Chapter 7

Light flickered from the television screen, sending patterns of shadow throughout the dark room. Lying with her head propped up, the pale haired woman was able to watch the screen without disturbing her bed mate. The taller woman lay, curled on her side, with her head resting on the muscular woman's chest, dark hair fanning over tanned skin. Soft puffs of air blew over a bare chest reassuring her that her lover was sleeping even as she ran one hand lightly over the silky tresses.

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen, telling her what she could not hear with the sound off. If this was to be the new pattern of their nights, with her awake but in the bed for most of it, she knew that her mind would have to be kept busy. The only thing that Francesca had asked was that she stay with her for as much of the night as she could. Fortunately, the TV in the bedroom received cable and she was fascinated by the documentary based stations. Learning more and more each night would be a real treat and if she was honest, it was helping her to feel like more of an intellectual equal to her lover. She could read books, but that would mean turning on a much brighter light which might disturb her partner.

On the nightstand the digital display of the alarm showed 5am, only half an hour before the pair would have to be up for the video shoot. Seeing that the programme on Julius Caesar was drawing to an end, she began to flick through the channels with the remote held in her free hand. Finally landing on a news broadcast, she took in the details of what the day might hold.

Francesca could feel herself swimming up from the depths of slumber. As she gradually became more aware of her surroundings she could feel the strong beat of her partner's heart beneath her ear and let it pull her closer and closer to wakefulness. Through eyelids that remained closed she cloud make out the flickering light in the room. Suddenly her human pillow shot into a sitting position on the bed, causing blue eyes to snap open and blink with confusion.

"What's going on?" Slurred by sleep the words were indistinct but her companion understood.

"I know that woman." The hand holding the remote gestured towards the screen while turning the volume up.

A press conference was playing out in front of them. A large, handsome man was taking a podium for a press conference. To his right stood a much shorter man and to his left was a slender blond in a dark suit. The woman was unmistakably a bodyguard and a slave if the collar around her neck was any indication.

"The blonde?" The brunette now sounded much more alert as she narrowed her eyes at the moving images.

"Yes, she was in our stable, we fought together a lot. If you'd ever watched the gladiatorial bouts you would recognise her. She's called Thorn, I don't know her real name. She was my nemesis in the ring but we got long great outside it." Blue eyes looked doubtful.

"People honestly believed that that skinny little thing could kick your ass?"

"Actually, she could. She really could; she may look fragile but that girl is insane. She fights like a thing possessed. She was for sale at the same time as the rest of us, I heard your father and brothers debate about whether to get her or not. It was her fragile grasp on reality that stopped them. Imagine you could have been saddled with her and not me."

"Well then, I'm glad she's a loon." Cuddling together both women continued to watch the broadcast. "So that's Bradley Dettore; I've heard he's trouble."

"In what way?"

As if to answer her question a journalist asked the man on the podium about his stance on slavery. Coming alive before his audience, both inside the room and in television land, he began to talk on his favourite subject.

-----------

"I'm very glad you asked me about that. As you know I am a firm supporter of 644. I feel very strongly that slaves are property and should be treated as such. If you owned a zoo, would you decide to release a wolf or bear into the city, just because you like the way it behaves? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. Releasing slaves into the general population is the same thing.

I've said it before and I will say it again, ladies and gentlemen, slaves are unstable and not subject to the same thought processes as the rest of us. Recent events here and in other cities are showing that to us on a weekly basis. We have them terrorising neighbourhoods, killing the free and their supporters blowing things up. To me this is not an indication that these creatures should walk among us, rather it is proof positive that they need to be kept in servitude.

I would like to say that I do believe in the buying and selling of slaves. They provide several vital functions which would not be filled by normal employment. They also help to reduce violent crime by allowing people to vent their frustrations at the arenas. As you can see," here he held his arm out to indicate Thorn, "I myself own a bodyguard and have done for over a year. We need to use these resources."

"Mr Dettore, how would you tackle the problem of those slaves that have already been emancipated by their owners?" The question came from a man in the second row.

"I am glad you asked. That would be remedied by simply initiating a nation wide crack down. Police would have the authority to enter homes and recapture the slaves. This would be perfectly legal if the emancipation rights were to be repealed. Naturally some people will baulk at these measures but I feel it is the only way to keep our streets safe for our families."

-------------

The questions moved to another topic as the pair sitting on the bed sat in shocked silence. That anyone could believe so vehemently in the subjugation of others amazed hem both. What shocked, and scared, them both was the idea that if this man or any other zealot got into the senate they would once again be torn apart. Francesca couldn't allow herself to think about the implications and instead chose to focus on her day's itinerary.

"Where are you going?" The voice followed her as she got up from the bed.

"I'm going to go and take a shower and throw on some sweats for the shoot, they can make me beautiful when I get there."

"You're always beautiful." The words from the bed were so heartfelt that she found herself moving back to the bed and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of the smaller woman's head.

"You little charmer, you can go and get some breakfast and do your morning routine. We need to be gone by 7. Now scoot!" She ruffled the blonde hair before turning back to the bathroom.

Turning on the faucet she held her hand under the water to test the temperature. Satisfied, she moved into the spray. One of the many perks of sleeping naked after a night of passion was not having to undress. Under the warm caress of the water Francesca allowed her mind to fall into a meditative state, not thinking about anything in particular, especially not what she had seen on the news.

*******

Hunter sat in the kitchen, chatting animatedly with the families cook. The middle aged Frenchman was new to the house, having only arrived a few months ago, and had settled in quickly. Hunter really liked Marcel; he was friendly and fun to talk to. At times his accent was a little too thick to understand but she was hoping to convince him to teach her the language of love. She really wanted to surprise the heiress with that in the bedroom.

"So, little warrior, what do you think the young lady of the house would like for breakfast?" White hat bobbing on his head the older man looked comical as he bustled around the kitchen preparing for the day.

"I hope you don't refer to Mrs Prince as the old lady of the house." They both laughed, Marcel poking his tongue out at the seated woman. "I think that she should have something light today, she didn't say anything but I'm sure she is a little nervous."

"How about a bagel, cream cheese and a little fruit?"

"Add a cup of coffee to that and you'll be onto a winner." As she spoke she was running a finger around the collar of her shirt, never entirely comfortable in this sort of attire.

"You look like a child forced into a school uniform, stop fidgeting! What do you want to eat?" He was already preparing the heiresses meal.

"I have to look the part, like it or not. I wouldn't mind a bagel."

"You, girl, need more than just a bagel to keep that body going. I will make you a stack of pancakes; you have plenty of time yet." The set of his face said that he would not be taking no for an answer.

By the time the pancakes were ready, Francesca was making her way into the kitchen. She greeted the chef with a smile and sat down to her breakfast. The couple smiled at each other as they tucked into their very different repasts.

Marcel watched them eat and bask in each others company. He had not been surprised when the family had revealed the nature of their relationship to him, it was as clear as day to anybody who looked that these two were in love. He would never reveal their secret, he liked the family too much, and he had signed a gag order when he took the job. He couldn't afford to loose his employment under those of circumstances, he would never work again. Deciding to make himself scarce, he moved to the pantry and started to prepare for the day in earnest.

"Are you looking forward to today, Chess?" It was said around a mouthful of food.

"That's disgusting, Rhani!" In response a tongue, liberally coated in partially masticated food was thrust out at her. "Oh, that's really mature! To answer your question; yes I am looking forward to the shoot. It's been a long time since I made a video and I've never done one without Doug breathing down my neck before."

"I'll look forward to watching you, the videos I've seen on cable all look really exciting."

"You'll be bored out of your mind, my darling." Reaching out a long fingered arm she gave the other woman's forearm a squeeze.

"I'll just have to watch you dancing around and think about how sexy you are. Is your publicist going to be there?" It wasn't really a question. The older woman had been referring to the young man like that since she heard about his reaction.

"Yes he will. You just need to ignore him, he's a professional and so am I. Things will be fine." Buzzing filled the air as she finished.

"The car's waiting." Hunter as looking down at the pager clipped to her waist.

Arm in arm they made their way to the car.

*********

Rashid met the pair outside the studio. He approached them tentatively as they exited the car, not sure what to say but knowing that he had to say something. He kept his distance, watching as first the burly warrior emerged, followed closely by the casually dressed starlet. Suddenly rooted to the spot he could do nothing but watch as they got closer and closer, he knew that he was acting irrationally but he just couldn't seem to shake himself out of it.
"Hello Rashid," loath to make eye contact she looked somewhere beyond his shoulder.
"Francesca; Tomasz will be directing you today. He looked at your ideas and has designed some strong visuals. He wants to go through the blocking with you before you go into hair and make-up. I envision the shoot taking a few days, it's quite complex." Staying professional if not friendly, he led the two women into the building.
As the trio walked onto the lot and towards the soundstage, Francesca was safely ensconced between the two. Tension flowed between them, coming off of both her lover and her publicist in equal measure. She knew that Hunter was simply worried that the young man would further upset her; reading him was more difficult. It was hard to understand such a visceral reaction to slaves. Then again, was I much better when Hunter came into my life?
"Darling, so good to see you again! You look fabulous!" Walking through the heavy doors of the studio they were immediately intercepted by a flamboyantly dressed man with a strong Eastern European accent.
"Tomasz!" They shared an air-kiss as they briefly embraced; he turned Rashid and repeated the process. Beside them Hunter was not sure what to make of the colorful man.
"Who is your friend? She looks most familiar." Grey eyes narrowed as he studied her face.
"This is my bodyguard, Hunter."
"Ah, you are the Hunter, yes?" There was clear recognition and respect in his voice.
"You read about the kidnapping in the papers?" The foursome were now walking towards the main part of the studio, Hunter had fallen behind, allowing the business trio to precede her.
"Of course I read the news, Darling, but I know her from her sport." Seeing the clearly puzzled look that the young woman cast his way, he flicked his own gaze to the warrior who looked quite sheepish. "This, my dear, is the most famous Gladiator of the last eight years! My son has all of her bouts and TV spots on disc!"
"Really?"
"Tomasz is right. She looked really familiar when I was at your home the other day but I couldn't really place it. Then I went to visit my brother; he's got pictures of her everywhere, she's almost as famous as you in some circles." Keeping his tone light, he couldn't help but be a little pleased that the brunette appeared perturbed.
"Well, children, as interesting as this is we have work to do," clapping his hands he alerted his staff to his presence. "Let's get to it, Francesca if you'll come with me I will show you what we have planned before you go to hair and makeup." Taking the outstretched hand she allowed herself to be towed away, leaving her two companions in an uneasy silence.
Watching her lover in her element, moving around the director with a self assured grace, the blonde felt immeasurably proud of her. It was good to see her come alive. Naturally she was always full of energy and vitality at home yet in public she always seemed reserved as though she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Here it was different, it wasn't the same energy that she had at home, it was more raw and dangerous. Hearing the man beside her shift his feet, she turned her eyes towards him, satisfied that her charge was safe.
"Mr. Dariwal, you shouldn't feel threatened by me or our relationship."
"I am not intimidated!" Growling he defiantly held her eye, pleased that they were far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the studio not to be heard.
"Sure you are. I saw you looking at her at the restaurant and the house. I may only be a lowly animal in your eyes, sir, but for my sport I had to learn how to read people. You had a crush on her, it was as clear as the nose on your face, and who can blame you?"
"Fine, so you understand a tiny part of my psyche." Crossing his arms over his chest he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was under a microscope.
"I'm not the reason that you can't have her. She is. Maybe if things had been different, if you had met her before Mr. Rose… I don't know. All I do know is that right here, right now; even if I never existed she wouldn't be yours." Her voice was sure.
"You honestly believe that?"
"Yes." It was that simple.
"Then I suppose I'm going to have to get used to you being around."
"That you are, sir. Fran…" Seeing a crew member getting awfully close she stopped mid word. "Miss Prince said that you also had moral considerations. We're not going to flaunt this in your face; wouldn't it be a shame to loose a fried over this?" Holding his eyes for a moment she left him with those words, making her way over to the taller woman who sat having her make-up applied.
Standing beside the counter which hosted a huge variety of pots, tubs and sticks of every colour she was able to stay out of the way while still looking at her partner. It was fascinating to watch the attractive young make-up artist apply the theatrical and exaggerated coating onto her face. Having seen the younger woman make herself up countless times, this was quite a novelty.
"I saw you talking to Rashid." The words were forced out through barely moving lip.
"Mr. Dariwal and I were discussing recent developments. I feel that he may be considering a new perspective."
"Thank you Hunter, I'm glad you took the time to make my position clear." Finally finished being painted like a doll it was time to be dressed like a mannequin. Hunter followed her to the enclosed area of the set like a well mannered dog, carefully maintaining their façade.
********
Cliff sat sprawled on his couch, arms spread across the back, legs akimbo, clothed only in a towel. The white terry cloth was cinched at his waist and left more of his legs exposed than it covered. He could hear the shower running in the other room as he flicked through channels on the television. Usually his conquests wouldn't be allowed to use his things but today was different.
Hearing the water stop he waited patiently for the young woman to emerge. It had been a good night, better than most, perhaps because she was not his usual flavour? He couldn't be sure but he knew that he would do it again. Breaking him from his thoughts, the door of the bathroom was tentatively pushed open and a auburn haired woman came out. Clearly embarrassed she hurried to the door, never looking up.
"Good night Daphne." She mumbled something so low that he couldn't make it out. "Don't forget to say hello to Lawrence for me." Startled eyes snapped up to meet his. "Oh, I won't tell your husband… yet. I'll see you tomorrow at the office. Off you go." Without a second glance she was dismissed. He heard her rush from the room, barely taking the time to close the door.
Relaxing further into the comfort of the leather sofa he contemplated his evening. He didn't usually partake in the pleasures of married women, preferring to take his pleasure from more reliable sources, but when opportunity knocks, only a foolish man ignores it. The red head was gorgeous and she had left herself open to his advances. The silly girl should really not try to steal his company's money if she didn't want to suffer the consequences. When faced with jail or a night with him, she had made the wisest choice.
Lighting a cigarette from the packet on the end table he took a drag just as the phone began to ring. Reaching over he put the phone on speaker before turning the TV to mute.
"This is Cliff Walsh."
"Cliff!" The voice on the end of the line was unmistakable and the slender man's face lit up with a sinister grin.
"Hello Bradley, what do you need at…" glancing at his watch, "one in the morning?"
"I was running over tomorrow's speech and needed your opinion on how I should field questions on 644? I don't want to sound like some sort of zealot or fanatic and I'm afraid it might come across that way. "
"You don't like the speech?" Shit, this wasn't how it worked!
"No Cliff, not at all. It's the panel section. Somebody is bound to ask why I feel so strongly about the proposition." The towel clad man was now leaning forward, cigarette hanging between his legs as he tried to think of a new angle. Then it hit him …and the truth shall set us free.
"Bradley, why not just tell them the truth? Sooner or later some journalist is going to look into your past and it'll be out anyway. Why not beat them to the punch?"
"You don't think that'll damage my stance? "
"It could backfire, certainly, however I think it is more likely to give a real face to your concern."
"I'll think about it, thanks Cliff. "
"No problem, you need to get some sleep!"
"And you, good night."
Hearing the phone hang up he stubbed out his little smoked cigarette he pushed the off button on the phone and put the television on stand-by. Following his own advice he moved towards his own bedroom, dropping his towel as he went. Thinking about his conversation a smile came to his face. He laid on the bed and ran through his plans, even as sleep tried to claim him.
Cliff was not a popular or charismatic man and never had been, but he was smart and cunning. He had political aspirations and knew exactly how to reach them. He was fortunate that when he was just a boy, twelve years old, Bradley Dettore had come into his family and into his life. The other boy was handsome, vivacious and almost as smart as he was, yet he lacked the other boys cunning. Together they were formidable. Although it would seem that they were equal partners to an outsider and even to Bradley, Cliff knew better. He was pulling the strings while his friend remained totally unaware. He had a destiny and he was hell bent on fulfilling it.
********
Fists rained down on the prone body, turning flesh and bone into nothing but bloody pulp. Simply walking down the alleyway, a shortcut to his motel, he had been completely unprepared for what was to follow. No amount of strength or training could save you from ten men or more, hell bent on your destruction. The mob had descended on him so fast that he had barely got a lick in.
When it was over he lay within a pool of his own blood, eyes swollen shut and skull little more than a swollen mass. As the men walked away he could hear heir laughing from what seemed like very far away. They taunted him; called him a slave, a runaway and he didn't have the strength to refute their accusations. Then they were gone… or was he just unable to hear now?
I didn't even win the jackpot!
It was his last thought.
Chapter 8

Making a video was…interesting, Hunter decided after yet another scantily clad young woman breezed by. It wasn't that she was ogling them, but everywhere she looked it was just there! Not that the presence of semi-naked girls meant that the production was a purely 'bump 'n' grind' affair; it had a plot and on screen all of them would be fully clothed. It was the changes between takes that were so titillating. Watching Francesca in these moments was much more difficult, her changes were more frequent and she was always crowded into her trailer and surrounded by a horde of people.

Turning her thoughts away from the hustle and bustle back stage, she looked instead at the set itself. In truth she had been quite impressed with the whole set up. The concept, built around the singer's new track "Revive", put her in the role of a jewel thief out to steal a huge diamond as ransom for her daughter - held captive by a mob boss. Ultimately after stunts, a bit of seduction and a rap segment by the 'boss' she would prevail. The guy playing the other character and featuring on the album was a rapper called Joi Joi Man (Hunter had found it hysterical that his real name was Mungo) who proved to be a great rapper and competent actor. He and the gladiator had hit it off straight away.

The next, and final, take of the day was to be a confrontation between Francesca's character and two henchmen. Hunter had been riveted by Francesca's athleticism, not realising just how powerful and graceful she was. Of course, she had always been aware of the other woman's grace, having watched her work with her choreographer more than once, but seeing her fight, even if only in fun, had a strange impact on the warrior; something primal and long forgotten stirred inside her. Once again trying to disperse the unsettling feeling, hunter realised that the eccentrically flamboyant director was beckoning her over. She moved towards him, noticing that he in turn was moving, towards Francesca, who had just emerged from the costume trailer.

"Francesca, darling, I have had the most fantastic idea!" his effusive hand gestures made the brunette roll her eyes at her lover. "We could use your Hunter in the video! Why have two unknown stuntmen when we could have her?"

"Tomasz, would people really be interested?" Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she wanted to know more about her lovers past. Other than some passing comments about her prominence on the fighting scene, Hunter was quite close lipped on that score. Unbeknownst to either party the subject of their conversation was beginning to feel the crawling finger of terror running up her spine.

"By putting your little pet," at the words the songstress actually flinched, "into the promo we could draw a whole new demographic to your music!"

"Come on Tomasz, I know you and Raz said that Hunter was 'famous' but, honestly, how famous could she be? Nobody's ever approached her for an autograph…" Raucous laughter stopped her in her tracks as the European doubled over with mirth, she raised an eyebrow in consternation and waited for him to finish.

"I'm sorry, my dear, it's just that I find it ironic that you own one of the worlds most well known slaves yet have no idea of slave etiquette." Seeing the puzzled look on her face he chose to elaborate, all the while aware that the subject of their conversation was standing stoically behind him. "The free do not chase the indentured; do not scream their names or hunt for autographs. It's like watching…" here he searched for an analogy, "Lassie. You might think the dog is well trained but you wouldn't want it to sign yr ass; and like the dog, most slaves can't write." He noticed the singer bristle at his dog comment and chanced a glance behind him at the slave, who remained impassive. "So, what do you say?" He swiftly got back to his original point.

Blue eyes shifted to focus on the blond, over Tomasz's shoulder. If he noticed the path of her gaze he made no comment, simply waiting for a response. Intently she studied hooded green eyes as she mulled over the idea. Even as she was going through the pros and cons, Hunter was bracing herself for what was to some, sure she wouldn't like it. Scrutinising the older woman she noticed the fine sheen of sweat at her forehead and the obvious, well obvious to me, she mused, panic in the constantly shifting eyes. What troubles you so about this, my love? The sight of the other woman's stark vulnerability made her decision for her.

"Tomasz, I think that sounds like an excellent idea," Hunter physically deflated at the words, collapsing in on herself, "but I would rather Hunter concentrate on her role as my protector, rather than something you've concocted." She barely heard his disappointed acceptance, dimly aware that she only had minutes before she would film the next scene; she was too busy watching her lover. As Tomasz scampered off, Francesca took the opportunity to grasp the blonde's forearm and pull her inside the nearby trailer.

When she had given the director her response she had seen Hunter's face lighten, like the sun appearing from behind a cloud. She had known then that she needed to spend what time she could alone with her partner. Once safely inside the empty trailer she latched the door behind them to ensure a measure of privacy. Turning back to her bemused partner she reached up and ran the backs of her fingers over a soft cheek. Hunter leaned gratefully into the touch, mind still reeling from the conversation outside.

"You OK, Rhani?" Blue eyes were soft as she turned her hand to hold the smaller woman's jaw in her palm.

"Thank you," it was barely a whisper as she let herself sag into the cupped hand.

"How could I do something you wouldn't want? You're a free woman now, sweetheart. We make decisions together, not for each other." She leaned down to rest her forehead against the shorter woman's. "I saw how troubled you were by Tomasz's idea and I want to know why," they locked eyes, "but not now. It can wait till tonight. Right now I think you could use this more than an inquisition." She drew the other woman's face up and brought their lip together in a tender kiss, hands tangling in short hair as strong fingers made to clasp her own hips.

Francesca parted her lips in a moan and the woman caressing her hips took the invitation and entered her warm mouth with a questing tongue. Soon the kiss escalated in intensity and, if not for the sudden, frantic, pounding on the door which shook the thin aluminium, it would have moved far beyond simple kisses. Reluctantly pulling apart they helped to straighten each others clothes out, the brunette reaching out to wipe a smear of lipstick from her lover's mouth. Sharing a parting smile, Francesca followed a harassed looking young man onto the set.



Running a towel through freshly washed hair she roughly dislodged the worst of the clinging water. Finally satisfied that she would not drip all over the house she balled up the soaked towel and threw it into the bathroom hamper and picked up her comb from the vanity. With an economy of motion she swiftly ran the comb through inky tresses, smoothing it away from her face, letting it fall in an onyx cascade down her back. Pulling on a huge T-shirt, emblazoned with the smiling face of a cartoon character, which fell to mid thigh and a pair of panties, she strolled into the bedroom.

Looking around the spacious sleeping quarters that she shared with her partner she was surprised to see it empty. There was no sign of the bodyguard anywhere. Making the decision to go in search of her, blue eyes lit on the clock pleased to see that it was still relatively early. Leaving the room she first took a quick peek into her children's rooms, happy to see all three of them were sleeping peacefully. It was still only an hour after they were tucked it and she hoped that the rest of the night would be nightmare free.

Continuing down the hall she quickly checked the study just to make sure that the other woman wasn't there. Standing briefly beside the window to admire the beautifully designed grounds that stretched before her, illuminated by the waning summer sun, she heard a faint clanging sound. Grinning at this new found knowledge she headed down the stairs and out of the house, towards the back patio. Fortunately the night was balmy and she was more than warm enough in her skimpy attire. Bare feet slapping on the smooth stone floor she made her way to the corner of the house and peered around, suddenly transfixed by what she saw.

At the back of the house, just beyond the sun loungers, several pieces of gym equipment had been placed. Much of it was still kept in the courtyard of the stables but when work had started on the damaged portion of the mansion, destroyed in the bombing, her father had decided to go ahead and extend this area. Standing and watching, Francesca was very glad he had.

There, on the couch of the bench press lay Hunter. Her legs splayed feet planted firmly on the floor and back pushed firmly into the leather covered foam of the bench. Arms shoulder width apart and pistoning up and down in sure, steady strokes; she lifted the bar and its weights with ease. It was clear to her admirer that she had been at this since she went into the shower as her pale grey tank top was stained almost black with sweat. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and her cheeks were ruddy.

Noticing the beads of perspiration on toned forearms, tendons stark against the skin with each upward thrust, she found herself tracking its path down her arm and into the fabric at her shoulder. Eyes focused on the erotic display of flexing muscles and sweat as she remembered the first time she has watched the gladiator perform this exact same exercise.

It had been in the early days of their re-acquaintance, when she had been drawn to and repulsed by the warrior in equal measure. She remembered how she had watched the flex and play of flesh and muscle, unsure and uncomfortable then about her feelings towards the blond. No such doubt held her back now. Throwing off her revelry she continued towards her very tempting destination. The slapping of feet on concrete alerted her prey to her approach, making the bodyguard grin, yet show no other sign that she knew of her impending visit. She would let her lover play this out; she knew how much the singer loved to play.

A hand was soon splayed against the moist skin of her abdomen, gently caressing the rippled flesh of her well defined abs. Seeing no discernable reaction from the focused athlete, she decided to up the anti and scratch a path down the exposed stomach, dipping into her navel. Rewarded with a slight shiver but no verbal sign she finally did what she had wanted to since the first time she witnessed this. Lifting one long, perfect leg she straddled the bench, and her lover, settling her weight onto the taut muscle. As she settled in place, feet on the floor supporting some of her mass, the barbell came to a sudden halt, poised part way between the cradle and Hunter's chest.

"Chess, that is really distracting." Hunter tried to sound peeved yet only succeeded in sounding bemused.

For her part, Francesca barely heard what her lover said, so distracted was she by her own actions. Straddling her protector like this had seemed the perfect was to drive her to distraction, she hadn't quite realised how deeply she, herself, would be affected. The second her naked thighs made contact with sweat slicked skin she lost her concentration. Her panties were fast becoming a sodden mass, absorbing her lover's sweat from below and her arousal from within. Realising that her love was waiting for some sort of response she made what she hoped was an intelligible answer. Unfortunately for her all Hunter heard was a very sexy groan.

Rising up, Hunter racked the apparatus and leaned up to look into her lover's face. The vision that greeted her was Francesca, head thrown back and eyes shuttered as she began to grind into the body beneath her. Long fingered, perfectly manicured hands roamed her own body, one reaching under the baggy shirt and cupping her breast, revealing a wide expanse of tanned skin exposed. Licking suddenly dry lips, the warrior reached out and clasped the goddess before her by the hips. Drawing herself up, she brought them chest-to-chest. Dazed blue eyes suddenly focused on the angelic face that was now only inches from her own, blinking owlishly.

"You've stopped?" Genuine confusion laced her voice.

"Yes, Chess, I've stopped. I thought you and I could have a different sort of workout." Having thought that she was being rather sexy the blond was disconcerted to see a pout forming on aquiline features. "Or not."

Hearing the disappointment in her partner's voice broke Francesca out of her sensual haze. Drawing her hand out from her shirt she reached up to trace Hunter's furrowed brow, causing green eyes to lock with blue. Leaning in she pressed a kiss to a flushed cheek before finally settling both hands on strong, tattooed shoulders.

"Sorry, I got a little rapped up in my fantasy." Receiving a sardonic 'really' in reply she smirked and pushed on. "As much as I would love to follow your suggestion, Rhani, I sort of had my own plan."

"Oh?" The hands massaging her shoulders were slowly drifting towards her breasts. "Do tell?"

"Well, ever since the first time I watched you do this I've always wanted to touch you. To run my hands over your glistening skin while you strain under that bar." Smiling slightly she confessed, "That first time, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the beads of sweat on your skin and I had no idea why! I didn't even like you at the time." Seductively a finger found its way under damp, grey Lycra. "So, do you want to help me live out my fantasy?"

"Um, Chess," she swallowed convulsively, trying to calm her raging hormones, "you know, that sounds fantastic but somebody could walk out on us."

"Don't worry about that; mother and father are at that charity event with the boys. The children are fast asleep and the place is locked up like a fortress. I'm sure Megan and Shep have better things to do than come looking for us," well I hope they do, "so why not relax and let go?" She could see the older woman's resolve crumbling.

"And if the kids wake up?"

"And if the children wake up that's why we now have a very well paid nanny who does very little. She's just down the hall from them and won't bother us unless it's an emergency."

"You're sure she's ok with them?" This was a conversation they had shared several times since Francesca made the decision that she needed a nanny, and she wasn't about to get into it again.

"Yes, Hunter, I'm sure Delores, our very well qualified nanny will be able to get Rochel a glass of water." An elegant eyebrow rose, "you know, you're really killing the mood?" Hunter had to agree, the sweat was cooling on her skin and she was beginning to feel sticky. Noticing that the sun had completely lost its battle and night had fallen around them, leaving the fluorescent deck lights to hold court during their debate, the warrior finally gave in.

"You win!"

"Yay me! I always get the best prizes." She clapped her hands in glee. "On your back woman; get pumping!"

"Sweetie?" The brunette halted in her efforts to force the much more powerful woman onto her back. "Could I take some of the weight off? I won't exactly have my full attention on it. I promise that you won't know the difference!" Reluctantly the singer moved off of her lap and watched as she efficiently removed two of the smaller disks from each end of the bar. As the blond bent to place them back in the rack, Francesca surreptitiously shimmied out of her panties and kicked them away.

Hunter moved back to the bench and resumed her earlier position under the bar. Knowing that her lover wouldn't settle back onto her stomach just yet, she made a show of gripping the bar and hefting it down for the first time. With practiced ease she began to perform reps, feeling her body strain and relax in a familiar routine. As she finished her first set, placing the bar back in its cradle, she raised her head, fixing her mesmerised partner with an inviting stare. Not needing further encouragement the lithe figure slithered up her partner's body to once again straddle the firm abdomen.

Hunter's eyes snapped open as she felt the liquid heat of her lover's arousal slide against her skin. Determined to bring the fantasy to life she began to work the bar more forcefully, hearing a gasp of pleasure as her abs clenched together, lending her greater power. As she moved she could feel Francesca begin a steady rocking above her and slender fingers trailing over her own skin.

Feeling the arousal burning through her in waves, the singer knew that it wouldn't be long before she crashed upon the shore. Leaning forward as she continued to undulate back and forth, she ran her fingers up and under the bottom of her lover's top, pushing it over her breasts. Revealed to the cool air her nipples were instantly erect. Beginning to regret this idea, Francesca knew she couldn't take one in her mouth as she would end up brained by the heavy bar. Pulling back slightly she saw that Hunter was racking the bar in order to relax a little before another set. Pouncing on the opportunity revealed to her she slid forward, under the bar, until her face hovered over the blonde's.

"Yes?" It was drawled as strong hands slid over her shirt and under the hem.

"Change of plans." Panted breaths increased in tempo as a calloused hand dipped between them to tease her painfully ready clit.

Lips clashed together in a heated kiss, tongues duelling between mouths as blunt fingers entered the heiress. Feeling her lover close to the edge she pumped hard and fast, feeling hands tightening on her biceps. Finally ripping her lips from the woman under her Francesca let out a scream of pleasure as she climaxed; jerking back in the throes of ecstasy her head slammed into the bar. Seeing stars the younger woman tumbled sideways onto the floor.

Laying there, stupefied, she found the concerned face of the warrior hovering over her. Smiling ruefully, head beginning to throb dully, she croaked out, "Maybe I should let you take me to bed?" Strong arms scooped her up effortlessly and soon she was being carried into the house.


"Can you believe the nerve of that man?" Darla could feel her blood boil.

"I know, darlin', but you won't win over the likes of him. He gives at events like this and really does think that is enough." Salvatore steered his wife to a corner where there eldest son stood, clutching a champagne flute.

Studying Nathaniel as they drew closer, all the while listening to his wife's rant, he couldn't help but feel a little sad for his eldest child. Nate had always been the quietest of the three, studious and earnest in equal measure. He took so much responsibility for what happened in both his business and personal life that his father often feared that he would burn himself out. Comfortable in the boardroom and known to be a shrewd and dangerous man to cross, he floundered in social settings. Both Francesca and Rodrigo were such vibrant, friendly people that others expected the same from Nate, making him feel further isolated. His failed marriage had driven home to him that family were the only people who really understood him.

As though conjured up by his father's musings, Rodrigo came barrelling through the crowd; joining his parents as they finally reached his brother. Dressed similarly to the older men in a tuxedo, the playboy managed to look fashionably rumpled. Composing himself while the greetings were made around him, he began to relate what he had heard.

"You're not going to believe what I just heard!" He was clearly indignant, bordering on outright hostility.

"What could be that bad son?" Just like his mother! "You know these things are always full of bluster." He tried to avoid the incredulous look directed at him by his wife.

"That ass Dettore is here; he's in the other room spouting his anti slave bullshit! People are in there lapping it up!" Seething now, "his new idea? Revoke emancipation! Take away people's liberty for a second time! If he gets into office he plans to round people up like animals. Their children…" his voice had been steadily rising, attracting more than a little unwanted attention.

"Alright boy," Sal placed his hand on a tense shoulder, "calm down. This is, indeed, troubling news but we can't let people know we have an issue."

"Your father's right, Roddie, settle down. I think that we should leave fairly soon, the girls need to know about this." She turned to her taciturn child. "Nate, sweetheart, would you go and collect our coats and call the chauffer?" He visibly sagged in relief that they were on their way.

"Thanks mom," leaning over he placed a kiss on her cheek before putting a large hand on his baby brother's shoulder. "Come on, kid, you can help." As they walked away he muttered darkly, "we won't let her get hurt again, Rod, don't worry."

Watching their children walk away, mostly unmolested by other revellers, Sal knew that he and Darla would have a longer road to home. Unlike his wife, he generally enjoyed these functions. A pragmatist at heart, he saw the irony of the lamenting figures who gave so little to the charities they professed to support. Usually few people could rile him but his son's news had shaken him to the core. Francesca would be broken beyond repair if Hunter was taken from her again and he just couldn't let that happen.

"Are you ready?" He directed his stormy gaze to his wife who looked equally troubled.

"Not just yet, Sal. I think we should go and introduce ourselves to Mr Dettore and his supporters. Find out the lay of the land." He couldn't argue with her logic so he followed her towards the busy side room.

Bradley Dettore stood tall beside the fireplace, hand swirling a glass of brandy. By all appearances he was the epitome of a rich young bachelor, a father's dream fro his daughter. Unfortunately in Sal's case he was a nightmare. He watched a middle aged, paunchy, woman engage him in conversation, gushing over his every word. Moving towards the politician, Darla already having peeled off into the crowd, Sal found himself stopped by a group of his peers.

"Sal, how are you, you old devil?" It was forced out around a cigar.

"You finally gave in and brought some slaves, I knew you would. Your idealism couldn't last in the face of cheap labour, whose could? Don't feel bad, old boy, we still respect you." Respect like that he could live without. Even knowing how well things had turned out he still felt bad for having owned another human being.

Quickly excusing himself he finally had his chance to meet the infamous Mr Dettore, "Senator Dettore, I've been dieing to meet you. I'm Salvatore Prince; I trust you've heard of me?" He could see the younger man's eyes widen in recognition and awe.

"A real pleasure to meet you, Mr Prince but it isn't senator just yet." He was certainly charming with his bright smile and honeyed voice.

"Please call me Salvatore," an old ploy but an effective one.

"And you must call me Brad! This really is an honour, sir. Your business is an inspiration to me. You attitude towards slavery and its use in industry is so refreshing," Sal's shot open; "You use real men and women who add to other parts of society, paying a wage. So many people use slaves at the expense of free men and women. Yet another reason why slaves need to be legislated against and kept in their place."

"Quite, although you do know that I now own quite a fully stable of personal slaves?" How would the other man respond to this?

"Oh, of course I know that Sal. In fact I own a slave from the very same auction as you. I even bought her for the same reason; protection. I am not a fool, although some of those pro-slave sympathisers would disagree, I recognise the role slaves play in our society. We could not abolish slavery; I simply think that it should be regulated and that slaves should not take jobs from the free. They should be given the most menial and dangerous jobs, ones where if an individual is harmed or killed in its execution it would not matter." Here he paused fixing keen eyes on the mogul. "I suppose that's why I can't quite understand why you tried so hard to retrieve that one you had stolen."

"Well, Brad, when your daughter wants her new toy back you do what you can." You sly little bastard! Try to lull me with flattery will you? I've been playing this game since before you were born! "I've heard you have some interesting ideas on people's rights to free their slaves?"

"Indeed. If I get into office I intend to put legislation in place to stop that practice. I feel that only the state should have the power to free slaves, and that it shouldn't really be done at all. I also intend to recapture those who have previously been released in order to clean up society. It shouldn't be too hard to put them back to their original jobs."

"Sounds like a big job." Time to get out of here, "Oh, I see my wife waving to me. I think that means its time to go. I'll see you again, Brad."


The four occupants of the limousine sat in stunned silence, finally able to absorb the importance of what they had heard. Night had fallen, wrapping them in darkness as they drew closer to the house. Normally the boys would be taken to their homes by the driver before depositing the family founders, but by unspoken agreement they had decided to return to the mansion.

Earlier, as they had pulled away from the curb, Rodrigo and Sal had compared notes and come to a silencing conclusion. The youngest Prince could once again end up suffering at another's hands. Not usually a political animal, Rodrigo was now hell bent on preventing the other man's election. Nate, more of a realist than his sibling, was preparing for the worst. All he knew for certain was that they had done well to keep the release of their slaves quiet. Most of the journey had been a quiet affair.

Arriving home they all noticed only a few lights burning inside the house. Darla was keen eyed enough to see light spilling around the corner from the patio at the rear of the house. Seeing nothing amiss, the groups proceeded inside, Sal punching in the number combination that acted as a key.

Walking into the brightly lit foyer, they were stunned to see Hunter carrying Francesca up the stairs. Both women looked dishevelled and very amused. Having failed to notice their impromptu audience, the young brunette suddenly gripped her lover's shoulder, making her freeze in her ascent.

"My panties!" Four sets of eyebrows crawled into their hairlines as they realised; they hadn't walked in on the start of something but in the middle.

Almost dropping the slender woman, the warrior put her on the landing and turned to charge downstairs and coming face-to-face with her in-laws. Turning a bright crimson in embarrassment, she froze, forgetting that her tight top was pushed up, exposing her breasts. This fact did not go unnoticed by the three men; Sal quickly averted his eyes holding back a chuckle as he saw his sons openly gaping.

"Rhani, I think you've missed something." Darla turned the mortified woman away and helped her straighten her top, all the while shooting daggers at her sons. "You just go and do whatever you were off to do." She patted a grey covered bottom and sent her on her way like a child. Docilely she complied. "Not a word!" A raised finger punctuated the words as she turned to her children. "I think we should discuss things in the morning, you two go on home."

Nate and Roddie grinned at their mother while nodding acceptance; the comical (and sexy) display having brought them out of their funk. Nothing was going to happen between now and 8am. Feeling mischievous, they looked at one another before calleing up the stairs, "Night Princess!" A very embarrassed face popped over the banister, clearly having been hiding.

"Hello boys, mum…dad," on the last word her voice became a squeak.

Laughing uproariously the two men turned to leave, kissing both parents on the cheek before exiting the house. Unlike his sons, Sal's mirth was not strong enough to push aside his fears. Putting on a happier tone than he felt, he called a good night to his daughter before distortedly kissing his wife and disappearing into the bowels of the house.

Darla shook her head at the antics of her sons and in concern over her husband. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the warrior shuffling back into the house. Choosing to avoid too much further embarrassment for the young women she smiled encouragingly at the blond. Turning towards her daughter, who remained peeking down from above, she smiled brightly.

"Have fun, dear. See you in the morning." Winking at her daughter she repressed her own chuckle - that girl was just too easy. With a negligent wave she followed her husband's path into the house.


Later that night, they lay wrapped in each others arms, talking softly and trading gentle kisses. As was their custom, Hunter sat with her back against the headboard, supported by pillows while Francesca pillowed her own head on the warrior's ample chest. Looking down during a lull in conversation she realised that the taller woman was examining one of her breasts. She had no need to ask what was being scrutinized so closely with a look of concern.

"I'm all better now, you know. It's just cosmetic. That guy you got did a really good job." There had been some concern over her physical state when she had first been liberated from Jordan's clutches and Francesca stilled dwelled on it at times. Even the plastic surgeon who had repaired maimed nipple had not been able to hide all of the damage.

"I know, but…" Sighing she lowered her lips and kissed the crescent scare that surrounded her areola. To blue eyes it still looked angry and a little puckered, yet she struggled past her morass. A thought suddenly popped into her head, "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you about today."

"Oh?" Hunter knew where this was going and didn't particularly want to take that trip.

"You seemed really worried about Tomasz's idea and I was honestly considering it until I saw the look on your face. So, I said we'd talk later and it's later now."

"No getting away from this, is there?"

"No."

"It's really nothing, I just though that part of my life was over. Just the idea of being paraded around like a piece of meat makes my skin crawl. You didn't follow my sport or support slavery until I was already here, if you had you would have seen my picture everywhere.

Tomasz was right, people didn't want my autograph, or to talk to me but they do want to know me and see my image. I was on TV, newscasts, newspapers for my 'sport'," the word was spat in contempt. "There were magazines and pay-per-view channels that we were put on. I guess it was a lot like what you have to do so I feel a little silly… you have to understand that they weren't gentle with us. They couldn't beat us when they were going to photograph us, unless that was the image they were after, so they had more creative forms of punishment. Asphyxiation and shocks were the control methods of choice." Seeing the shadow in blue eyes she sighed, "Just another ghost from my past."

Spurred on by her partner to reveal more, she laid out tales of electrocution, burning and near suffocation in tiny crate-like prisons. Francesca took it all in and began to understand.


Walking into the lounge the next morning the heiress was surprised to see not only her parents but her tow brothers all clearly waiting for her. Moving to the sofa and sitting between her brothers she cocked her head and waited for them to fill her in. Just as Sal opened his mouth to get started, Hunter barrelled in, followed by the children dressed and ready for school. Standing uncomfortably in the doorway, Delores waited for her instructions for the day.

"Hunter, go and sit with Princess, please. Delores, you'll be taking the children to school today." The reserved young woman nodded ascent. "Now, munchkins, kiss us and it's off with you."

"But grampa…" Terrance started to pout.

"But me no buts, boy. You have to go to school." Castigated, the children rushed around the room, planting kisses on cheeks. Finally they hugged their mothers and her protector before tripping out of the door. Following the children's progress with his eyes, Sal saw that it was now time to begin. He was beaten to the punch by his daughter.

"What's going on, dad?" Being a Prince for 29 years, she knew when something was bothering her father.

"Princess, we heard some rather unsettling talk at the party last night. That Dettore fellow was there spouting his anti-slave propaganda and outlining his future plans."

"OK dad, he hates slaves, I knew that already. How does that affect us?"

"He doesn't just have plans for slaves; he has plans for former slaves. If he gets into office he plans to round up anybody who has been freed and force them back into bondage." The youngest Prince's face dropped as understanding dawned.

"What can we do?" Solve the problem, that was all that was going through her mind.

"Francesca," Nate spoke for the first time, "There isn't anything we can do. I looked at the poles this morning and he is really pulling ahead. I don't think anybody will catch him now. We do have a slim chance if we throw a lot of support at his closest competitor…"

"That guy's a prick too!" Trust Rodrigo to cut to the chase.

"As much as I agree with the boys I think we need to be practical. This could affect us deeply. I've already contacted my lawyers; they're burying the emancipation orders we had drawn up for our slaves. Hopefully they'll be well enough buried to avoid detection."

"They will know Meg is free." Low words sounded from the floor where Hunter sat at her lover's feet.

"True, Hunter, but there is little we can do about that other than formulate some reason why I would send a slave to college." A rueful smile, "Maybe I'll finally become eccentric."
"We need to find Savage and Snake, warn them about what is happening and let them in on our plans." Darla had not interjected until now, happy to let the men carry the conversation. She had been far too busy studying the quiet couple. They would get through this; they had to. Thank god for Hunter's level head, she had always insisted on playing the familiar role of surf in public, much to her partner's discomfort. Now, that might just save them both.

Chapter 9

It fell from nerveless fingers to clatter harmlessly on the shiny wooden floor. Faintly she could hear the person on the other end asking if she was still there. Taking a deep breath to regain her composure, the family matriarch scooped up the receiver and placed it back to her ear.

"Ma'am? You still there?" The man on the other end of the phone sounded genuinely concerned.

"Yes officer, I'm so sorry about that. I was just so shocked by the news, we've been wondering where he was." Her voice sounded calm and she thanked years of practice that she could put on such an act.

"Mrs Prince, we would like to speak to you and your family. Would it be convenient to send over a detective today?"

"Of course, I'll tell my husband and daughter to expect you. Francesca will be shooting today so the detective will need to arrive after six." What else could she say? Numbly she replaced the receiver, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off the approaching headache. Sighing sadly she went off in search of her husband.


Finally, the video shoot was over, and not a minute too soon as far as the young heiress was concerned. Two days since her troubling conversation with her family, the last thing on her mind was following the orders of the flamboyant director. Alone in the costume trailer, having dismissed the grabbing hands of her dressers, she tore the clinging black material and threw it aside. The sooner she could get out of here the better. Easing the skirt over her hips she let it fall to the floor, negligently stepping out of it as she walked over to her street clothes.

Picking up her jeans she bent to put them on, coming face-to-face with her reflection in a floor length mirror. Blue fabric fell to the floor, forgotten, to bunch around her right ankle as she rose to stand. Eyes locked on her image as she studied the grim face that stared back. Even though worry was etched on her visage, from the grim set of her mouth to the flint in her eyes, it actually made her look strong and resolute.

Continuing to examine herself she admitted that her current appearance was a far cry from the timid figure she had been just eighteen months ago. Confidence that Douglas had spent years beating out of her had come back ten fold. It was almost as though his death had let her breathe for the first time. She even looked taller now that she no longer hung her head and shielded herself from prying eyes. Not that there weren't still people watching her every move, she just didn't have to worry about a raised hand or voice if something went wrong. That was an incredibly liberating experience for the young woman even in the face of the newest crisis facing her family.

Nothing bad is going to happen to Rhani, resolved in her thoughts she pulled her jeans up her long, toned legs and pulled her thin, v-necked sweater over her head. Even though the news had scared her, she had decided that she would not panic, and so far she had managed to concentrate on her relationship and not any looming drama. Smoothing her hair she walked towards the door and sat to pull on her shoes. As she began to tie the laces in her right sneaker a soft rap sounded on the thin door.

"Come in," Francesca didn't need to look up to know who stood in the arch of the doorway. The uncomfortable sound of shuffling and a slight, nervous throat clearing were more than enough of a giveaway. "Hello Raz."

"Hi…" She glanced up in time to see him rub the back of his neck like a flustered schoolboy. Not really in the mood to placate the man's irrational fears of bicker with him she fixed him with a clear blue stare.

"Did you want something?" More biting than she had planned she had too much on her mind to think about his feelings.

"Oh, yeah, Tomasz said that he's really pleased with the video. I was really glad it went well…" OK, be a grown up Rashid! "I am really sorry about the way I've behaved towards you and your partner. She and I spoke and she made me realise a few things that I wasn't seeing. I'd also like to apologise for my absence from the set these last few days." Francesca had been wondering about his abrupt departure, he was usually really hands on when she did this sort of thing.

"Thank you, Raz, I appreciate you trying. Where have you been?" Shoes fastened she stood and snagged her jacket.

"I was canvassing for some good venues for you to peddle your wears. I've got you booked onto some really great TV interviews in the next two weeks. I've got all the information and I've left it in your limo. Read it through this afternoon and I'll call you tonight to get confirmation." Glee was written all over his face, this was the man that Francesca liked to call friend. "This'll be huge! These will be your first real interviews since everything happened so we'll have to work on some of your Q and A." Spinning off into his planning he wandered off as they left the trailer, throwing a distracted wave at the woman who move din the opposite direction.

"You look pleased."

"Agh!" A manicured hand clutched at her chest as a rather undignified scream left her lips.

"Sorry, I thought you knew I was waiting there." Chastened, Hunter hung her head, staring fixedly at the floor, idly scuffing the toe of her shoe.

"Oh, honey," remembering too late where they were she glanced around at the endearment and relaxed to see nobody was close by, "I was just a little preoccupied by Raz, that's all." Green eyes peered from under shaggy blond bangs. Now that's just too darn cute! She looks like she did when we were 8!

Seeing the gooey look on her lover's face she Hunter returned it, "So, why are you looking so pleased?"

"Raz seems to be getting over his case of ass-hole-itus, he apologised and even told me about the conversation you two had the other day. I think he'll be OK, I'd really hate to have to replace him, that'd be a real pain." They began to walk towards the exit, Francesca waving and smiling at people as she passed by.

Before they reached the long, black vehicle waiting for them they were intercepted by Tomasz. Unusually, today he was dressed rather conservatively in a tailored purple suit and tie, well it's only conservative because it's on Tomasz, mentally Hunter rolled her eyes at the thought, the director simply had that effect on her.

"It has been fantastic to work with you again, Francesca. I hope that we will do it again in the future, no?"

"I couldn't agree more. I have had a really great time on this. I'll see you soon," they embraced and shared air kisses on each cheek before the director nodded at the silent guard and headed to his office.

Maybe now we can get out of here! Hunter's suit was really irritating her, she didn't mind wearing it but one of the best parts of her day was falling into the limo on the way home and whipping off her shirt and tie. Today that was being delayed and making her a bit grouchy.

Out of the corner of her eye the singer could see her protector fidgeting. Anybody else would have seen the bodyguard, standing still, at her charges side as she did every day. Francesca, who was becoming more intoned to the other woman's subtle body language could see it all; the slight twitching in small hands, not even the clenching of fists, the occasional raise and stretch of her chin all screamed 'home time' to the heiress. Quickly checking that nobody was watching them in the parking lot, she reached out and briefly squeezed a rough hand.

"Come on, lets get out of here," a beaming smile spread over angelic features as she reached around the lithe figure to open the door.

One long, denim covered leg lifted into the car, its owner bending low to follow it inside. Settling comfortably into the leather seat, the door closed behind her with a soft snick. Smiling softly she waited for the other woman to join her. One more convention of their relationship outside the house, Hunter always go into the car on the other side after letting Francesca in, it would be unseemly for the 'master' to scoot over for the slave to get in.

Suddenly the other door was pulled open; bright sunlight flooding the tinted gloom of the interior. A beaming smile lit up her face as she turned to face the figure in t doorway, only to fall as she saw who it was.

"Hay, babe, don't look so pleased to see me!" Joi Joi Man affected a hang-dog look of hurt even as he threw himself into the car. Looking over his shoulder she saw Hunter looking through the door with an expression that read 'you try and stop him!' a dark eyebrow quirked.

"Mungo wanted to say bye," as the words left her mouth she started to chuckle, straightening up and leaning against the door frame to wait for them to finish. Allowing herself to admire her girlfriend's firm butt, she almost forgot that she wasn't alone until he spoke.

"You know, she gets entirely too much of a kick out of my name! You hit the jackpot with her, girl, she's a hoot!" White teeth shone from his wide smile and Francesca could well understand why his record label signed him. His dark chocolate skin glowed flawlessly and his boyish good looks and charm were contrasted well by his massive height and musculature. He was the epitome of rapper chic, with the personality of a naughty schoolboy…and he wasn't a bad rapper either!

"I can't disagree with you there, she is a real god send," in more ways than you can imagine, "and if you didn't want her to laugh at you, you shouldn't have told her your first name!"

"Look, I thought it'd be a nice ice breaker with her."

"Why did you want to break the ice with her?" Honestly, she'd been curious about that from the start.

"I just knew that we'd be spending time together, which meant that she would be there too," picking at his nail he looked up nervously. "She's a person, like us, I couldn't just act like she wasn't there because somebody made her a slave."

"I like the way you think," she leaned over to touch his arm.

"I knew you'd understand!" He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a card. "I usually don't put this around, especially not in the industry 'cause so many people treat slaves like another bit of bling, but I know I can trust you." Shit, he knows! Francesca was on the verge of panic, stay calm! "I'm a member of this group, we work to end slavery. Mainly, I just donate - not good for my career to be seen doing this. You might want to take a look." Slender fingers reached out and snagged the card.

"Thank you Mungo." Knowing that Hunter had been listening to every word, she could almost picture the smile on her face. Choosing to change topic before he left, she asked the other question that had been plaguing her since they met. "Where the hell did your parent's come up with that name?"

"Well," he stretched out the word, tantalisingly, "my mom's called Divine and when she was younger this actor got into trouble with a hooker called Divine. Anyway when my parents found out they were having me my mother's warped sense of humour decided I should be named after that actor, apparently Mungo's his middle name." Francesca was near tears with laughter.

"You poor bastard," a shaggy blond head leaned through the doorway, eyes fixed on him.

"Yeah, well, I expect you two to keep that little titbit quiet! I don't tell anybody, it won't even be in my autobiography if I can help it!" Chirping from his wrist drew his attention. "I gotta go girls, got a photo op in twenty minutes." He leaned forward to kiss the brunette's cheek. "Keep in touch, babe." He clambered out of the car and past Hunter with a pat on the shoulder and was gone. Finally the other woman was able to get into the car and close the door.

With the closing of the door the car started and pulled off from the lot. It was good to have a driver who could use his initiative. Francesca eased herself into the corner of the seat, back in the v where it met the door so that she could watch her partner. In almost frantic movements the smaller woman had already lot the jack and was now almost frantically pulling the shirt over her head to reveal a white wife-beater. It soon became obvious to her audience that she was stuck, shirt wrapped around her head and arms at a bizarre angle as she grew more and more frustrated. Finally, with arms wedged over her head and face peering halfway out of her shirt where it was wedged, a single green eye turned pleadingly to her observer.

"Little help?" The feeble gesture she made with her arms was what broke the singers resolve not to laugh and she giggled freely as she moved to the rescue. Something she had learnt early in her relationship with the warrior was that you didn't interfere until she asked, so she had sat back and waited.

"Relax Rhani, I'll take care of you." Hunter went completely still and let her childhood friend reach inside the folds of the shirt and loosen the knot of her tie, when that was done she snapped open a couple of buttons and pulled the shirt free.

"Thank you," leaning forward she kissed her lover and snagged her rumpled shirt, folding it as best she could and laying it on another seat. "You love me for my finesse, right?"

"You, lover, have a lot more going for you than that!" Francesca proceeded to show her lover one of those things.


"Your mother's left you five messages, Chess I think you should call her back and find out what's wrong." Arm flung to the side, elbow bent awkwardly so that she could look at the display on the little phone, Hunter tried to make her languid lover respond. Said lover was currently sprawled across her, on her stomach, pinning the smaller woman to the seat.

"Can't it wait?" The words were slurred and exasperated.

"I don't think so. It must be really urgent; you should do something on this trip home, we only have fifteen minutes left and you haven't even looked at the papers Raz left." Jerking upwards like some sort of demented marionette, she cast about for the phone before falling back into place as the auto-dialler did its work.

"Mom, it's me. What's with all the messages?" At least she didn't sound like she'd been heavy petting with her girlfriend in the back of a limousine… How old am I? I'm like a teenager at prom! The thought popped into her head, but before she could feel self conscious about it she looked up into green eyes, and I love it!

"Princess, the police called this morning, Savage was murdered in Vegas." Darla didn't get further than that before there was a thud on the other end of the line and she realised her daughter had had the same reaction as she had.

At the look on her face, Hunter raised them both to a sitting position, Francesca straddling her lap, and folded her in a warm embrace. The stricken younger woman buried her head in a muscular shoulder and breathed raggedly. Tentatively Hunter reached down, stretching to snag the phone with fingertip and drag it to where she could pick it up.

"Darla, what's going on? Chess has just closed down." The worry in her voice was evident.

"Hunter, its not good. The police called me this morning. Savage has been killed. They want to come over and interview us, they think that he's an escapee."

"It just never ends, does it?" Defeated the warrior rested her cheek on dark hair.

"Now don't you go all defeatist on me. This could just be an accident, they haven't told me more. We've got a little under an hour before they arrive. We'll talk when you get here." Hearing a faint sob in the background she hung up, knowing that the stoic young warrior would sooth her youngest child.

"It'll be all right, Chess." The phone was once again dropped to the floor as she ran gentle hands up and down the bowed back. "I promise."


Touching the tip of the stylus to his PDA, the young detective continued to file away the information that he received from the family. So far they had been very cooperative, giving him details on when they had last seen the dead slave and why they thought he had fled to Vegas. One thing continued to bother him, though, they were hiding something and he couldn't quite figure out what.

"Why didn't you report his escape to the proper authorities?" Would he get a straight answer to that?

"Well, Detective Ives, if I'm honest we didn't see the point. The recapture rate of the agency is not high. He's only been gone a week, we thought he might come back on his own." No need to share that he had been gone for almost a year.

"You're sure it's only been a week?" That really didn't fit with the amount of possessions they had found at the slaves lodgings, far more than could have been accumulated in such a short time.

"Well it may be closer to 10 days." Sal hoped that the detective was buying this.

"Fine. Obviously we are not investigating your family, this is purely cleanup that we perform whenever a slave is found dead outside of the family home. We may need to look into some of your records a she may well have stolen from you in order to flee. Our people will contact your accounts and lawyers for what we need." They're definitely hiding something.

He cast his eyes to the women, who although cooperative when asked a direct question, had volunteered nothing. The elder Prince woman seemed composed, much like her husband, whereas her daughter looked like she was only just holding herself together. Periodically her mother would squeeze her hand as a show if reassurance.

"I am very sorry that we have had to bring this to your attention. Obviously after the tragedies of the last two years, you hoped to never see the police again. I assure you that we will try to deal with this situation with as little inconvenience to you as possible." Checking over the notes in his computer he found that he had all he needed; for now. "We'll take our leave now; we will contact you when we have anything further to report." Shaking the seated man's hand he was pleased when the family matriarch walked him to the door, along with his colleague who had been waiting in the hallway.

Exiting the study, Darla looked around for Hunter as she led the detective and his uniformed assistant to the front door. She had expected to see the warrior waiting outside, eager to rejoin her lover but she was nowhere in sight. Opening the heavy front door, she bade her thanks to the two men and closed the door behind them, scurrying back to her husband and daughter. When she reached the study she saw Francesca curled up with her head on her father's shoulder, looking dejected. Red-rimmed, blue eyes turned to her expectantly.

"Where's Rhani?" Craning her neck she peered around her mother as she stood in the doorway.

"I don't know, she wasn't in the hallway when I left. I'm sure she'll be back soon darling," while speaking she had walked over to rest her hand her child's shoulder.

"I think I'll go and find her." Francesca stood and shuffled to the door, looking tired.

"What do you think all of this will mean to us, Sal?" Darla took her daughter's lace at her husband's side.

"I don't know. If they start digging they might find out he was free, my lawyers have only just started to conceal that information."

"I never really liked the man but I feel terrible for lying about him now. It's like a betrayal of what Francesca gave him." Silence fell in the room as they sat, side-by-side, at a loss as to what to do next.


Hands clasped under her chin, Hunter watched her friends potter around the kitchen, making tea. They were so cute together and had become so domestic since being freed that nobody would ever guess that they had been slaves. Unlike her body, which showed evidence of her previous life through scars on her face and body, Shep and Megan had always been more careful when fighting and when dressed looked like everybody else. It was good to see the pair of them looking as happy as she felt, well most of the time.

Casting her eyes around their home, she saw all of the homey touches that they had added throughout what had once been little more than stables. The walls were washed in soft, warm colours and they had added new furniture throughout. She really couldn't be happier for the two, which made telling them the bad news all the more heart breaking. She knew that Darla hadn't had the opportunity to tell the gardener and the college student what had happened to Savage, so decided to do it herself. Having heard what the police had said, she had left before he started questioning the family.

A steaming cup was set in front of her, drawing her attention away from meandering thoughts and back to her friends. Shep was grinning at her stupidly while Meg kept leaning into his body and smiling. Something was certainly up with the two of them.

"We're glad you stopped by, seems like you're always too busy with Francesca to see us lately, we have some news for you too." From the beaming smile on the redhead's face Hunter knew it was good.

"Why don't you go first, mine can wait." Upon entering their home she had told them she had news, but they had made her wait. She could wait a little longer; it would be nice to hear some good news.

"We're having a baby!" Shep almost burst with pride as he spoke.

"Wow, congratulations, how long have you known?" Although happy for her friends she couldn't help wondering which cruel god had decided on this twist of fate.

"We only found out yesterday." It was Megan who answered her question while her partner looked adoringly at her. "I'd been feeling a little run down and nauseas, although I haven't been sick. Mat was fretting so I went to the doctor and after a couple of tests he told me I was expecting."

"I am so happy for you, you really deserve this. How far along are you?" How can I tell them now? Yet another new dilemma to add to the mix, but I must do it.

"Twelve weeks, so still early days."

"She won't even let me start making a crib for the baby, says that we shouldn't jinx it." The hang dog expression on his face was just too cute and Megan leaned over to kiss it away.

"What did you have to tell us?" Finally the couple fixed their attention on their old friend. "Come on, spill your guts!"

"I wish that I had news even half as good as yours but I don't. Savage is dead." There it was, out on the kitchen table, lying atop the broken remnants of their good news.

"Oh God, when? Where? How?" Shep could barely form a thought through his shock.

"The police said that he was found in a back alley in Las Vegas. He had been seen hours before gambling but nobody saw anything suspicious."

"At least he was doing what he said he would." Megan tried to see the positive even under such dire circumstances.

"True enough. It seems that he was mugged for his money and beaten to death by at least ten people. I don't believe that was the motive and I don't think the police do either." She began to study the grain of the table intently.

"You think it was more of these people who hate slaves being freed?"

"Yeah I do, Shep. Unlike you two Savage, Snake and I have been on TV a lot. It wouldn't take much for people to realise who he was."

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" Absentmindedly the redhead began to rub her stomach.

"With that Dettore guy likely to get into office and pass his legislation, we don't stand a chance. He'll have us rounded up and put back into slavery if he gets in, that's his policy." She saw two pairs of eyes widen in shock, the big man put an arm around his lover's shoulders. "Don't worry, Sal is trying to work out a way for us to stay safe. Your baby will be born free."

"I hope so." Green eyes wet to the window, "I think somebody is looking for you." Hunter followed the other woman's gaze and saw the heiress walking towards the stables.

"I'd better go, she looks upset. I'm really sorry that I had to spoil your news." A large hand was raised in a shushing motion.

"Don't be, we needed to know. Go to her, we'll see you later." Hugging the big man the little warrior made her way out the door.


Late night gala's and premiere's were the part of being a bodyguard that Hunter hated the most. Tonight's event was the premiere of a new action movie, featuring the new muscle bound hero of the moment. She would be bored during the feature and Francesca would be totally uninterested in the content but they wouldn't be able to talk. It was a real pain.

That nights entertainment was a last minute thing, the singer's agent having snagged them attendance at the last minute, literally hours before it would start. After the turbulent news that they had received Hunter though that her younger partner would give it a miss but she had seemed keen to attend. So little time had they had to get ready that the couple had not had time to talk since they met with the police. Almost as soon as Hunter had left the stables to catch up to Francesca the phone had rung and they had found out about the event. What with getting ready and the brief trip in the limo, they had not had time to talk.

As the car pulled up to the red carpet, people screamed and lights flashed from either side, Hunter felt her hand squeezed by her lover as she moved to open the door. Climbing out of the car, the bodyguard stood talk in her tuxedo style outfit and reached out a hand to assist the taller woman's exit. As she straightened in her crimson, backless dress the screams grew louder and people began to call her name.

Feeling a hand on the small of her back, the brunette smiled, liking the intimacy of the gesture which by onlookers would just be seen as a protective measure. Moving towards one of the many journalists who flanked the walkway, she prepared to answer a few questions before moving on to the next one and the next and the next. Just before they reached the man, she felt Hunter lean in towards her and cocked her head to hear the soft words.

"I'm really sorry about running off earlier."

"You can make it up to me later."

"Miss Prince are you looking forward to the movie." The loud young man thrust the microphone into her face and waited, impatiently for her response. This was something that could take her mind off her other problems.

"I really enjoy a good storyline so this movie should…


Dettore had gone to bed several hours ago, leaving his slave at loose ends. He may be an uptight ass when he was awake but he didn't seem to mind what she did when he was asleep, as long as she stayed away from his room. Tonight she sat on the sofa casually flicking through cable channels; the novelty of TV had yet to wear off for her. Clicking the button once again, moving from a cookery show to monster trucks she heard the front door of the apartment open and close. Craning her neck she looked towards the hallway and waited for the thin man to appear.

Cliff walked into Bradley's home as though he owned it, using the key that the other man had given him the day he bought the place. As he walked into the main living area he heard the sound of the television and saw the slender blonde lounging on the sofa. Greeting him politely, she turned back to her channel hopping as he went to the kitchen for a beer. Selecting to bottles and popping the caps he joined her.

Cliff didn't hate slaves the way his friend did, in fact he was rather indifferent to them. Abolishing the right to freedom was a means to an ends for him, so he could be civil, even friendly, to the temperamental warrior. Taking a pull from his beer, he watched her flick from channel to channel like an electronic hummingbird until she suddenly stopped. So sudden was the pause in the jumbled images that it took his mind a moment to register what it was. There on the screen was a movie premiere, the particular focus of attention at that moment the singer, Francesca Prince. Cliff vaguely remembered her being in the papers over some stalker the previous year.

"I know her." Startled by the words, Cliff turned to his, usually silent companion, waiting for more. When none was forthcoming he urged her on.

"You know Francesca Prince?"

"Not the mistress, the slave. She was a stable mate of mine. She's called Hunter and she is an excellent gladiator." Cliff had heard of the warrior in question.

"You look shocked to see her, why? You must have known she was sold, like yourself."

"I'm not shocked to see her; I'm not even shocked to see who she's with. What does surprise me? Look at how they are touching? Doesn't that seem really familiar to you?" Changing to another news programme that was showing the same footage, she searched for one showing their arrival at the show.

"Maybe, but she could just be touching her there to guide her forward. What are you looking for?" Could this work for him?

"This," she paused on a station showing the couple disembarking from a black limousine. Almost as soon as they left the car the shorter woman had her hand on the other woman's back. Approaching the reporter the women leaned into each other and momentarily their pose was very intimate indeed. "That is not the way a slave and a master react together, not even if they are having an affair. That's the way equals behave."

"You think that this Hunter creature is free and in a relationship with the Prince girl all from seeing that tiny bit of video?" This could give him a real focus for the campaign, somebody to concentrate on, make an example of.

"I think there is a good chance."

"Thank you Thorn, thank you very much." The little man stood and left, leaving the bodyguard bemused but sure he had something up his sleeve, his sort always did. She reached for the remnants of his beer and drained it, before reaching for her own and settling on a cheesy sci-fi movie.

To Be Continued…