing guard at the door. Irritation flared inside her when one of the men blocked the doorway. Lifting her chin, she glared back at the man with an unblinking stare.

  “Move it or lose it. I need to speak with your dickhead of a boss,” she coolly stated.

  The man’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he stood aside. She didn’t miss the mic in the man’s ear nor the lascivious appraisal of the elegantly dressed man seated at a large round table. This was going to be more difficult than she first thought. Tactfulness was not her middle name. She really should have just called Annalisa and spilled the beans about the whole sordid mess to the police.

  “Watch your mouth,” the guard warned as she stepped past him.

  “Good luck with that,” Rob muttered behind her.

  “You are not helping,” she retorted under her breath.

  She walked over to the table and stopped. Her scornful scrutiny moved over the smug man sitting across from her. He seemed to be in his late thirties or early forties. The man’s clothing screamed money.

  “You must be the charming sister that your brother was so gracious to add to the pot,” the man said.

  She gave him a disgusted glare. “I can assure you that the word charming and any member of my family do not ever belong in the same sentence,” she said.

  The man chuckled and motioned to the chair. “Please sit. My name is Alberto Campeau,” he greeted.

  Samara remained standing. She wasn’t about to sit and put herself at a disadvantage. She hoped the guy liked to cut through the bullshit because she wasn’t in the mood to play games tonight.

  “My brothers are asses. I’m sure it didn’t take you long to figure that out—and to take advantage of it. So, here is the deal. I give you five thousand dollars and you go back to your penthouse and forget you ever met these morons. I’m offering this one time, at this moment. It is a take-it-or-leave-it proposition,” she stated.

  Campeau’s eyes narrowed. “The debt was for ten thousand—and you. Why should I take less?” he softly inquired.

  “The clock is ticking. You took a gamble that you could con a bunch of ignorant dumb-fucks. I’m giving you an out which is more than you deserve. I’m telling you to take the money and walk away,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her cash.

  Campeau pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Samara lifted her chin and kept her eyes locked on his. The shrewd gleam in them told her he was weighing what she was saying and wondering if she was bluffing. She wasn’t, and she didn’t bother hiding her thoughts either.

  “As intriguing as your offer sounds, Ms. Lee-Stephens, I never walk away from a winning hand. I will only accept what I was promised—with interest,” he coolly replied. “If you don’t have it now, I’ll collect what I’m owed another way.”

  “Human trafficking is against the law. I’m sure you are aware of that. So is blackmail. I figure you can get a few years—or at least it will cost you more in bad publicity and attorney’s fees than the bet with my brothers to stay out of jail. Are you really sure you want to play this hand, Mr. Campeau?” she said, sliding the money back into her pocket
.

  He laughed. “How about we play another game of poker? If you win, I will agree to release your brother from the money he owes me—and you still come with me. If I win, you agree to come with me and your brother need only pay the ten thousand dollars. I’ll waive the interest that is accruing,” he said.

  “I don’t gamble. Even if I did, that is a lousy offer,” she snapped.

  “Then, perhaps I can offer a little bonus to help persuade you,” Campeau suggested.

  “There is nothing you can say that would persuade me,” she retorted.

  “Not even the chance to keep all of your brothers out of prison?” Campeau inquired.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  Campeau held out his hand. The man behind him gave him a manila folder which he then slid across the table to her. She gave him a suspicious glare before she opened it.

  She scanned the contents of what appeared to be a very detailed report. The more she read, the deeper the feeling that she was drowning grew. Any hope that the report was fabricated evaporated when she turned the page and saw the photos.

  Jerry’s muttered curses mingled with Rob’s. Gary, who had been sitting silently, closed his eyes and bowed his head. It wasn’t until she saw the picture of Brit that the angry tears burning in her eyes turned to sorrow. Drugs, guns, and worse—scared young migrants—her brothers were involved in all of it.

  “Was Wilson a part of this?” she quietly asked.

  Jerry grabbed the report and pictures and jammed them back into the folder. “Fuck no. Why do you think he left?”

  She looked at Jerry. Her anger exploded, breaking through the dam inside her. She turned on Jerry, pushing him back against the wall.

  “I always knew you were a piece of shit, but I never thought even you would go this low. Drugs? Weapons? Taking advantage of innocent people searching for a better life?!” Stepping back, she shook her head in horror as the vivid images replayed in her head. “I hope you all rot in hell.”