“This is so good,” she murmured, fumbling a little with the chopsticks but then slowly and elegantly using them to pick up the next roll.
“So that’s eel,” I told her, watching her with a grin.
She chewed slowly. “It’s good. Not something I would expect to eat, but good.”
She had that attitude about almost everything, but her favorite wound up being the same as mine, the sweet shrimp. She loved it and we ordered an extra portion because we devoured it. It was one of the best meals I’d ever shared with anyone, and discussion about food turned into conversations about everything. We lost track of time, and for a while, I even forgot about getting her naked.
I loved her slight, lilting accent and how expressive she was when she was excited about something. I could lose myself in her round, curvy ass and big breasts. Her lips tasted like honey and, for reasons completely foreign to me, I really fucking loved holding her hand. With other women, it was the kind of thing that was expected, those gestures of intimacy that kept you from being a complete prick even if you weren’t interested in anything but sex. That wasn’t the case with Solange and when we left the restaurant, I didn’t hesitate to wrap my hand around hers.
“Do you want to walk on the beach now?” I asked her. “Or wait until sunset?”
“Can we wait until sunset?” she asked, her eyes lighting up just the way I loved them.
I brushed my lips across hers, nodding. “We can do anything you want.”
“For a woman who’s never had money to spend frivolously,” she said after a moment, “I have a new fascination with jewelry. Can we go over to that shop?”
I glanced across the street and noted it was next door to one of the places I needed to visit. “Sure. I actually have a message from Erik for the guy who owns the cigar shop next door, so I can take care of one item of business while you’re shopping.”
“Perfect.” We waited for the light to change and strolled across the street. There were people and tourists everywhere, something I was glad to see because the Limaji economy had been hit hard under King Anwar’s rule. Erik was doing everything possible to get it going again and this summer’s tourism looked like it was helping.
“If you finish first, I’ll be right here,” I said, stopping in front of the cigar shop. “Just come find me.”
“Chances are, you’ll finish first,” she said with a laugh.
We parted ways and I paused to watch her swaying ass as she walked for a second before stepping into the shop.
“Can I help you?” An austere elderly man with white hair and a pencil mustache greeted me with a friendly smile.
“Hello.” I held out my hand. “I’m Axel Winchester and I’ve come with a message from His Majesty, King Erik.”
The older man’s eyes widened. “Yes? Please, come into the back. Let’s talk.”
I walked into a small but functional back room that had a desk and office chair, a few filing cabinets, one wall of shelves that I assumed held stock, a side table with a coffee machine, and a few chairs by a back window.
“Coffee?” he asked me.
“No, thank you. I just finished dinner.”
“What can I do for you—and the king?”
“We’re curious about any information you might have on active organized crime groups trying to get a foothold here in Voda.”
His eyes narrowed slightly and he nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve heard rumblings. As far as I know, nothing has happened this far south, but my son-in-law runs a smoke shop in Hiskale and said he’s heard news from shops off the beaten path, in the suburbs, having issues.”
“King Erik would be extremely grateful if you could give us any and all information you have.” I handed him a business card that had been printed specifically for this purpose. “If you call this number, you’ll be connected to someone on Prince Sandor’s staff that can take all the pertinent details.”
“Absolutely.” He nodded, putting the card in his pocket. “I have no desire to give away any percentage of my earnings to street thugs. Not after a decade of King Anwar’s oppression. I happily pay my national taxes. We need roads and schools and police, but for a group of criminals? Not on my watch.”
“We appreciate you, Leo.” I got to my feet.
“Would you bring a gift to the king?” he asked, leading me back into the shop.
“Of course.”
He dug out a handful of cigars. He wrapped half a dozen into paper, adding his business card, and then handed me a separate one. “Cuban,” he said. “Half a dozen for the king, and the princes Sandor and Daniil, and one for you.”
“Thank you.” I inclined my head. “I haven’t smoked one in a long time, and I’ve never tried a Cuban.”
He looked affronted. “This is criminal. Please, enjoy.”
“I will.” We walked to the front just as a man ran past the door with Solange right behind him. Before I could intervene, she caught up to the man and tackled him to the ground, just a few feet in front of me, snatching her purse from his hands and yelling a litany of Limaji curses at him.
I finally snapped into action, rushing onto the sidewalk and grabbing the guy by the back of the neck and yanking him to his feet.
“She’s my sister,” the guy was saying. “She’s just mad at me. Everyone is fine.”
People were yelling and we’d attracted a crowd, but Solange was furious, eyes blazing as she continued giving him a piece of her mind.
“I’m not your fucking sister,” she snapped, glaring at him.
A policeman had joined us, speaking in rapid-fire Limaji, ignoring Solange and focusing on the man who I now noticed couldn’t be a day over seventeen.
“He’s not my brother,” Solange interrupted them, getting more and more agitated.
“Then I guess we’re going to the police station.” The officer reached for Solange’s arm.
“Don’t touch her.” My voice was low but deadly serious, and the cop froze.
“Sir, this isn’t your business.” The cop seemed to think I was some random tourist. I hated to do it, but as a Royal Protector, we had a lot of options available to us when dealing with police and even military in Limaj. I had a badge, something like a law enforcement officer would use, but the Royal Protector badge was essentially a universal get-out-of-jail-free card. And garnered all the respect, all the time. I pulled it from my back pocket and flashed it at him. The policeman nearly wilted when he realized what it was.
I turned to the teenager. “Did you snatch my girlfriend’s purse?” I asked in Limaji. My pronunciation was shit and I didn’t have the best grasp of the grammar, but fuck that—I was going to hurt this guy if he kept talking.
The kid froze, his mouth working but no sound coming out as he stared at my badge.
“I asked you a question,” I said.
“Y-yes.” The kid was on the verge of tears now.
There was another flurry of activity as the kid was arrested, Solange had to tell her story to three more policemen, and we had to stand there for another thirty minutes. By the time they let us leave, it was dark and I put my arm around her, pulling her close to me.