A Wager of Blood II (working title)
an excerpt

Ante Up

The governor cut quite the dashing figure and she was very well aware of it. She swept into the room, a vision in cobalt blue tweed. It was the perfect color to set off her blue eyes and the up-swept hairdo of silver hair. Every man at the table stood immediately. Every man at the table wore a hungry expression on his face. She knew that expression well and she played it to her favor. Every single man wanted to have her in bed, naked and begging. But she also knew that every man at that table knew she could emasculate them with a glance. They were scared of her, too.

She seated herself at the head of the table, waiting as the requisite cup of coffee was placed before her. David, her aide, also put down the leather bound folder that held the paperwork. He sat down in a chair behind her and to the left, waiting for whatever command.

They waited, patiently, while she took the first sip of coffee. When the cup was reseated in the saucer, they started up.

“Governor, the numbers in the state look good, but—”

“No one knows who you are, it will be a logistical nightmare—”

“But she’ll be a strong female candidate—”

“Not against Hillary Cli—”

“Drumming up support is going to be—”

She raised her hands, signaling for silence. She got it immediately.

“Gentlemen, you think small and immediate. One of the main troubles of the current administration. As to Senator Clinton; I think it’s high time another woman got into the race, don’t you? I see no reason why it can’t be.” She smiled, surveying her advisors. “And as to support and numbers and logistics . . . trust me, that will not be difficult. You just do your job and everything will be fine.”

“Governor Whitney . . . .”

“Yes, Marshall?”

“We can’t just trust this to happen. If we’re going to make you a household name and a force to be reckoned with, we need to start now. Now! The other Republican candidates have at least six months on you in the fund raising and the caucuses.”

“My dear,” she purred. “Fund raising is not an issue. And I’m sure Anthony and James can get to work on any other funding we’ll need. Money, I have in abundance.”

Another voice chimed in. “But Governor, the campaign has already started.”

Her posture suddenly changed; she sat straighter in the chair, less relaxed. They got the hint immediately.

“Gentlemen, this is what I want. I don’t pay you to make excuses or tell me what I can’t do! I pay you to hear my thoughts and wishes and then get it done. Understood?”

There was a sea of nodding heads in answer to her demand.

“Good. Then, I am officially declaring myself a candidate for the 2008 Presidential election. Get up off your lazy asses and make me a strong candidate. I need fund raising and I need speaking engagements and you let me focus on the rest.” She held up the leather bound folder. “I have the numbers in New Hampshire. I want them in the nation. Understood?”

The heads nodded in unison again. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed them to go and take care of business. No one ever refused Olivia Thornton-Whitney when she had her mind put to something.

Her aide topped off the coffee, adding a scone with butter and jam.

“Governor—”

“David, I told you . . . when we’re alone, it’s Livie.”

“Yes . . . Livie.” There was the slightest pause before he continued. “They’re right, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” she agreed. “But I have a few aces up my sleeve, you see. A hidden benefactor that will help me along.”

“But you just bluffed with that folder.”

“Yes I did,” she answered, smiling.

"That New Hampshire poll didn't favor you, you know."

She shrugged. "For now. To quote Scarlet O' Hara, 'tomorrow is another day!'"

“What can I do?”'

She slowly buttered the scone as she spoke. “Have you found him yet? The young man I specifically told you about?”

“I did,” David answered. He opened the leather binder, pointing to a manila folder inside. “I took the liberty of providing you with his address, phone number, and current photos.”

Livie smiled. David had been with her a very long time, long enough to earn the right to call her by her first name. He was ever efficient and ever discreet. She opened the pale folder, glancing at the pictures.

“Good God, he looks so much like . . . he could almost pass as Remy’s twin.”

“I thought you might say that. Shall I call him?”

“No,” she answered. “I’ll take care of that. I need to see him. I trust he’s still at the home?”

“Yes, Gov—I mean, Livie.”

“Excellent. Which means he’ll be malleable. Quite useful to my purposes.”

There was one other reason she was more than pleased about David. He never asked questions.

“I also gave the visiting hours in the information.”

“Thank you. You may go.”

David left the coffee carafe on the table and left, quickly and quietly. The door latch clicked behind her, leaving her alone in the room.

“Yes, he’ll do nicely.”

“Yes, he will. So like his father and uncle, so willing to please.”

“He has the same mental issues, you know,” she said to no physical presence. “He’ll be just as unstable.”

“Perhaps. But that will make him just as expendable in the end. As long as I get my gateway back.”

“And my inn.”

“The inn is meaningless without the gateway.”

“The inn is my family’s legacy. It’s not meaningless to me!”

The invisible fist grabbed her throat, cutting off her air and scorching her skin. She reached up, clawing at her bare flesh and gasping, trying to breathe.

“I’ll tell you exactly what is meaningless, you stupid bitch. Just remember who’s really in charge here. I want him. I want my gateway. And your inn can blow to hell and back for all I care. Get it?”

Black spots were floating before her eyes but she managed to nod. Just as quickly, the hand let go. She drank in deep gulps of air, rubbing the reddened flesh on her throat. “My . . . my . . . candi . . . candi . . . candidacy,” she managed to croak out.

“Ah, yes. The president to be.”

“Master, you promised me.”

“Yes, I did.”

Cool fingers now touched the burns, chilling the flesh and healing the wounds. Her breathing came easier and she felt her heart slowing back down.

“It will happen, my dear. I will give you what I promised. And you will give me what you promised.”

“Harper will be harder to deal with this time. He’s got the deed.”

“Yes, he does. But we can force him to let it go. I have a plan.”

She nodded. “You always do. He will pay for his blackmail. Him and that friend of his. I want them flayed alive. I want them suffering.”

“And you’ll have it, dear.”

She felt herself scooted out on the seat of the chair; and she let it happen. Relaxing even further, she knew what reward was coming. Keeping herself for the Master, his reward would fill her. Her thighs parted willingly and wide.

“Master, the doors . . . .”

The locks clicked home; the conference room was now inaccessible to anyone. The blinds closed on their own, leaving a diffused light in the room. Unseen hands began to caress, titillate private places that no man had touched since her husband’s death. She gripped the arms of the chair to hold in her moans.

The voice never stopped.

“You understand that you will not just be able to rely on this puppet of yours, don’t you? I will require a more active participation from you. You’ll have to get your blue blood hands very dirty on this one, my dear. That is, if you truly want this power.”

She nodded vehemently, feeling the first warmth of desire spread through her belly.

“Good. Because I demand my sacrifices. I demand your payment if you want to be president. I demand what was stolen from me—my gateway, my sacrifices, my bride. That stupid jackass brother of yours made a monumental mess of everything. But I have high hopes for you, my dear Olivia. Very high hopes. The blood will flow and revenge shall be exacted. You’ll have power, I’ll have my gateway . . . and together, we’ll own the world!”

And as the first orgasm shook her entire body, the Master told her what to do. That Harper bastard would never know what hit him.