Prologue
The Past
It was late, Sara was tired (it was hours past her bedtime), and the cacophony of sounds in the small grade school gymnasium was making it hard for her to focus. Adults and children alike were murmuring anxiously amongst themselves as they waited for the charismatic Latin man to speak.
Even though Sara was barely five, she knew he was a very important man. He was, her uncle explained to her, theirfounder.
She also knew that she instantly and inexplicitly disliked him, though she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. Physically, he was striking: meticulously dressed, in shape, sharp distinguished features, mesmerizing dark eyes, beautifully long straight black hair, and accompanied on either side by attractive young women. His personality seemed outwardly warm also: not only did he have an easy way about him, but he smiled and shook hands with anyone who directed their attention to him.
When he approached her, it took every ounce of her willpower to not turn and run away.
“You are Sara, yes?”
Sara nodded, shocked that he knew her name, and utterly unsure of how to address him. He smiled warmly, but his smile did not put her at ease.
“Do you know who I am, Sara?”
Sara nodded again. “Yes, sir. You are the one that started all this.”
The man laughed. “Yes, but that is not who I am. That is simply what I have done. My name is Dominique. My friends call me διάβολος. That is who I am. I would like it very much if we could be friends. You remind me of my daughter, Miel. You look remarkably similar to her. Do you think we could be friends, Sara?”
Sara’s eyes widened. Friends? With this man? With the founder? She nodded her head, sensing that was the reaction the man wished to see, and Dominique smiled in response.
“Can you repeat after me, Sara? Dreihundert Männer, von denen jeder jeden kennt, leiten die wirtschaftliche Geschicke des Kontinents und suchen sich Nachfolger aus ihrer Umgebung.”
Sara tried to repeat the words, but she butchered them horribly. The man smiled as she fought through the ordeal, trying her very best to do as she was told.
“Win this fight, Sara. I will be watching. Win this fight, and I will reward you.”
Sara nodded.
Her uncle, watching in the background, nervously wiped his hands on his pants…
Sara had to focus. Because she had to win this fight.
The thing was, however, Sara didn'twant to fight. She knew why she had to; her uncle explained it very clearly on the way here: they needed money for food and school supplies, not to mention clothes, and since her parents died and he took sole custody of her, it was her responsibility to do anything she could to help.
She was only five. She believed what he said.
The other girl, Fatima, looked just as scared and reluctant as she was. Her uncle was unusually excited, telling her that Fatima’s father was a big deal in their small blip of a town and would pay well if Sara won, so she had to win. If she lost, they would lose far more than money…though what he meant by that Sara had no idea.
And another thing: they were not dressed to fight. Not compared to the fighters Sara had seen on television. Sara was wearing blue jeans and a Big Bird t-shirt, while Fatima wore a pretty white embroidered dress decorated with light pink flowers. Fatima was smaller than Sara both in height and musculature, and Sara knew she would most likely win any sort of physical confrontation.
That should have made her confident. It didn’t.
She was terrified.
She had never been in a fight before.
She jumped as the announcement was made that it was time for the fight to begin, and stood there dumbly as the people gathered around to watch, some cheering, some laughing, most yelling.
Neither girl moved. Neither girl wanted to.
Sara heard her uncle yelling at her, commanding her to attack the other girl, to show no mercy, to do whatever it took to win. She could see Fatima's father doing much the same to his daughter, his sentiments echoed by the well-dressed crowd surrounding them. They were becoming agitated, anxious, and visibly impatient. The noise in the gym grew deafening.
Sara watched as a stream of urine ran down the other girl’s leg.
“If you don’t win tonight, I’ll be…extra rough with you…” her uncle hissed in her ear as she stood there.
Sara gulped and tried to still the shaking of her body. She knew exactly what her uncle meant. She didn’t have a choice. She steeled herself, then made her hands into tight little fists and ran towards the slightly smaller girl, who screamed and raised her hands to her face to defend herself.
The fight was over almost before it began; Fatima barely fought back. Neither girl knew how to truly fight, and Sara, the stronger and bigger of the two, used her size and strength to her advantage and quickly overpowered the smaller girl, repeatedly striking her until her fists bled. Soon Fatima was sobbing, bleeding, and not even trying to fight back.
The fight was called. Sara had won.
She felt strong, gentle hands come to rest on her shoulders, pulling her away from the small bloody and beaten girl.
“You did good, Sara. You won. It is time for your reward.”
The hair on the back of Sara’s neck raised. It was the founder, Dominique.
As Dominique led her away, she looked back and watched as her uncle and Fatima's father casually shook hands and congratulated one another, acting as if what had just transpired was little more than a televised football game. Fatima's father held a small stack of bills out to her uncle, then took it away and nodded towards his daughter with a smile on his face. He was giving her uncle a choice: he could have the money orborrow his daughter. Her uncle seemed to consider this for a moment, then pushed the cash away and grabbed Fatima instead.
Fatima ended up going home with them.
Her screams and cries throughout the night made it impossible for Sara to sleep...
The Present
Antonio looked at Tanya, who was sitting right in front of him, cross-legged just as he was, their knees touching. They were both naked, and Antonio was beyond horny. But Tanya refused to sleep with him tonight. She told him mysteriously that she had other plans, better plans, and that she wanted to try something that she thought he would like even better than sex.
He remembered her laughing at the expression that leaped on his face.
“What kind of expression is that? There are better things than sex, you know!”
Antonio frowned in concentration. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.”
“That’s because you’re thinking with the wrong head,” Tanya said grinning.
Antonio shrugged. She was right. When it came to her, he often thought with the wrong head. He couldn’t help it. He was attracted to her on an almost insane level, and had been since they were younger. Her barely noticeable pregnant belly only served to turn him on even more.
But he would never force himself on her, so he waited patiently for her to say something more. The urge to reach out and grab her, to pull her to him and sheathe himself
