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moment. She thought he was going to refuse her, but then he shrugged and said, “Bakoua it is.”

Chapter Three
    Sometimes you have to make things happen. If you don’t press, if you don’t push, then you’re going to be waiting a lifetime for the good things. The things you deserve. The things you need. I can’t tell you how much time has gone by while others around me keep getting richer, in every way. I’ve got the momentum now, though. I’m aimed, cocked, and ready to fire.
    And if some of you fall beneath the spray of my ammo, too fucking bad.
    It’s my time to hunt.
     
     
    Teresa tiptoed inside the house, closing the front door behind herself, cringing as it softly clicked into place, the faint noise sounding like a pistol shot to her own ears. It was early, not the crack of dawn but definitely on the early side for Andre and the handmaidens. She’d stayed out all night on purpose. The walls of the place were closing in on her and at night, sometimes, she bit down hard on the top blanket to keep from screaming, clenching the fabric between her teeth for hours until her jaw weakened and exhaustion overtook her.
    It was harder and harder to remember how much she’d loved him. How much he’d meant to her in the beginning. How there was no Teresa without him. She was a vessel that only he could fill. She was empty when she was away from him.
    At first she’d thought she was stealing him away from other women, keeping him for herself. She’d wanted him so much. She was happy and triumphant. There was no one on the planet as lucky and loved as she was. Even when he’d been circling the first handmaiden, she hadn’t really been worried. Men were cheaters by nature, but she was confident that he would always come back to her. That this obsession with someone new would only be temporary.
    She’d gone to Stephen at his behest, and she’d played the part so well that sometimes she’d even felt like she loved Stephen too. She had, as it turned out, but she hadn’t realized that until much later . . . until it was too late. By then Stephen was gone and it was her fault as much as anyone’s. If she could turn the clock back, she would. She wished her younger self hadn’t believed in Andre so desperately. It would sure as hell have saved her a lot of grief now.
    “Sneaking in?”
    She froze at his voice, her hand flying to her chest. There were shadows in the house. All the shades were still down and only faint morning light reached around them.
    He materialized from one of the open doorways that stretched down the hall, moving like a cat. She caught the glint of the ankh against his bare chest. She held her breath for a moment, then said, “I was . . . doing my job.”
    “What about the wife?”
    Teresa was “dating” an older married man whose wife held the purse strings. Andre wanted her to take him for all he was worth. In fact, he was downright vicious about it and Teresa knew why. But though the mark was more than willing to rob his wife blind for Teresa, it was difficult for him to slide money out of her control.
    And always, always, the wife expected him home in her bed. There was no spending the night between him and his lover, much to his chagrin and Teresa’s relief. Though she couldn’t tell Andre, she was no longer even trying to keep the con going.
    “I was at the Santa Monica pier . . .”
    “All night? You were supposed to be in my bed.”
    “I thought . . .”
    “What?”
    “I thought you’d chosen Daniella. Last night.”
    “Who were you really with?” His tone was light but she knew better than to trust it.
    “I wouldn’t be with anyone but you.” This was the truth, at least. She would only be with someone if he ordered it—so far, anyway—though she was planning a new and different future for the next part of her life. She just couldn’t let him know. The consequences would be dire. And he was so good at always discerning the truth that she was certain he would know she