November 11, 2014
Scotty Cade here with Tollison Cruz and Beau Bissonet from my latest novel “The Royal Street Heist.” I hope you enjoyed meeting these two genius crackpots in the earlier posts. Crackpots yes, but as you will learn, they are brilliant at solving their first case together, not to mention a few other things but they can be a little hard to manage sometime. Beau’s ADD and Tollison’s OCD make them a great team, but man, keeping them focused is like herding cats.
Those of you who know me and follow my work probably remember that I grew up in New Orleans. The Big Easy was my home until I was twenty-eight when my career took me to Atlanta. I lived in Georgia until I was forty-five when Kell and I bought the Inn & Restaurant on Martha’s Vineyard. So I’ve spent over half of my life in New Orleans and she will always be my home.
Because of the many years here, I am intimately familiar with the city and like most who live here are forever touched by the charm of the French Quarter, the beauty of the Garden District, or the quaintness of the Irish Channel, just to name a few. She never fails to amaze me and I revel in being here each and every time I visit. As a matter of fact, I’m here as we speak for the release of “Heist” enjoying the mild fall weather and spending a little time with my two new stars working on their next adventure. I thought I’d do a little Q&A just to help you get to know my guys.
Scotty: So Beau. Tell everyone how you go about solving cases in you line of work.
Beau: For starters I look at the facts. I put them all up on what I call my “Fact Board” and see if I can find any links or connections to any of the potential suspects or “persons of interest” as we call them in the biz. Secondly, my motto is if it barks like a dog and fights like a dog, then its probably a dog. And in most cases I’m spot on.
Tollison: Pretty much the same. But I add the element of logic. Without giving away too much of the book, believe me when I tell you I’ve seen some highly intelligent and brilliant criminals whose styles don’t always make sense, but sometimes they get away with it. But in Beau’s defense, his line of work is a little different then mine.
Tollison: Sure man. Anyway, I don’t usually deal with murders, only recovering valuable property that was stolen or at least pretending to be stolen. It’s my job to decide which and then follow every lead until I hunt down the stolen property, wherever it may be.
Scotty: What makes you guys work so well together?
Tollison: (Raises hand) Me. Me. Me. Oh please let me answer this one.
Beau: Fine! But I get the next one.
Tollison: Okay. Okay. Baby. So I think Beau’s and my magic lies in our passion for our jobs. We are both extremely passionate about our work. And as you said, my OCD and Beau’s ADD make us an especially good team. He goes off on tangents and is hard to stay focused but that trait lets his mind go in places my mine would never attempt. For me this is very valuable, but very painful at the same time. When he embarks on something in outerspace its my job to bring him back and start working every detail of his digression. We may kill each other one day, but in the end the job gets done and with each case we solve independently or together, we’re better at what we do.
Beau: (Hangs head with wounded eyes) Oh come on Tol? Am I that bad?
Tollison: (Reaches over and squeezes Beau’s knee and winks) Hell yeah! But I wouldn’t change a thing.
Beau: (Heartwarming smile with those adorable pouty lips) Thanks Man. Me either.
Scotty: Okay Beau. Here’s one for you. (beau sits up straight and listens intently) What did you think of Tollison when he barged in on your investigation and tried to take over?
Beau: (Throws head back in laughter) Take over? I think not! No way was that going to happen. I work my cases. But man I’ve got to tell you, he was and still is some kind of easy on the eyes. He had me forgetting all about the case for a split second. I mean one minute I was eyeing that tight ass and imagining what I’d do to it if I got the chance and the next I was saying, “Who the fuck does this guy think he is? He’s trying to take over my case.” Then when the Chief made us work together, that was the kicker. But in the end (winks at Tollison) it all worked out. We make a great team and now I don’t have to imagine what to do with that tight little Latin American ass. (Tollison lets Beau have it in the arm) – Fuck Tollison, that hurt.
Tollison: Serves you right. Don’t forget I’ve worked that ass of yours over a few times.
Beau: You don’t have to remind me of that. (Winks)
Scotty: Okay you two. Let’s keep this clean and save a little for the book.
Beau & Tollison in unison: Sorry.
Scotty: Okay boys? What do you think we should do to give these nice people some free books?
Beau: How about we ask them questions about the excerpt?
Scotty: Nice, but its been done a million times before. Let’s try something new.
Tollison: How about so some simple questions about New Orleans so people can easily Google the answers.
Beau: Yeah, that sounds good. That’s a little different.
Scotty: Okay go for it. Let’s come up with five questions.
Beau: How about “What’s another name for the French Quarter?”
Scotty: That’s a great one.
Tollison: Let’s do “What streets and landmarks define and border the French Quarter?”
Scotty: Another great one.
Beau: (Raises hand) Oh I have one. “All the other states in the country are divided by counties. What divides Louisiana?”
Scotty: Perfect. Good job guys. Now lets do a couple about the excerpt of the book. How about this one? “What are the names of the civil war paintings stolen from the Royal Renaissance Gallery?”
Scotty: Now each of you give me one more and we’ll be done.
Tollison: Okay. Here’s mine and I just learned this from Beau. (Winks at Beau) “There are four other nicknames for the city of New Orleans in addition to The Big Easy. Give us any one of them.”
Scotty: Great. Beau?
Beau: So you were listening Tol!
Tollison: I hang on your every word. You know that Beau. (Rolls eyes)
Beau: Don’t rush me. I’m thinking… I’m thinking… Oh okay. Here’s one. “There are nine historic plantations in Louisiana. Name any one of them.”
Scotty: Good one. Okay boys. Think we’re good on questions. Great job by the way.
Beau & Tollison: Thanks.
So there you have it folks. I’ve numbered the questions below so you can just place your answer by the corresponding number and all the correct answers will go into a drawing for three copies of “The Royal Street Heist.”
- “What’s another name for the French Quarter?”
- “What streets and landmarks define and border the French Quarter?”
- “All other states in the country are divided by counties. What divides Louisiana?”
- “There are four other nicknames for the city of New Orleans in addition to The Big Easy. Give us any one of them.”
- “There are nine historic plantations in Louisiana. Name any one of them.”
I’ll be back with the winners at 6:00pm EST. But in the meantime here’s my bio for you newbies and a buy link to the book.
Scotty Cade left Corporate America and twenty-five years of Marketing and Public Relations behind to buy an Inn & Restaurant on the island of Martha’s Vineyard with his partner of seventeen years. He started writing stories as soon as he could read, but just five years ago for publication. When not at the Inn, you can find him on the bow of his boat writing gay romance novels with his Shetland sheepdog Mavis at his side. Being from the south and a lover of commitment and fidelity, most of his characters find their way to long healthy relationships, however long it takes them to get there. He believes that in the end, the boy should always get the boy.
November 11, 2014
Beau and Tollison here again, stars of the latest Scotty Cade novel called “The Royal Street Heist.”
Its killing Beau, but I’m the man in charge for this post. I’m Tollison Eduardo Braga Cruz, by the way. And yes, I know Beau said it’s a mouthful, but hey, he’s one to talk right? Montgomery Beaumont Bissonet. Please…That name doesn’t just roll off the lips with great ease.
“Ouch Beau! Stop it Beau. I swear I need hazard pay working with this guy.”
Since Mr. Pouty lips went on and on about himself in the first post, I won’t bore you with as much detail about myself but I will give you a little history. “Damn it Beau. Punch me in the arm one more time and I’m gonna flatten you right here.” (Eyes glaring.)
So where were we? Oh yeah me. Okay so I’m the old guy in this partnership at thirty-seven years old. I stand about 6’1” and weigh in at one hundred and ninety pounds. Unlike Beau, I work out on a regular basis trying to stay ahead of gravity, since well you know, I’m knocking on forty’s door. As you can probably tell by my name, I’m of Latin American decent, Portuguese to be exact and came to the United States when I was just a baby. I have black hair and brown eyes and what I like to call mocha colored skin. It’s like having a permanent suntan. Man do I look good in yellow. But I digress.
Anyway, I’m and insurance investigator for Lloyds of London and reside in Atlanta Georgia. But…I spend more time on the road trying to recover stolen property then I do at home. I too am an openly gay man with one or two relationships under my belt, which much like Beau’s didn’t end well. Some might say I have a bit of a sketchy past, but hey, we all have our past’s right? But also like Beau, I’ll let you read about my past in the book and you can make up your own mind.
“Shut up Beau.” He’s laughing at me right now and really starting to piss me off.
Anyway, so we promised you an excerpt and here it is. In the next posts Scotty will make an appearance to tell you a little about how he embarked on this book and what’s coming up next. Enjoy!
“What do we have?” Lead Detective Montgomery Beaumont Bissonet asked, walking up to the bathroom door with his partner, Detective August Hebert, right behind him. Bissonet looked at his partner and frowned when he saw the investigating detective already at work on the crime scene.
Detective Bruce Jenkins offered him a weak smile. “Meet Anthony Le Moyne, Esquire,” Jenkins said. “A two-bit attorney. No. More like an ambulance chaser than an attorney.”
“Looks like he lost one too many cases,” Detective Hebert said.
“Any idea why this happened?” Bissonet asked.
“My guess is he walked in on another crime being committed here tonight.”
Bissonet gave Jenkins a questioning glance.
“Follow me,” Jenkins said as he led the two detectives down the stairs and into the main parlor. He walked up and stood in front of the empty wall where the two paintings had previously hung.
“A couple of hours ago, two original paintings from the Civil War era hung in this very spot. They were called General Robert E. Lee at the Battle of Chancellorsville and The Little Solider.”
“Anyone checked Ulysses S. Grant’s house?” Hebert teased.
“How much were they worth?” Bissonet asked.
“Combined, a little under two million,” Jenkins replied.
Hebert raised an eyebrow.
“Yep,” Jenkins said. “The kid was worth about eight fifty and Lee about a million,” Jenkins explained. “The gallery owner acquired them about six months ago from the estate of Le Moyne’s late mother. He apparently got them for a steal, and Le Moyne wasn’t happy about that. He showed up intoxicated at the gallery a few days ago during the opening, caused a scene, and even threatened the gallery owner.”
Bissonet looked around. “It appears this place has motion detectors. Did the alarm sound?”
“Yes,” Jenkins said. “But only motion detectors. No exterior sensors were disturbed.”
“How did the thief get in?” Hebert asked.
“There was a gala fundraiser event here earlier this evening. The thief could have been a guest who snuck upstairs and hid until the event was over.”
“And how did he get out with the paintings?” Bissonet asked.
“We think through a rooftop deck and the fire escape of the adjoining building.”
“And the alarm didn’t sound?” Bissonet asked.
“Apparently the first floor is the only area secured by the alarm system,” Jenkins explained.
“That’s odd,” Hebert said.
“Not according to the owners,” Jenkins explained. “The owner said there is only one way to the second and third floors, and that’s the route up the main stairs you used earlier.”
Detective Bissonet looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the stairwell. “Apparently they were wrong.”
“Apparently,” Hebert agreed.
“I’d like to talk to the owner,” Bissonet said.
“He’s upstairs in his office with his wife, daughter, and son-in-law. They all seem to be in shock, so you might want to take it easy on them.”
Bissonet looked Jenkins directly in the eye. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Bruce.”
“Come on, Beau,” Jenkins said. “Have things deteriorated so badly between us we can’t even work together?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Bruce,” Bissonet said wryly. “Why don’t you ask the teenager you cheated on me with?”
Jenkins cringed and Bissonet smiled.
“He wasn’t a teenager and you know it, Beau,” Bruce said. “And maybe if you would have spent a little more time at home, I wouldn’t have turned to someone else.”
“Fuck it, Bruce. We’ve been over this a million times,” Bissonet said. “I’m tired of beating a dead horse. Now tell me where the owner is again?”
“Upstairs in his office with his family,” Bruce said in a defeated tone.
Bissonet turned and headed for the stairs with Hebert by his side. “Sorry you had to witness that, Auggie,” Beau said. “I still can’t stand to look at the guy.”
“I get it, man,” Hebert said. “If my wife cheated on me, I’d be in prison for murder.”
“Yeah, but I’ve gotta get over it. I still have to work with him.”
Auggie raised a hand to Beau’s shoulder. “Just give it a little more time, man.”
Bissonet approached the door to Crymes’s office. In shock seems to be an understatement, he thought, glancing at Hebert. The two women were crying openly, and the older woman was also trembling and white as a sheet. The men were doing their best to console the women, but they didn’t appear to be succeeding.
Bissonet knocked lightly. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I have some questions.”
“Can this wait?” one of the men said.
Bissonet shook his head. “I’m sorry, it really can’t. Which one of you is Mr. Villerie?”
“I’m Crymes Villerie,” the older gentleman said.
“I’m Lead Detective Bissonet, and this is my partner, Detective Hebert.”
Mr. Villerie nodded. “This is my wife, Charmaine Villerie, my daughter, Harper Villerie Hayes, and her husband, Jamison Hayes.” He paused and then asked, “Detectives? What in the hell happened in there?”
“For starters,” Bissonet said, “we think the victim interrupted a robbery in progress.”
Crymes put his hands on his hips. “So let me get this straight. You think Le Moyne was attempting to steal my paintings, but someone beat him to it and then killed him?”
“That’s what the evidence is showing so far,” Hebert said.
“But who?” Harper asked. “After the way Le Moyne acted when he was here, I would have bet my life if anyone attempted to steal the paintings, it would have been him.”
Bissonet made a few notes and then looked up. “You would have probably been right if he’d been a couple of hours earlier.”
“I understand he came into your gallery and threatened you?” Hebert asked.
“That’s right,” Harper said. “He threatened my father on opening night.”
Bissonet looked at his partner. “Mr. Villerie. Can you tell me the circumstances surrounding your interactions with Mr. Le Moyne?”
The detectives listened as Crymes explained how he’d received the anonymous call, how he’d come to purchase the paintings, and Mr. Le Moyne’s actions and threats when he came to the gallery. “I purchased those paintings fair and square from an estate manager,” he said. “I made the man an offer and he accepted. At the time I had not confirmed the origin of the paintings, nor had I determined if they were even originals or just very good reproductions.”
“Of course, we’ll need the name of that estate manager,” Bissonet said.
“And I assume by the price they were indeed both originals?” Hebert asked.
“Do any of you have an idea who might have stolen the paintings? Enemies? Competitors? Etcetera?”
They all seemed to be contemplating the question. “I’m afraid not,” Crymes said. “But they were worth a lot of money. It could have been anyone.”
Bissonet looked at Harper. “No. Not that I can think of,” she replied.
Charmaine and Jamie both shook their heads.
“What about a gun? Do you have a gun on-site?”
Crymes opened his desk drawer and froze. “It’s gone,” he said. “I always keep my .45 right here in case of an emergency. This is the French Quarter, after all.”
Beau nodded and looked at Hebert. “Get CSI in here to check for prints.”
“One last question,” Bissonet said. “Detective Jenkins tells me there was no security system on the second and third floors. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Harper said. “All of the artwork is kept in our vault or downstairs on display. Our offices are up here, as well as a guest suite we use for customers who come into town to preview artwork.”
“It appears the thief exited through a rooftop deck with the paintings in hand,” Hebert informed them. “And… escaped by hopping onto the adjoining building and down the fire escape. I don’t think your building is as secure as you thought.”
“Evidently,” Crymes said.
“Before you leave,” Bissonet said. “I’ll need all of you to give statements to Detective Jenkins about the night Mr. Le Moyne came to the gallery.”
“And… we’ll need a list of everyone who attended the gala this evening,” Hebert added.
“I’ll send Detective Jenkins right up. And thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch.”
Bissonet and Hebert turned to leave, but Bissonet stopped. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Are the paintings insured?”
“Yes,” Harper said. “By Lloyd’s of London.”
“And for how much?”
“Two point two million,” Harper replied.
“I see,” Bissonet said. “Has the insurer been notified?”
“As a matter of fact, they have,” Harper said. “As soon as I arrived, I reported the stolen paintings.”
“Good,” Bissonet said. “Is it common to insure artwork for more than the retail value?”
“Detective,” Harper explained, “with paintings as rare as these are, the value can increase on a daily basis, and also because of the value, they may not sell overnight. We just want to make sure we’re protected. And besides….”
Beau listened as Mrs. Hayes explained the very small rate difference between the actual value and the policy amount and her rationale for overinsuring.
“Thank you very much for your time. Detective Jenkins will be up shortly.”
Beau and Auggie walked down the stairs and into the parlor. Auggie found Jenkins and told him the owners were ready to give their statements, and Bissonet paced back and forth in the gallery in front of the blank wall.
“What gives, Beau?” Auggie asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ve got a stinking suspicion something is not adding up here.”
“Let’s go over it,” Auggie said. “The owner gets a mysterious call and buys two paintings from an estate for a couple of hundred grand, and the paintings turn out to be originals worth a couple million dollars. The owner has them restored or conserved, whatever they call it, hangs them in his gallery, and attempts to sell them at the appraised value.”
Bissonet took over. “And somehow the heir to the estate finds out they were originals, is majorly pissed off, and shows up drunk, threatens the owners, and promises revenge.”
“Meanwhile,” Hebert added, “the owners overinsure the paintings by a couple hundred grand, and three days later they are stolen and someone is dead.”
“Stolen just after a gala where someone sneaks upstairs,” Bissonet said, “hides until the gallery is closed, and then steals both paintings. Gets surprised by the heir to the estate, also intending to steal the paintings, but instead, the original thief kills the heir and escapes through a rooftop deck and down a fire escape with the paintings.”
“But…,” Hebert said. “There wasn’t enough time after the alarm sounded for the thief to kill Le Moyne, drag him into the bathroom, and still get the paintings out before we show up.”
“Which means,” Bissonet explained, “the thief must have killed Le Moyne before he came downstairs and set off the motion detectors.”
“Exactly,” Hebert said.
“None of that is likely! This was an invitation-only gala, and all guests were business associates or personal friends of the board of directors for the charity,” a strange voice said.
Bissonet turned to see an extremely handsome, tall, dark-haired man snapping a rubber glove onto his right hand. Damn, he’s hot was Beau’s first thought. Wait! Who in the fuck does this guy think he is?
“Excuse me?” Beau said.
“Odds are the thief came in through the french doors leading to the rooftop deck.”
“I’m sorry?” Bissonet asked. “Who in the hell are you?”
“I’m Tollison Cruz. I’m the insurance investigator for Lloyd’s of London, the gallery’s insurance company.”
Beau frowned. “So just for shits and giggles, if he got in through the rooftop, how did he get out?”
“Either through the courtyard or the same way he came in,” Cruz said.
“But none of the exterior sensors were disturbed,” Hebert objected.
“As I understand it,” Cruz explained, examining the display wall and running his fingers along the wall’s edge, “the security alarm was set off by the motion detectors, and that’s what the security system reported. The courtyard door could have been disabled after the alarm was already sounding, at which point the security company would have already done their job by calling the account contact and/or the police.”
“That’s all well and good, but what about proof?” Bissonet asked.
Cruz stopped and pulled off his rubber glove. “I don’t need proof to know I’m right. It’s my job. And if you like, I can help you with yours.”
“How so?” Bissonet asked.
“I get a twenty percent finder’s fee for recovering stolen objects in addition to my already exorbitant salary. I want that money, and you want your murderer. We have common goals. I could consult on your case and share my insight and years of experience.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” Hebert said. “We can always use—”
“No,” Bissonet said. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Cruz said, looking Bissonet up and down and smiling. “Good to meet you, detectives,” Cruz said over his shoulder, walking up the stairs.
Bissonet wiped the drool at the corner of his mouth as he watched Cruz take the stairs two at a time, the muscles in his ass flexing with every step and his round cheeks filling every millimeter of his black wool slacks. He shook his head. It’s been way too long. I need to get laid.
“What gives?” Auggie asked. “We could have used him.”
Beau waved his hand through the air. “He’d just get in the way.”
“Really?” Auggie asked. “And what if he’s onto something?”
Beau rolled his eyes when he saw Bruce coming down the stairs.
“Jenkins!” he yelled.
“Check the courtyard door and see if the security sensor has been tampered with, and also see if there’s an escape route from the courtyard to the alley and beyond,” Bissonet instructed. “I know this guy wasn’t brazen enough to carry two stolen paintings down Chartres Street at three thirty in the morning.”
Auggie smiled at him. “Now, was that so hard?”
Bissonet smirked and looked at Auggie. “Are you coming with me, or are you gonna stay here and investigate with Mr. Cruz?”
Back at the precinct, Auggie was on the phone getting more details from Jenkins while Beau talked through the case again out loud.
“So,” Beau said, “Le Moyne breaks into the gallery and attempts to steal the paintings he feels were stolen from him. But… he interrupts someone who beat him to it, either on the way down to steal the paintings or on the way up with the paintings in his hand. More than likely, from the location of Le Moyne’s body, on the way down. Then he brings the paintings back up two flights of stairs and then carries them down the fire escape of the adjoining building.”
“Except, as it turns out, that’s not how it happened,” Hebert said, hanging up the phone. “It appears the courtyard door sensor was tampered with, just like Cruz said.” Auggie smiled.
“A very lucky guess,” Beau mumbled, looking shocked.
“It appears the two screws securing the top sensor to the doorjamb were unscrewed, and the sensor was simply placed on top of the sensor on the door. That way when the door opened and closed, the connection wasn’t broken, and the security company didn’t see any exterior entrances breached. And… that’s how the thief exited the building.”
“And what about his escape?” Beau asked.
“There is a straight shot through the courtyard, down the alley, and onto Chartres Street, where Jenkins found tire marks, quite possibly when the getaway car burned rubber when they left.”
“Damn,” Beau hissed. “I want all the neighbors interviewed to see if they saw or heard anything, and see if you get your hands on any surveillance camera footage.”
“Jenkins is already on it,” Auggie said.
“Bissonet?” Captain Trenchard yelled. “In my office. Now.”
“Yes, sir,” Beau said, jumping to his feet and rolling his eyes at Auggie.
Beau crossed the precinct, stepped into the captain’s office, and almost spit when he saw Tollison Cruz sipping on a cup of coffee.
“Detective. I believe you’ve already met Tollison Cruz,” the captain said.
“Hiya,” Cruz said with a nod and a coy smile, his leg casually crossed at the knee.
“What the f—” Beau mumbled. “What are you doing here?”
Captain Trenchard interjected. “I received a call from the mayor earlier, and apparently this has turned into a very high-profile case. Mr. Villerie is a personal friend of the mayor’s, and he wants this crime solved as soon as possible. And… by using every available asset,” the captain explained. “To that end, Mr. Cruz has presented me with a very compelling proposal.”
“Yeah,” Beau said. “I’ve already heard one proposal, so I can’t wait to hear this one.”
“Well, I like what I heard,” the captain said.
“Captain Trenchard, Please tell me you’re not putting him on this—”
The captain cut Beau off. “He has expertise that can help us solve this case. I’m putting him on as a consultant.”
“Sir,” Beau said. “With all due respect, I prefer working with my team.”
“I believe Mr. Cruz will be an asset to this case.”
The captain held up a finger. “This is no longer up for discussion.”
Beau cursed under his breath, but smiled and nodded.
“I look forward to working with you,” Cruz said wryly, offering his hand.
Beau hesitated, then accepted. The big, tanned hand was warm, and Cruz’s grip was extremely strong. Beau cursed himself for where his thoughts went from there.
He turned and walked out of the captain’s office with Cruz on his heels.
“I’ll give you this,” Beau said when they were out of earshot of the captain. “You’ve got some gigantic balls.”
“Thank you,” Cruz said with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d noticed. But let’s save the bedroom talk for later. Over a drink, maybe?”
Beau ignored the comment and poured himself a cup of coffee, not offering Cruz one.
“My theories about the thief?” Cruz asked. “Was I right?”
Beau took a sip of his coffee and smirked without answering.
“I do my job very well, Detective Bissonet,” Cruz said. “This is the quickest way for both of us to get what we want. Think of it as a merger of sorts.”
“More like a hostile takeover,” Beau grumbled. “I’ll have Detective Hebert bring you up to speed.”
“And that’s about where we are,” Detective Hebert told Cruz while Beau looked on with a scowl covering his face.
“So what’s our next move?” Cruz asked.
Bissonet stepped up. “The Major Case squad sent in a list of collectors who might be interested in Civil War history, and so we are looking into that now to see if anyone has tried to contact them regarding the paintings.”
“These paintings are too hot to handle now that’s there’s a dead body on them,” Cruz said. “The thief knows that and won’t do business with anyone on your list for fear of being discovered.”
“Okaaay?” Beau asked. “Do you have a better idea?”
“From my standpoint,” Cruz said. “I’m only interested in recovering the missing paintings, so my plan is to start with the gallery owner and his family.”
“Insurance fraud?” Hebert asked.
Cruz nodded. “Accounts for about fifty percent of my investigations.”
“What about the estate manager?” Hebert asked. “Something doesn’t seem right to me there. And Villerie’s wife? She seemed overly upset over the death of someone she’d only seen once and who, while in an intoxicated state, embarrassed her husband.”
“I didn’t see the wife, but I agree with your summation of the estate manager,” Cruz said. “If this guy even suspected he had originals, he wouldn’t have let them go for such a small amount of money. And normally these estate companies do their homework.”
Beau sipped his coffee and listened. Now Auggie was conversing with Cruz like he was one of the team, and Beau was getting more and more pissed by the minute.
Before he could put a stop to it, Jenkins walked up with a folder. “Yo! Guys. I think I found something.”
Beau watched as Bruce stopped and did a double take when he saw the tall, dark, and handsome stranger sitting on the corner of Beau’s desk.
“Bruce, meet Tollison Cruz,” Auggie said. “He’s working with us on this case.”
Bruce nodded and smiled.
Beau gave Auggie a nasty look and then looked up at Jenkins. “Let’s hear it.”
“It appears our Mr. Crymes Villerie is in debt up to his eyeballs. The bank has already started foreclosure proceedings on his home, gallery, and vacation property in Charleston, South Carolina, and he’s sinking fast.”
“Bingo,” Cruz said. “If I’m lucky, I might be able to wrap up my end of this case by dinnertime.”
“You mean if I’m lucky,” Beau said under his breath.
Cruz looked down at Beau and smiled. “Am I that hard on the eyes?”
Cocky fucker! Beau stood, ignoring the question. “Let’s go and pay Mr. Villerie a visit.”
“Wait,” Bruce said. “That’s not all.”
Bruce shuffled folders and opened a second one. “It also appears that Jamison Hayes, Mr. Villerie’s son-in-law, has quite a gambling problem. Horses, to be exact, and he’s in deep to a couple of very ruthless bookies.”
“Well, well,” Beau said. “In a matter of a few minutes, we now have a person of interest and two suspects.”
“And I’m still working on their phone records,” Jenkins added. “Should have those by late this afternoon.”
Crymes was seated at his desk in the gallery, still in a daze. He and Charmaine hadn’t slept a wink when they’d finally made it back home, and she’d been an absolute wreck, hysterical almost. He’d done his best to try and comfort her, but Harper finally managed to slip a Xanax in her tea, and that had settled her down a good bit before he and Harper left the house.
His phone buzzed, startling him out of his thoughts. “Yes, Harper,” he said into the receiver.
“Detectives Bissonet and Hebert are here to see you.”
“I’ll be right down,” Crymes said.
Crymes walked down the stairs and saw Harper talking to a stranger while Bissonet and Hebert were standing off to the side.
“Detective Bissonet,” Crymes said as he stepped off the landing. “Please tell me you’ve found my paintings.”
“I wish I could,” Bissonet said. “But we do have a few questions. May we speak in private?”
Before Crymes could respond, Harper walked up. “Crymes, this is Tollison Cruz. He’s the insurance investigator Lloyd’s of London sent over.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Cruz,” Crymes said, shaking the man’s hand.
“I’ll be working with Detectives Bissonet and Hebert to try and recover your paintings,” Cruz explained. “Is there some place private we can talk?”
Bissonet rolled his eyes. “I’ve already asked that question, Mr. Cruz.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cruz replied.
“Yes,” Crymes said. “Let’s go up to my office.”
Crymes led the way with Hebert, Cruz, and Bissonet pulling up the rear.
The three men took seats on the couch in Crymes’s office while he sat on the corner of his desk.
“I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Villerie,” Bissonet said. “It has come to our attention that you are in quite a bit of debt and the bank is foreclosing on this very property, as well as your home and vacation home. Is that correct?”
Crymes felt his knees weaken. He gripped the ends of his desk for support, sighed, and dropped his head. “I’m afraid so.”
“Mr. Villerie,” Cruz said. “I’m sure you can imagine how this looks to me and my insurance company. It reeks of insurance fraud.”
Crymes thought about what Cruz was saying. It had never occurred to him before now he might be a suspect. He stood. “You aren’t actually insinuating I may have been the one to steal my own paintings?”
“It’s a definite possibility,” Cruz said. “You would be the one who stands to profit the most from the insurance settlement, as well as the sale of the paintings.”
Crymes straightened his shoulders and tried to stand as tall as possible. “Well, gentlemen, I can assure you your suspicions couldn’t be further from the truth,” he said adamantly. “I was here at the gallery until the fundraiser was over. I then took my wife home and went to bed. You can check my phone records and anything else you want. I assure you I did not arrange for those paintings to be stolen.”
“What about your daughter?” Detective Hebert asked.
Crymes felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. “I can also assure you Harper had nothing to do with this crime either.”
“How can you be so sure?” Bissonet asked. “The way I see it, if you lose the gallery, she loses her job and her legacy.”
“First of all,” Crymes pointed out, “she has no idea we are about to lose the gallery, and secondly, I know my daughter, and she would never get involved in anything illegal. Foreclosure or no foreclosure.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Cruz said.
“Mr. Villerie?” Bissonet asked. “What about your son-in-law?”
“Jamison?” Crymes asked. “Out of the question. He’s a fine young man from an upstanding New Orleans family, and he’s about to make partner in his father’s law firm. He wouldn’t chance being disbarred and embarrassing his family for something so ridiculous.”
“He stands to lose as much as your daughter does,” Cruz pointed out.
“Yes, gentlemen,” Crymes argued. “That might all make sense if I thought either of them knew about the foreclosures. But they had no way of knowing. I… I was just notified myself a few days ago. I picked up the foreclosure papers from the bank personally to avoid being served here at the gallery so I could tell them when I found the right time.”
“Are you aware your son-in-law likes the ponies?” Hebert asked.
“I’m aware he goes to the track occasionally,” Crymes said. “Hell! I’ve even gone with him a few times.”
“And what about his bookies?” Hebert asked. “Our sources tell us he’s in pretty deep.”
Bookies? “What bookies?” Crymes asked, unable to hide the shock in his voice.
“Mr. Hayes is very heavily indebted to two well-known and fairly ruthless bookies.”
Crymes felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, and he could no longer breathe. His throat was closing up, and his vision was fading in and out. He felt his way around the edge of his desk and collapsed in his chair, unable to support his own weight. He rubbed at his eyes and covered his face with his hands. “I had no idea,” he forced out when he could finally speak. “I had no idea.”
“Just so you’ll know,” Bissonet said. “We’ll be looking closely at your daughter and son-in-law, as well as your wife, as we proceed with our investigation.”
“Charmaine?” Crymes asked, feeling weaker by the minute. “But she knows nothing about the foreclosures either.”
“That may very well be,” Hebert said. “But we’re not as convinced about all this as you are.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Villerie,” Bissonet said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Crymes nodded and leaned forward in an attempt to stand.
Hebert held his hand up. “Please don’t get up. We’ll show ourselves out.”
Mentally and physically exhausted, Crymes leaned back and closed his eyes. Harper, Jamie, and now Charmaine. What is going on around here?
Bissonet gestured for Hebert and Cruz to go ahead of him, and he watched Cruz’s broad, muscular shoulders and tight little ass as the man walked down the stairs in front of him. The guy was a pain, all right, but he was a good-looking pain just the same! If Beau had to guess a nationality, he would go with Latin American. Cruz’s mocha-colored skin, rich brown eyes, and jet black hair were dead giveaways. Combine that with the slightest bit of an accent, and he figured Cruz was from Brazil or maybe Portugal.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Cruz looked over his shoulder, smiled, and winked at Beau, which pissed him off immensely. “Fucker!” he said under his breath as he passed him by.
“Now, now, Beau,” Cruz said wryly. “No need for obscenities.”
Beau smirked and stepped out onto Royal Street, letting the door shut behind him. The heat and humidity hit him like a ton of bricks, and he crossed the street to get out of the direct sunlight. Cruz and Hebert caught up to him just as his cell phone rang. Beau looked at his phone and frowned when a picture of Jenkins’s smiling face filled his screen.
Beau flashed back to the day he’d taken that picture—on the balcony at the Bourbon Pub during Mardi Gras a little over four years ago. It had been his and Bruce’s second anniversary, and his heart hurt a little, seeing the twinkle in Bruce’s eyes and remembering how happy they were then.
They’d broken up a year and a half ago, and he was still so angry at Bruce for cheating on him and fucking it all up that he had a hard time dealing with him. He’d had to maintain a certain amount of professionalism because they still had to work together, but he’d be damned if he was going to forgive and forget and make the whole thing easy on Bruce.
Both of them had been uniformed officers when they’d met, and after their shifts they’d had lots of time to spend together, in and out of bed. But everything had changed when Beau was offered a detective position. Their time together started to lessen, and after a year, when Beau had been promoted to lead detective, everything started to fall apart.
His caseload had been extremely heavy, and Beau had been working eighteen-hour days. In Beau’s mind, though, he’d been trying to prove himself and secure his job to ultimately make a better life for the both of them, but Bruce hadn’t exactly seen it that way.
In an attempt to save his relationship, Beau had called in a favor, unbeknownst to Bruce, and Bruce had been offered a detective position. Not that Bruce needed his help. He was a damned good detective and would have been promoted eventually, but their relationship wouldn’t have made it until then. Things started to get better, and Beau thought they were going to make it until he found out about the affair.
Once Bruce fessed up, there was no way Beau could go back. He couldn’t be with a man he couldn’t trust, and everything had ended right then and there. Beau knew he shared some of the blame by neglecting Bruce, but it was his job, and if the shoe had been on the other foot, he would have never cheated. Auggie and his wife, Jenny, had been his saving graces; they had been his shoulders to lean on and had literally coaxed him back to the land of the living.
So here they were. A year and a half later, they were still working together because of a promotion Beau had arranged, and both of them were miserable doing it.
The phone rang again, startling Beau out of his thoughts, and he accepted the call. “Bissonet.”
“Beau, it’s Bruce.”
“I’m listening,” Beau said with no emotion in his voice.
Beau heard Bruce sigh and momentarily felt sorry for the guy, but it didn’t take him long to recover. “Talk?” he said.
“I got the phone records back for Harper Hayes, Jamison Hayes, Crymes Villerie, and Charmaine Villerie,” Bruce explained.
“Besides the bookies,” Bruce said, “Jamison’s phone records are clean, and so are Mr. Villerie’s and Harper Hayes’s.”
“And Charmaine Villerie?” Beau asked.
Bruce cleared his throat. “That’s a very different story.”
“I’m still listening.”
“Her phone records show that the day after the paintings were first displayed at the opening, and in the days leading up to the robbery, Mrs. Villerie placed a half-dozen or so calls to a number we traced back through our database to a convicted felon named Emanuel Della Penna, who served time for that heist at the New Orleans Museum of Art ten years ago. He got five years, did his time, and up until now, he hasn’t resurfaced.”
Beau smiled and wiped his forehead with his coat sleeve. “I think it’s time we pay Mrs. Villerie a visit. And bring Della Penna in for questioning. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Is that it?” Bissonet asked.
“For now,” Bruce said, disconnecting the call.
Beau looked at his phone just as Bruce’s smiling face disappeared and the call was ended. “Cheater.”
“Are you always that rude to your coworkers?” Cruz asked.
“Stay out of it,” Bissonet said.
Hebert gave Cruz a sympathetic look. “Long story.”
Beau glared at Auggie as he shared the information about the phone records with him and Cruz. They got in Beau’s car and headed to Esplanade Avenue.
Bissonet parked on the street and walked up to the house. He leaned on the intercom at the gate until an unsteady voice finally answered. “Yes?”
“This is Detective Bissonet with the NOPD,” Beau said. “I’d like a few words with Mrs. Villerie, please.”
“This is not a good time,” the voice said.
Bissonet sighed. “I apologize for the intrusion, ma’am, but I must insist.”
There was silence for a few seconds. “Fine, then,” the voice said rather curtly. They all grabbed their ears when a screeching sound escaped the intercom speaker and the gate started to open. “I’ll meet you at the front door.”
When they walked up the steps to the porch, the door opened, and an exhausted-looking Charmaine Villerie appeared in the doorway.
“How may I help you, Detective?”
“I have a few questions for you Mrs. Villerie,” Beau said. “May we come in?”
Charmaine stepped back and opened the door farther, inviting them in.
“This is Detective Hebert and Tollison Cruz,” Beau said, gesturing between the two men. “Mr. Cruz is the insurance investigator sent over by Lloyd’s of London.”
Charmaine nodded. “Can we get this over with, gentlemen? I’m a bit under the weather today.”
“I can only imagine,” Bissonet said. “I’m sure it is quite a shock to have your husband’s paintings stolen and someone murdered in your gallery all in the same night.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Villerie agreed.
“I’ll get right down to it, Mrs. Villerie,” Hebert said. “What was your relationship with Mr. Emanuel Della Penna?”
Beau watched the blood drain out of Mrs. Villerie’s face, and she became ghostly white. Her head rolled to the side, she stumbled back, and Cruz caught her right before she hit the ground.
November 11, 2014
My name is Montgomery Beaumont Bissonet. Yeah I know it’s a mouthful but blame my grandfather on my mother’s side, I inherited it from him. Well at least the “Montgomery Beaumont” part. But have no fear, you can call me Beau, everyone does.
And since we just met, I must tell you I’m one of the main characters in the latest Scotty Cade novel called “The Royal Street Heist” which is published my Dreamspinner Press and just happens to release today. I’m here with my costar Tollison Cruz and Scotty asked us if we wouldn’t mind spending a little time with you today and hosting the Dreamspinner Press Release Party Blog. And…since we’re intimately close to this novel, we jumped at the chance. But we’re gonna ask you to please be patient with us though as were both a bit nervous. You see I’m a Lead Detective with the New Orleans Police Department and Tollison is an insurance investigator for Lloyds of London and hosting blogs are just not in our job description.
But with that said, We’d like to thank Scotty and Dreamspinner for having faith in us and allowing us to visit with you today in celebration of the very first novel of which I am the star. What Tollison? Oh yeah, costar. Anyway I say the “very first” because Scotty has promised us this is going to be an ongoing series and to tell you the truth, we’re excited as hell about that part because man, do we have lots of wonderful weird cases tucked away in our memories to share with you in the coming months.
Now Tollison is already rolling his eyes so I guess I need to tell you about him too. You’ll formally meet him in the next post, but his full name is Tollison Eduardo Barga Cruz, talk about a mouthful, and as I mentioned he’s an insurance investigator. Anyway, he get’s his nose all up in my case and we get off to a really rough start, but I finally get a clue (yes that’s a cop joke) and realize he’s one of the good guys. Unlike me though, I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting him from the get go. So enough rambling, let’s talk about me and my roll in the book.
For starters, I’m thirty-four years old and stand about six feet tall. I weigh about two hundred and ten pounds, on a good day, have sandy blonde hair (like my mother) and sometimes blue, sometimes gray eyes (like my father). I don’t work out, but I think I’m in pretty good shape for a man my age. My partner Auggie and fellow detectives give me a lot of shit for what they call my “pouty” lips, which still to this day I can’t seem to shake, but hell, I’ll give them that. Hey! There mug isn’t on the cover of a novel. Right? And I always say, as long as they’re picking on me, they’re leaving some other poor soul alone. But the most important thing about me is that for as far back as I can remember all I’ve ever wanted to be was a cop. I worked my way up from patrolling a beat to detective to lead detective and I pride myself in my strong work ethic and integrity. Yeah I’m cocky, but I’ve earned that title. Also like most cops, I can be guilty of thinking I’m always right, but hell, most of the time I am, so you’ll have to get used to that.
Okay so I grew up in the Garden District of New Orleans near St. Charles Avenue where I still live today and yes; I’m an out and proud gay man. Not very common in my line of work, but who the hell cares. It’s my chosen career, I love it and I’m damn good at it. And yes…for a lot of years I was usually the butt of some pretty raunchy gay jokes and I took a lot of ribbing, but now things have settled down and are a little different. Most of the guys respect me and treat me no differently because I screw guys, well one guy in particular. It was my one and only relationship, which ended badly, but I’ll let you read about that in the book.
So now that you know a little bit about me, I’d like to give you some information about the book. Of course it takes place in my hometown of New Orleans and surrounds a case of art theft that we solved over a year ago. So without further delay, here is the blurb:
When a valuable piece of Civil War art is stolen from a popular New Orleans gallery, NOPD Lead Detective Montgomery “Beau” Bissonet and his partner set out to solve the crime. When the gallery’s insurance company sends Tollison Cruz to the Big Easy to conduct their own independent investigation, personalities clash and battle lines are definitely drawn.
The heist quickly becomes a politically driven high profile case, and Detective Bissonet is furious when he’s ordered to work along side Investigator Cruz to assure a timely arrest. The heat index soars to new levels when the two investigators discover they have a lot more in common then originally thought.
With the tension between them temporarily sated, Bissonet and Cruz finally start to work together, on more then just a professional level. But everything comes to a screeching halt when Beau discovers his cohort in crime has been withholding information regarding the investigation and has been concealing a very questionable past. What happens next rivals the scorching summer heat.
So there you have it.
Tollison and I will be back in a couple of hours when Tollison will be at the helm and he’ll tell you a little about him, give you an excerpt from the book and tell you about how you can win you’re very own copy.
See you soon!
Beau and Tollison
October 21, 2014
Think you know your DSP authors pretty well? Why not enter our Halloween Costume Contest and see!
Take a look below and see if you can match the correct Dreamspinner and Harmony Ink authors featured in these costume photos. If you get them all right, you’ll be entered in a draw to win one of three prizes!
To enter, email your guesses to hayley [at] dreamspinnerpress.com. Contest closes Oct. 25th at 11:59pm Eastern!
K.C. Wells, Suki Fleet, Kim Fielding, Angel Martinez, Allison Cassatta, Cate Ashwood, Nic Starr, L.J. LaBarthe, M.A. Church, Connie Bailey, MB Mulhall, Shira Anthony, Poppy Dennison, Wade Kelly, Tali Spencer, Charlie Cochet, S.A. Garcia, Nicole McCormick.
Photos (click to enlarge)
1. (Person featured on the right)
2. (Both people)
4. (Centre, in Cinderella mask)
5. (Mummy, on right)
September 26, 2014
This book was a step outside several comfort zones for me. First it’s in third person, which I find very challenging because I really want to delve deeply into each characters head but find a lot of characters in one story confusing. I actually began writing Hidden Gem as first person but later changed it because I wanted to show Shane’s point of view as well as Aki’s since Aki is a very unreliable narrator.
The second challenge was the D/s portion of the book. I chatted a long time with several people in the life and perfected as much as I could before taking those things back to them to ask if I was close. Any mistakes I made in this is purely my incompetence not theirs. This is in no way meant to be a BDSM book. However Aki needs structure in his life, someone to take care of him and keep his feet on the ground. J
Paris trains all the companions and believes structure is necessary to their safety and happiness. He is also faced with the task of disciplining those who break the rules. Including the Hidden Gem’s number one companion:
The guards led him inside and up the stairs to Paris’s immaculate suite. They left him standing in the doorway and disappeared back down the stairs. No reason for them to stay. Aki wouldn’t be in this room long. Not if Paris truly meant to punish him. The dungeon was down two floors and tucked away where no one would stumble across it by accident.
Paris sat on the white leather couch, feet up, facing away from the door. The lights cast a reflection of Aki in the window as the sun was beginning to set. He glanced over his outfit again. Would Paris approve? He probably should have worn something easy to strip out of instead of dressing to impress.
Aki frowned and lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can wait downstairs until you’re ready.”
“I’m not the one who needs to be ready, Misaki. I’ve been hearing a lot of not-good things about your exploits of late. Care to give me your version?” Paris rose from his seat and crossed the room to stand in front of Aki.
“I stayed out one night. I got lost. Didn’t have my phone—”
“Sounds a lot like excuses to me,” Paris interrupted. He reached out and traced Aki’s face with his fingertips. Aki closed his eyes as the feeling of a gentle rain caressed his mind. “You dressed nice.”
Aki didn’t reply.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, Master.”
“You haven’t earned the right to call me that.”
“Sir, sorry, Sir.”
“What are your safewords?” Paris asked, probably more to remind Aki he had the option than because he didn’t know them.
“Red and yellow, Sir.”
“Hard stop and pause. I know your limits, Misaki. Do you?” Paris ran his hands across the shoulder of the sweater. “I see this couture has become your armor. That is well and fine for work, but not here. Strip and present.”
Aki moved without even contemplating the order, removing his shoes, his top, his skirt, and finally the delicate underwear he’d chosen. He folded everything in a neat pile and left them on the floor beside his feet, his phone on top of the stack. He stood shoulders straight, head down, hands gripping his elbows behind his back. The numerous windows open to the world had a flush heating his skin. Anyone could see him. Sure, they were on the second floor, but Paris had guards everywhere. Anyone could be watching him. Even the South. The nasty thought whispered through his mind as he remembered the chip that was supposedly embedded in his back.
“You’re shivering. Are you cold?” Paris asked.
“Hmm.” Paris walked around him, examining him as he had that first day. Aki had been so scrawny then and covered in scars they thought they could never get rid of. His skin had been stretched tight across his bones from starvation, making him little more than a skeleton masquerading as a person. “You’re afraid? You are afraid. Yet unapologetic.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Aki said quickly. His heart hammered in his chest. He’d been through this a hundred times, knew the drill, the rules. Paris couldn’t really hurt him unless Aki let him. Why was he so afraid? Memories of the camp and the torture kept filling his mind, but that was all before….
“What are you sorry for?”
“For staying out.”
“I’m not sorry for seeing McNaughton.”
“Hmm.” Paris disappeared for a moment only to return with a blindfold. Aki didn’t try to stop him from tying it in place. No light filtered through the cloth at all, and for a moment Aki was disoriented.
The book has very mild D/s. It is more about Aki’s mindset and how he has chosen to survive all that has been done to him.
We all like to stay in our comfort zones. What have you done lately to push your boundaries and open up your world? How did it turn out? Best answer wins an ecopy of anything from my backlist. Winner announced at 7pm CST
September 26, 2014
Aki truly becomes the shining star of the Hidden Gem. He’s the most favored companion in the entire red light district—his best friend Candy a close second. But Aki has a thing for a certain Irish cop. Shane McNaughton survived the plague of WW3 but it mutated him. He no longer ages, has super human healing abilities, and is forced to change into an animal each month. At nearly a century old there isn’t much Shane hasn’t seen. He’s the head of Missing Persons and recently discovered a certain companion at the Hidden Gem has the ability to find the missing with just a touch. Shane also can’t help but enjoy Aki’s other talents.
But not everything is all booze and a quick polish as Shane would like. He’s got a case with a bunch of dead teenagers. Slaughtered, parts missing, and another kid vanishes—this time a senator’s daughter. The press and officials want his ass on fire for the case, but the leads say the monster they are hunting isn’t human. Shane turns to Aki for help awakening something darker inside the companion that should have remained buried:
With a sigh Aki tugged off his right glove and let his fingers brush the fabric. The room at the Hidden Gem vanished instantly. He raced through the streets of City M, rushing by buildings, cars, people, then to a bedroom. The posters of boy bands hung on the walls and bright bedding decorating the bed said this was the sanctuary of a teenage girl. He knew that what he was holding was a T-shirt. Mandy, the missing girl, had gotten it from her best friend for her last birthday. If Aki unfolded it, he’d have seen the band logo decorating the front and that it was well-worn from constant use. She stared at herself in the mirror for a minute, smiled at the reflection. So young. A happy kid, the world at her fingertips. Obviously she had everything she could ever have wanted. So what had gone wrong?
The world shifted, swirling by fast enough to nearly knock him over with vertigo. He saw Just Shoes and the dark streets, the shoes he wanted so badly, and Mandy’s thoughts about being a princess. Then she’d been taken. Pain exploded in her brain only briefly, then darkness. Only when she awoke, the pain returned, worse than anything Aki had ever experienced before, white-hot, breath-stealing pain. He tried to reason through it, remind himself it wasn’t really him that was hurting, clear his vision, anything to catch a glimpse of something that might show where she was. His head felt like it’d been set on fire, pain beginning around his eyes and spreading outward, down the heavy weight of his body. His limbs were unmovable, unresponsive, almost like they weren’t there. Something hot dripped down his cheeks and over his chest, not hot enough to burn, but warmer, thicker, and heavier than water would be. The distinct “plink” of liquid hitting the ground was the only sound. Aki called to her like he’d never tried before. Would she hear? Could she respond even if she did?
“Mandy? Where are you?”
The pain intensified, sending him spinning in a circle of wary confusion for a few minutes before becoming a suffocating weight on his chest. Blind to the world around him, and not in the way of a blindfold, he tried to reason through his other senses. The realization hit him, and he couldn’t help but try to pull himself away. He knew it was a mistake the second it happened. His world solidified with hers, and he screamed through her lips at the horror, the sound ratcheting off many walls and through a cavernous space. He fought to free himself with every ounce of strength he had as the memory of her eyes being torn out filled him. Thankfully everything went dark and the connection snapped away, taking with it all the pain.
We all read about people with super powers or psychic abilities and think hey that’s cool. Aki has an ability to see everything from a person he touches, which means he has to keep the world at a distance.
What power would you find it most difficult to live with and why? Want your name in a book? Best answer gets added to my next adult title.
September 26, 2014
Hey all this is Lissa Kasey. You probably know me for that witch story. Or the hot vampire guy. The Dominion series—which currently has four titles—was my first foray into the publishing world. A couple years of experience, a few other books under a different pen name, and I’ve got a brand new series to engage all lovers of the paranormal. I hope you guys love this book as much as I do.
Dreamspinner Press is letting me take over their blog today. Host a few giveaways and tell you a bit about my writing and the world of the Hidden Gem:s to engage all lovers of the paranormal. I hope you guys love this book as much as I do.
Misaki “Aki” Itou is a psi—a person with mutated DNA granting him psychic abilities. He’s also a contracted companion—a whore. It may not be the perfect profession, but having a roof over his head, food to eat, and not being subjected to torture is a dream come true. He is the top companion at the Hidden Gem, and it makes him enough money to buy the prettiest, most sparkly shoes he can find.
Shane McNaughton is an Irishman who survived the Third World War and works as a cop. Head of Missing Persons, he’s good at finding people, but after the plague of the Third mutated his DNA, he has a hard time letting anyone see the monster inside. He’s been paying for Aki’s services for two years, both the psi and the sexual kind, but he wants more from the companion.
Shane needs Aki’s ability to see into another person’s past to track down a serial killer murdering the children of rich and powerful men, but the more they work together, the clearer it becomes that they are linked through a darker past than either of them realizes.
I’ll have a couple giveaways, including ecopies of Hidden Gem and the chance to get your name in my next book.
September 25, 2014
I want to thank everyone who stopped in today and took the time to post their thoughts. I appreciate each and every one of you!
The winner are:
2. Andrea M.
Please contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org and let me how to get to your bookshelf and what format you’d like.
Thanks so much for spending the day with me.
September 25, 2014
When I was thinking about writing this book I learned that when you say the word “Pornography,” most people I talk to either love it or hate it. It’s rare that I find someone that doesn’t have a strong opinion on the matter one way or the other, so I knew I was on to something. In my next excerpt, I decided to have Eli, who is down on his luck and just entering the world of “gay for pay” quiz Hamish, one of the “experienced” guys on why he does what he does.
Eli turned to Hamish. “Now can I ask you something?”
“Are you gay?”
“Not that I care what people do in the privacy of their own bedroom,” Eli clarified.
“No. I’m not gay.”
“Then how do you do it?” Eli asked, meeting Hamish’s eyes.
Hamish broke the gaze and turned to look out over the water. “There’s not really a short answer to that question,” he said. “But the gist of it is that all us guys feel like we are in this together. We do what we have to do to support ourselves and our families. And we try to support one another.”
“But to have sex with another guy,” Eli said.
“Listen,” Hamish added. “A blowjob is a blowjob, and a warm hole is a warm hole. Once you get over the taboo of having sex with another man, realize that sex is sex and it’s all the same, you’re home free.”
“Its really hard to wrap my head around, but I’ll take your word for it,” Eli said.
Hamish looked back at Eli. “Seriously, I felt the same way you did when Royce propositioned me. But once you get here and get to know the guys, it almost becomes like a club you want to be part of. Almost like the feeling of being a marine, like being a part of something bigger than you. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s how it was for me and for most of the other guys as well.”
This time Eli turned away and stared out over the water as if he might find the answers out there.
Hamish continued, “Most guys are here because they can’t find work and are doing what they have to do to support themselves and/or their families. I don’t know about you, but I have to admire that dedication.”
Eli thought about what Hamish said and decided he agreed. “I do too,” he said.
“The guys here feel like we are all in this together, and it makes it easier on each and every one of us. In the end, we’re all doing the same things for mostly the same reasons. You know.” Hamish said. “We have this unspoken agreement among us that no one should feel isolated and ashamed for doing what they have to do to take care of themselves or the people they love.”
Eli glanced at Hamish again and their eyes met. “You get where I’m coming from?” Hamish asked.
“I do,” Eli admitted. “I just don’t know if I can do it.”
“Of course you can,” Hamish assured him. “If you want to. The biggest hurdle we all had to face was simply believing that having sex with another man doesn’t define you as gay.”
Hamish paused, then spoke again. “As I said before, I’m not gay, I hate labels and I’ve always strived to live and let live. But up until I joined this elite group of men I hadn’t even considered having sex with another man.”
“And now?” Eli asked.
“It took me a couple of months to get comfortable with everything,” Hamish said, looking up at the stars, “but if I was forced to stick a label on my back, I would now categorize myself as a bisexual.”
“Does that mean you enjoy sex with men?” Eli asked.
“Sometimes,” Hamish admitted. “It’s like a regular job. Some days you enjoy your work some days you don’t, and sometimes you get along better with one coworker versus another. It’s really no different. There are guys I enjoy being with more than others, but it’s a job and you can’t pick and choose. I mean, if I refused to do a scene with a certain guy, no one would make me. But again, it’s our unspoken code of ethics that keeps us all together.”
“Wow!” Eli said, shaking his head. “I didn’t see that coming.”
So, as you can see Eli is struggling with if he can really pull any of this off and actually have sex with another man.
This topic continues to intrigue me long after the book has been put to bed, no pun intended, but not for the reasons you may think. I’m mostly amazed at the camaraderie between the guys. They respect and support one another and never judge and in the end isn’t that what we all want???
See you again in a couple hours when you can learn how to win a copy of “Acting Out.”
September 25, 2014
Scotty here again! So in my first posts, I told you how this story came about and what inspired me, but now I’d like to share an excerpt from “Acting Out.” The story has to do with a down on his luck, recently discharged, marine who gets approached to enter the gay for pay porn industry and in desperate need of a job and money, he actually considers it.
First Sergeant Elijah Preston gripped the edge of the bathroom sink and stared at his hazy reflection in the mirror. The long hot shower had done nothing for his disposition, and he sighed as the unrecognizable image staring back summed up his life to a tee. His life had been unrecognizable for a while now. He had very little money, no real place to call home, no job, no real friends, and worst of all, he didn’t see any of that changing in the foreseeable future.
He dropped his head in defeat and fixated on the cracked floor tiles under his bare feet. I hate this fucking hellhole of a motel. In a fit of frustration, Elijah ripped the tiny blow-dryer from the wall mount and pointed it at the foggy mirror. A blurry-edged circle appeared as his image slowly started to materialize. Under the harsh florescent lighting, his normally piercing hazel eyes appeared dull and lifeless. His sun-bleached skin looked dry, weather-beaten, and not at all like the smooth olive complexion he’d sported as a teenager.
It had been exactly one month to the day since Elijah had been honorably discharged from the United States Marine Corps after serving one very long tour of duty. He’d signed on the dotted line right after high school graduation with the hopes of getting as far away from his alcoholic parents and his hometown of Berry, Kentucky, as he could, but also knowing it was the only chance he had of getting a good education and making something out of his life. His strategy had been to do the normal four years active duty, work hard, save as much money as he could, and then put his degree to good use while he spent the next four years on reserve duty until his discharge. But his plan had been interrupted by the small print and one particular “unless needed” clause in his enlistment papers. Right after basic training, he’d been shipped overseas to Afghanistan and had spent almost his entire eight-year tour of duty there.
When he’d left Afghanistan, he’d also left behind everyone who’d mattered to him. After his grandmother died, he’d refused stateside visits, knowing that the people serving with him were more his family than those he’d left behind, and even Afghanistan was better than the hellhole he used to call home. He’d thought seriously about reenlisting but had decided against it, figuring it was time to stop running away and make a life for himself outside of the military.
Two weeks before his discharge, he’d been stationed at Marine Corps Base Quantico in Quantico, Virginia, with little to do but get his affairs in order, map out his future, and anticipate the life of a civilian. In doing so, he’d discovered that sometimes the best-laid plans fall apart.
Right after he’d enlisted, Elijah had opened a checking account at a small bank in Berry, and during his eight years overseas, via automatic deposit, he’d saved almost every penny he’d earned. Or so he thought. He’d put his mother’s name on the account in case anything happened to him while he was overseas, and although his parents had been on the wagon at the time, during the last eight years, they’d helped themselves to every penny of his money.
She’d given him some tear-filled, cockamamie story about how she’d supposedly “invested” the money in a sure thing that had gone sour, but he’d known that, more than likely, they’d spent it all on vodka, cigarettes, and gambling. He’d kicked himself in the ass over and over for not having the bank statements electronically sent to him, but he’d never imagined, no matter how weak they were, they would steal from their only child. To add insult to injury, when he’d told them he was coming to get his truck, they’d confessed it had been in an accident and was no longer drivable.
So here he was after eight years in the USMC with nothing but his last paycheck and a degree in communications to show for his time served. For the last month he’d lived in this dive of a motel, pinched every penny, and searched the Internet day after day for a job in his field. He had no ties to anyone or anything, so location was no issue; he could relocate anywhere in the country. In the meantime, he also searched locally for anything that would help supplement what little money he had until he eventually found a job and moved.
Elijah hung his wet towel over the shower rod and stepped onto the soiled carpet of the small bedroom. The morning sun was beating through the dingy blue drapes barely covering the double windows, and the clock on top of the battered chest read 8:35. He fumbled through the drawers and retrieved his last pair of clean underwear, a worn T-shirt, and a pair of white socks. When he stepped into his briefs and attempted to pull them up, his finger went right through the thin cotton and the waistband separated from the rest of the underwear. “Motherfucker,” he hissed.
He angrily tossed the underwear into the trash can in the corner of the room and stepped into his old blue jeans commando. After pulling the T-shirt over his head and slipping on his socks and shoes, he went back into the bathroom.
Elijah ran his forefinger around the edge of a small jar, getting the last bit of pomade and rubbing it in his hands before applying it to his light brown hair. “You’ve held off as long as you can, Eli,” he mumbled, spiking his bangs and wishing the military cut would hurry up and grow out. “You need clothes.”
With no other choice, Elijah called a cab to take him the four miles to the Walmart in nearby Dumfries and sat outside his motel room and waited. And waited. When the cab finally dropped him off in front of the store exactly ninety minutes later, Elijah asked the driver to pick him up in an hour, not wanting to pay the extra fee for making the guy wait.
Elijah rolled the shopping cart up and down the aisles of the men’s department, trying to decide what to buy. After wearing nothing but uniforms for the last eight years, he was at a total loss for what was in style. Not that he was a stylish guy, but he needed something up-to-date so he wouldn’t look like a hick if he did get a job interview. After much deliberation, he decided to start with the basics. Two pairs of khaki pants, two pairs of blue jeans, and two white cotton button-down shirts. He was staring at a table of colored T-shirts, trying to decide which colors to choose, when a middle-aged man stepped up beside him. “Definitely the green one,” he said. “It’ll look great with your eyes.”
“Uh, thanks,” Elijah said. “Kinda been a while since I bought anything new.”
“Military?” the man asked.
“USMC,” Elijah replied. “Last eight years.”
The man smiled and nodded like he understood what Elijah was going through. “How long have you been out?”
“About a month,” Elijah replied.
“Ah yes. I remember feeling the same way twenty years ago.”
“Marine?” Elijah asked.
“Army man myself,” the man responded. “But feeling like the civilian world left you behind is a universal sensation.”
Looking at his watch, Elijah realized he was almost out of time. The minute the driver arrived at the store, he knew the meter would be clicking away. He put the green T-shirt in his cart along with a red one and a yellow one. “I hate to run, but I have a cab picking me up in fifteen, so I need to get a move on.”
“No problem,” the man said, nodding. “I totally understand. Good luck with the shopping,” he added, turning and walking away without another word.
Elijah felt a slight stab of sadness. That man was literally the only person he’d had any semblance of a conversation with in the last few days, and he even understood a little of what Elijah was going through. He pushed the melancholy feeling to the back of his mind and focused on the rest of his shopping. The sportswear department for a couple of pairs of running shorts and tank tops, the underwear department for underwear and socks, and finally health and beauty aids for toothpaste, pomade, and deodorant. On the way to the register, he saw a display and felt instantly guilty but splurged anyway by tossing a bottle of Old Spice into his cart. Gotta smell nice for the non-existent ladies beating down my door.
Elijah looked at his watch again as the automatic doors opened in front of him. Right on time. He scanned the parking lot and was relieved when he didn’t see the cab sitting idle with the meter running. He took a seat on the bench in front of the store and waited.
Thirty minutes came and went and still no cab. He fished his phone out of his pocket and was about to hit redial when a voice said, “Where are you headed, son?”
Elijah looked up to see the middle-aged gentleman from the men’s department standing in front of him. “The Seasons Motel,” Elijah responded without hesitation.
“Come on,” the man said with a gesture of his head. “I’m going right by there. I’ll be glad to drop you off.”
“Are you sure?” Elijah asked.
The man smiled. “Absolutely. I’m Royce, by the way.”
“As in Rolls Royce?” Elijah asked with a smile while he gathered his bags.
“No such luck, but don’t I wish.” Royce chuckled.
“I’m Elijah. Elijah Preston, but my friends call me Eli.”
My friends call me Eli. As soon as the words left his mouth, Elijah felt another stab of sadness. He no longer had any friends. Not really. Not here anyway.
“Good to meet you, Eli,” Royce said, interrupting Eli’s pity party.
Eli sucked it up and forced a smile. “I really appreciate the lift.”
“Don’t give it another thought,” Royce responded. “I remember feeling very disjointed when I was discharged. But it gets better. I promise.”
Eli offered a weak smile.
“What do you do?” Royce asked as they walked to his car.
“Nothing right now,” Eli replied. “I’m looking for full-time work in my field, but I’d take anything at the moment to hold me over until I can find something more permanent.”
“I see,” Royce said as they reached his pickup truck. Eli heard the click of the locks, and when Royce climbed in he did the same.
Royce sat in the driver’s seat looking forward and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Eli felt like there was something else the man wanted to say but for some reason was holding back.
Curious, Eli turned to face Royce. “If there’s something you want to say, man, feel free,” he said. “I’m not a sensitive guy.”
Royce nodded but didn’t say anything. He simply started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot.
Once they were on the highway, Royce cleared his throat, and Eli looked in his direction.
“I might have some work for you if you’re interested,” Royce said hesitantly.
Eli’s ears perked up. “Hell yeah, I’m interested,” he said without a second thought.
Royce reached into a little compartment on his dashboard, retrieved a business card, and handed it to Eli.
Eli took the card and read it from beginning to end.
Check out the number one gay military porn site on the Internet.
100% authentic Marines, Soldiers, Fighter Pilots, and Sailors all waiting for you!
Royce Mackey, Proprietor—571-HOTGUYS
Eli read the card again to make sure he hadn’t misread it the first time and offered it back to Royce, who was staring straight ahead at the highway. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not gay, man,” he said.
Royce accepted the card but didn’t put it back into the compartment. “No problem, but for the record, none of my guys are gay,” he said in a monotone voice.
“Are you serious?” Eli asked.
“Damn straight,” Royce replied. “No pun intended,” he added with a smile. “I may have a couple of bisexual guys in the mix, but ninety-nine percent of them are straight. Some are married, some engaged, and most of them have steady girlfriends. They all do it for the money.”
Eli shook his head in disbelief. “You mean these supposed straight guys fuck other guys for money? On camera?”
Royce nodded. “Some do that, yeah, and others might just beat off alone for the camera. It’s totally up to the guy to do what he feels comfortable with.”
“You must pay a shitload of money,” Eli said. “No pun intended.”
“You’re a good-looking man, Eli, and you’ve got a great body. You could make as much as ten thousand dollars a day, depending on how far you choose to go,” Royce explained.
“Ten thousand dollars a day?” Eli repeated.
“Of course that’s going all the way with several shoots in one day,” Royce said. “But I guess it really doesn’t matter if you’re not interested.”
Royce pulled up in front of Eli’s motel and handed the card back to Eli. “Just keep this in case you change your mind. If you have any questions or just want to talk more, give me a call.”
Eli didn’t know why, but he took the card and slipped it into one of his shopping bags. “Thanks for the lift, Royce. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” Royce responded. “And call if you have any questions.”
Eli nodded out of politeness, gathered his bags, and slid out of the truck.
He walked toward his motel room and looked back when Royce tapped the horn a couple of times, then waved as he drove off.
Feeling a bit like he’d just been to the Twilight Zone, Eli dug the brass key out of his pocket and let himself into his motel room. While unpacking his bags, he came across the business card and thought about his encounter with Royce. He put the card on his bedside table and proceeded to remove all the tags from his new clothes and put everything away.
When he finished, it was nearing noon, and with his big chore for the morning complete, he sat down at his laptop to scan the want ads like he did every day. At least this hellhole has Wi-Fi. He fired up his computer and began his normal process of checking the online local newspaper and the local section of Craigslist for any temporary positions in his area, and then he hit the national search on Craigslist for anything permanent in his field. When he identified a potential position, he followed the instructions on the ad and submitted his resume electronically or via snail mail, whichever was preferred. Today, however, there wasn’t a single new posting locally or even nationally that fit his qualifications. Discouraged, he sighed and shut his laptop, deciding there was nothing more he could do online. He called his career counselor at Quantico to see if there were any new developments, but as with his online search, he again came up empty.
Eli looked around his tiny room and in a fit of boredom turned the television on and channel surfed until he found the local news. He made himself a sandwich from the prepackaged lunchmeat in his fridge, kicked off his sneakers, and plopped down on the bed to eat his lunch and see what great things were happening in his little world of Dumfries, Virginia.
When the local news was over, Eli felt drained and wished he hadn’t turned it on. He looked down at the paper plate on his lap and rearranged the crumbs covering the flower-patterned surface with his fingers. Eventually he put the empty dish on the bedside table, and Royce’s business card caught his attention. Eli picked it up and read it again as if the words would somehow morph into something he could actually do. He rubbed the card between his fingers over and over until curiosity got the best of him. It won’t hurt to look.
Eli opened his laptop, keyed in www.hotmilitaryguys.com, and waited as his Mac located the web site. When the site appeared, the banner on the home page featured a good-looking pilot in uniform up on a ladder next to some sort of aircraft. As Eli scrolled down the home page, he saw various military guys in seductive poses, their dog tags predominately displayed, some in uniform and some bare-chested with tattoos he recognized as very common USMC tats. Next he saw a warning that the site contained hardcore gay sexual situations and content, and a person must be eighteen years of age in order to continue, with an option to enter or leave the site right below it. Eli clicked enter.
The next page featured a large photo of a recruit of the week named Logan in the top half of his US Army uniform and naked from the waist down, his cock fully erect. Along the side of the screen were options for Live Chats, DVDs, Online Videos, Photo Galleries, Affiliated Sites, GIs, and About Us.
Eli clicked the About Us button and started reading.
Welcome to hotmilitaryguys.com, a site that was unknowingly in the making almost my entire life and created through my dreams. From as far back as I can remember, I’ve always been mesmerized and wholeheartedly attracted to men in military uniforms. That love turned into this web site, and today I can offer everyone who shares my dreams a way to explore and even get the opportunity to watch some of these guys act out your favorite fantasies.
Growing up in San Diego, I was always surrounded by men in uniform, and it was there, surrounded by these handsome and mostly willing men, that I first realized I was gay. There weren’t as many gay bars as there are now, and the only other place we had to pick up men was adult bookstores, and trust me when I tell you I had my pick of any military man I wanted.
I quickly realized these hot and horny men would venture in after they struck out with the ladies, knowing they could stick their dick through a glory hole and always find a warm, welcoming mouth on the other side, and… most of the time that warm mouth was mine.
I eventually built up a roster and got to know these guys, built friendships with them, and earned their trust. Ultimately they stopped meeting me at the adult bookstore and started coming right to my own front door, knowing they could get what they wanted and slip out the back until the next time and never be outed by me.
As I got older and less promiscuous, I still longed to see hot military guys, so I came up with the idea for this site. I started talking to the guys I had good relationships with, and surprisingly they were along for the ride. I started hotmilitaryguys.com small but it quickly grew right along with the Internet. Ten years later I still have a thriving business.
So feel welcome to take the tour, look around the site, and sign up for a three-day trial.
Proprietor, Director, and Lover of Men in Uniform
“Well I’ll be,” Eli whispered. “Royce is gay. I never would have pegged him for a homosexual.”
Curious about the guys who were doing these things for Royce, Eli clicked on the GIs button and photos of guys in various stages of uniform or simply naked appeared below a row of buttons from A-Z. Eli clicked on the A button and a whole slew of photos of men whose names all started with the letter A filled the screen. All the guys were very handsome and well built and didn’t look the least bit nervous or ashamed. He clicked on a guy named Adam, and a larger picture with a bio popped up. On the sidebar was a list of videos with thumbnail photos and a description of each video. When Eli clicked on one of the videos, a membership screen popped up, and he couldn’t go any further unless he bought a membership to the site.
Still trying to determine how many men were into this sort of thing, he randomly clicked on the letter J. After counting at least thirty photos in that section alone, he randomly chose a guy named Jayden and clicked on his photo. When he scrolled down, Eli saw a similar list of thumbnail photos connected to videos, but one in particular was titled “Jayden Sheds his Uniform Solo” and had a Free button beside it. Eli clicked on the button, and a black screen opened up with a disclaimer that he couldn’t read fast enough before the scene started.
The guy named Jayden was in full uniform, seated on a couch, with the sound of a girl moaning in the background, obviously from a straight porno playing out of sight. The guy was fondling himself through his trousers, and from the size of the bulge in his pants, building up quite an erection. The guy started slowly taking off his uniform, continuing to fondle himself, until he was naked except for his hat. He started to beat off, slowly at first, rubbing his abs, lifting his legs and rubbing his balls and asshole and then focusing on his dick again, picking up speed until he shot his load all over his stomach and chest. The scene ended with Jayden out of breath, his eyes closed and his body covered in his own release.
Eli stared at the screen in amazement. “I wonder how much that guy got paid to do that?” he mumbled. He continued to click on button after button, but unless you were a member, you didn’t get more than a few photos and an occasional free snippet of some guy in a solo performance beating off. Deciding he’d seen enough to get an idea of what the site was all about, Eli closed his laptop, set it to the side, and lay back on his bed. He linked his fingers together, rested his joined hands on his chest, and closed his eyes. I don’t think I could ever do anything like that was his last thought before he drifted off to sleep…
Eli was in his dress blues, sitting on a white leather couch, heart pumping frantically, and hands fidgeting in his lap. There were several cameras and bright lights pointing in his direction, and a flat-screen television was hanging on the wall right in front of him, starring a very large-chested woman going down on a Marine. On the table next to him was a bottle of lubricant and several neatly folded white towels. Someone yelled “Action!”
Eli stood, staring directly into the camera, and slid the release of his buckle to the left, pulling the woven cotton belt through until it was free. He slowly started to unbutton his coat, painstakingly, one brass button at a time. He let the coat slip off of his shoulders and tossed it onto the back of the couch before removing his white T-shirt and dropping it to the floor at his feet. He saw a flash out of the corner of his eye and turned to see his dog tags lying against his bare chest, reflecting the bright studio lights on the small monitor facing him. He quickly looked away, unable to watch what was unfolding right in front of him.
He sat on the edge of the couch and leaned over to untie his black patent-leather shoes, again focusing only on the camera. He pulled his left shoe off and then toed off his right, kicking them to the side before hooking his forefinger into the back of his sock. He peeled one off, then the other, and dropped them on top of his T-shirt.
He took a deep breath and stood, unhooking his trousers and stepping out of them, adding the pants to the top of the slowly accumulating pile of clothing.
A voice behind the camera yelled, “Cut,” and a blurry face instructed him to sit back down, watch the video, stick his hand down his underwear, and start working on his erection.
The same voice yelled, “Action,” and Eli sat down, leaned against the back of the couch, and slid his hand down his pants. He jumped to his feet in panic and disbelief when he realized his cock was gone.
Eli woke standing at the side of his bed, his heart pounding and his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. He stuck his hand down his pants, and when he found his dick, he gripped it in relief. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. It was just a nightmare!
What a nightmare huh? See you right back here in a couple of hours for more excerpts!