ROMANCE: BAD BOY ROMANCE: Basketball Daddy (BWWM Alpha Male Billionaire Pregnancy Romance) (African American Unexpected Pregnant Contemporary Romance)

by Ava Walsh

  “I am Teresa Luz Echeverría, of Houston, Texas, USA,” she said, in English, hard determination in her clear, deep voice as she willed herself to remember the one truth no one could take from her. She touched the bullet scar, the sole anchor to her old life. “I am twenty-seven, a human woman of the planet Earth. I am a soldier. I am a policewoman. I’ve survived foster care, high school, a tour in Afghanistan and six months of hazing my first year on the Force, and I’ll be damned if I won’t survive this, too. This wretched hive will burn to the ground one day... but I’ll still be standing.” Eyes firmly on the mirror, she repeated her mantra, in Spanish this time, and then again, in Pashto and Dari each.

  They could take her from her home.

  They could enslave her.

  They could beat her, starve her, give her a derogatory name.

  They could force her to fight others for their entertainment, and then slap a pleasure-collar on her and sell her to the highest bidder.

  But they could not take who and what she was. Never.

  “Listen how they call for you,” a smooth, lilting voice called out from the hallway, and Teresa mentally reminded herself that killing the woman the voice belonged to would be counterproductive to her goals. After unlocking and removing the beam that both closed and fortified the door to her cell, the door opened and two... well... let’s be generous and call them men, walked in. They were twins, and by far the largest of all the different sentient beings Teresa had become acquainted with since her abduction. They were at least a foot and a half taller than her and built of nothing but solid muscle. Their skin was a sooty dark grey covered in thin, coarse hair, and their enormous heads, which had large jowls and mean teeth that seemed to always be bared in a snarl, grew directly from their shoulders.

  The Garn could be called many things, but easy on the eyes wasn’t one of them.

  They positioned themselves on each side of the door, both dressed in chainmail and leather and armed to the teeth, watching her as if they couldn’t wait to be given the order to rip her apart.

  But the woman who entered after them would never give that order, at least not while she could still make money out of Teresa.

  She was the most beautiful creature ever created, a resplendent sample of the Skatian race. Tall, taller than Teresa, and built to willowy perfection, her features were exquisitely delicate, and her silvery hair, straight as an arrow, cascaded down her back all the way to her hips, always behaving perfectly, as if she were an anime goddess. Her skin was a powdery, pale beige hue that marked her as a member of the noble caste, flawless, and perfumed with a fresh, flowery scent Therese would’ve loved if she did not associate it with her current fate. The woman wore, as always, a long, flowing gown of gossamer silk in pale, pastel colors, strategically layered to tantalize the observer’s imagination yet reveal nothing, and no jewelry save for the long, layered necklace of painstakingly thin chains that cascaded from the graceful column of her neck to the tips of her demure bosom.

  Her name was Esplyn of House Rida, and Teresa hated her with all the passion of the undying fire of a thousand suns.

  “My Hele,” the woman cooed, as she observed her property. Teresa did not correct her. It was not worth the pain and humiliation of the punishment she would have to endure for it once the fight was over.

  She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  “You must be very careful to put on a good show today,” her mistress instructed her, in the tone one would usually use on a mentally underdeveloped child, and petted Teresa’s cheek. “We have special guests in the audience today – a diplomatic envoy from Kinai – and we want them to have fun.” Her face scrunched in disgust. “Filthy barbarians,” she sneered, but reverted quickly to her usual graceful serenity in a second. “But, alas, we must play nice with them,” she sighed, the sound of a long-suffering person resigned to their fate.

  Personally, it made Teresa want to punch her (more so than usually, that is). There were many people in Wallaria who deserved to feel sorry for themselves, but not this woman. As a scion of a noble family and the favorite lover of the High General, Lady Esplyn had lived a life of splendor and privilege since the day she was born, and probably would until the day she died. Even this – buying, training, and working slaves for Pit fights – was nothing but a hobby to her, a game to pass the time and indulge her sadistic urges.

  But Teresa knew better than to say or do anything that would give her mistress any reason to be displeased with her, so she just stood there and waited to see if this conversation had a point.

  And, when Lady Esplyn snatched Teresa’s chin in her spindly fingers and pulled her head up to face her, she knew she was about to find out.

  “You must win today,” she ordered, in that cruel tone of voice Teresa knew to dread, “That bitch Sanagra paid off the Pit Master to pair you with that Firuzian bitch-boy of hers, and I want to see you annihilate him. Do you understand?” Teresa nodded. She understood, perhaps better than her mistress thought. No matter how hard their masters tried to isolate and desensitize their fighters to prevent them from forming bonds amongst themselves or organizing a rebellion (as had been the case a few times in the past), they still found a way to communicate amongst themselves.

  More to the point, though, her training had conditioned her to be observant, vigilant and always aware of her surroundings, and she gathered information in her head like an ant gathers food for the winter.

  She knew, then, that the reason Lady Esplyn was on edge today was because her main rival in the High General’s bed, Lady Sangra of House Chenei, had issued what was tantamount to a public challenge by influencing the Pit Master to pair up the fighters to her liking. In itself, this was not strange, but when it happened without the mutual agreement of the fighters’ masters... oh, yes. Lady Sangra could not have made her motives any clearer if she had hired all the criers in Wallaria to shout it from the rooftops.

  Teresa also knew the reputation of the man she was about to take on, and that only added to the pressure she suddenly found put upon her.

  The Firuzian, whom Teresa had never heard referred to by his name, was as famous for his fighting prowess as he was for his beauty and extravagant style, and a recent addition to the Pit roster. He was an Adonis among bog monsters when compared to all the other male fighters she knew, with his powerful, perfectly chiseled musculature set upon a tall, wide frame. Teresa found the combination of his athletic, humanoid features and the defining traits of his race – completely smooth, hairless skin the color of oiled bronze, sharply angled cheekbones and slanted, almond-shaped eyes with irises of sparkling gold, roughly three times as large as that of an average human – extremely attractive. And she was not the only one, for it was said that his mistress charged obscene amounts of money to those who wished to indulge in that impeccable body, and there were rumors he spent every night he was not rented out in Lady Sangra’s bed.

  There was no doubt that the Firuzian was an expert killing machine as well as a skilled showman. Teresa honestly wasn’t sure she would come out of this fight alive, let alone win – especially not in the spectacular fashion her mistress had demanded.

  “Win, my Hele,” Esplyn hissed in her face, “Or I shall grant a week’s worth of playtime with you to the twins.” Teresa gulped, terrified and disgusted at the memory of the last time the mistress had put the pleasure-collar on her and let her attack dogs have her way with her, and nodded again. “Excellent,” Esplyn smiled, all gentleness and sweetness again, and began to walk out.

  “Oh,” she said, pausing, and glanced at Teresa over her shoulder, “And do try to cut up his face.” With that, Esplyn left the cell, and her goons with her, but the door did not close. Instead, four guards entered, wearing armor in red and tan, the colors worn by all those who worked in the Pit.

  The time had come.

  They would escort her to the Pit, where she would fight for her life yet again.

  May God grant her mercy in this merciless place.
<
br />   Chapter Two

  Kenner of the Darkwings sat on the gilded chairs their host, the High General of the Skatian Empire, had offered them when they joined him in his section of the Imperial Loge, the thick canopy of white silk embroidered in silver protecting them from the harsh Wallarian sun. His First Lieutenant, Arul, chatted with the lady who was seated between them, while Kenner carefully drank his chilled wine and observed the audience attending the day’s fights.

  He would’ve preferred never to have set foot on the Empire’s soil, but the more reports of Skatian ships circling the Obsidian Ridge reached his hands, the more obvious it became that the Empire seemed to have forgotten what had happened the last time they had tried to make slaves out of Kinai. Putting up with these pampered fools for a few days in order to remind them the Kinai were still just as capable of turning their forces into ash as they were close to a millennium ago was preferable to an all-out war.

  There was a reason why the Kinai kept to themselves, and that reason was best kept behind the jagged teeth of the Ridge.

  And so, after the Council of Elders had arranged for landing and lodgings, the Darkwing Squadron had flown to the desert shores of the Skatian Empire and Wallaria, their capital. They had made a spectacle gliding over the city, their mighty wings manipulating the air currents for maximum effect, inspiring awe in their audience, before descending on a clearing made for them at the Central Square, shapeshifting mid-landing. No sooner had the Squadron settled down in the inn they had rented than a missive from the Imperial Palace arrived – an invitation from the Emperor himself, offering them his hospitality.

  Personally, Kenner would rather eat a bag of nails, but it suited their purposes to accept the invitation, so the Squadron had packed up and moved into the luxurious suite prepared for them in the guest quarters of the Palace.

  The suite was a study in opulence, but without much substance to it – a fitting representation of an Empire that had once had ambitions of planetary domination, but lost everything they had gained in the first wave of sweeping success because they allowed themselves to become engulfed in petty internal squabbles and vain power games.

  Valuing trade over labor, the Skaians were the first and only nation of Elamaren to institutionalize slavery, and their dreams of conquest came from the need for a larger workforce. Since it was against their law to keep Skatians as slaves, they turned to the remaining four nations of Elamaren: the sooty Garn, who excelled at physically taxing labor; the limber, downy Makish, whose skills lay in hunting and woodwork; and the decorative Firuzians, a nation of artists, scholars and masters of fine crafts.

  Only the Kinai had successfully fought them off, after showing the Skatians just how ill-equipped they were for the task of conquering a nation of people capable of shapeshifting into enormous, flying, fire-breathing lizards, of course.

  Yet, despite this being their only large scale failure, it took only thirty-five years for the Skatians to be forced back to their homeland. By then, they had enough slaves to begin breeding them, which was far more cost-effective, so they didn’t take their failure at imperial expansion too hard. Concentrating again on their first love, they became the epicenter of trade between members of all five nations, which was why, five years ago, when the Star Alliance came to Elamaren, they had chosen Wallaria as the location for the Crossroads Portal.

  It was a planet-wide shock when the first starship landed on Elamaren, settling once and for all the age-old debate of whether or not there was sentient life on other planets. As it turned out, there were at least another thirty-four species in their galaxy alone, but only three possessed sufficiently advanced technology to achieve interstellar travel. Those three planets formed the Star Alliance and joined forces to create a space station that would allow the people from all over the galaxy to gather in one place and trade goods and knowledge.

  The Crossroads Space Station both earned the Star Alliance a great deal of money and successfully maintained their monopoly on space travel. After all, who would bother wasting money, time and effort developing starships of their own if all the benefits of having a space fleet were just a fee and a push of a button away? Anyone willing to pay the passage fee was free to use the Portal, and Skatians made a great profit from the plethora of new trading possibilities that came with having a Portal on their territory.

  Which, Kenner suspected, may have rekindled some of those delusions of grandeur. His intel stated that Skatians both sold and bought slaves in the Crossroads markets, and a Kinai slave would probably be a highly sought after commodity, considering their potential as living weapons. The possibility was simply too dreadful to be ignored, which was why the Darkwing Squadron had put on their show, why they had spent the past week allowing the nobles of Skatia to fight amongst themselves for the right to host a celebration in their honor every night, and why Kenner, as Commander, and Arul, as his second, had been invited this afternoon to watch the gladiator fights in the Pit of Wallaria with the Emperor and the members of his inner circle.

  Catching a whiff of the conversation Arul was having with Lady Esplyn shook Kenner from his thoughts. “He must be enormous to warrant such a name.” Arul, the charmer of the Squadron, feigned enthusiasm, an effort the woman must’ve appreciated, for she flashed him a sublime smile even as her eyes remained cold.

  “She is at least five times my weight.”

  Arul managed to look impressed. “A ‘behemoth’ indeed!” Kenner almost scoffed. That supposedly monstrous size was average among the Kinai, but then again, compared to the Skatians, with their fine, bird-like bones and barely-there flesh, everyone was gargantuan.

  “Is she Garn?” Arul asked.

  “Oh, no!” Lady Esplyn replied. “She is very new – and very unique. A recent acquisition from my last visit to the Crossroads.” She sighed wistfully. “I had the mind to make her one of my pets, but she turned out to be far better suited for the Pit,” she said. “Barely into her first year, and she’s already a crowd favorite.”

  Another lady – Sangra, if memory served – laughed at that statement. “Your freak is but a chance occurrence riding a stroke of luck that is bound to run out sooner or later,” she said, patronizing words at odds with the sweetness of her voice.

  “Perhaps,” Arul’s companion replied nonchalantly, with a charming shrug of her left shoulder, “But it won’t happen today. She’s fighting some Firuzian who spends more time with a pleasure-collar on than in the training yards.” She turned to Arul. “Why his whore-mistress insisted on this match is beyond me,” she told him, exuding concern and confidence, both very much fake, “Gilt doesn’t last long in the Pit of Wallaria.”

  From the look on Lady Sangra’s face, Kenner deduced that she must be the whore-mistress in question. However, if the lady had any witty remarks to snap back with, she had to save them for another time, for the trumpets announced the arrival of the gladiators and the beginning of the opening fight for the day.

  From a door to his right, Kenner saw the Firuzian fighter. Even from his seat in the royal loge, Kenner could see the man’s exquisite features, which were undoubtedly the cause of him being so thoroughly used for sex. His taut, flawless skin was put on full display, for the man wore nothing but a small piece of gold-colored silk to cover his sizeable privates, held in place by a set of two golden strings, one across his waist and one between his buttocks. An intricately decorated sword and shield were his only equipment, and Kenner knew that, despite Lady Esplyn’s comments, the man had to be a tremendously skilled fighter to afford to exhibit such bravado.

  He looked to the left to see his opponent... and his heart skipped a beat.

  She was beautiful.

  She was of a height with the average Kinai and probably weighed the same, but unlike Kinai women, who were built with all the rough edges their men had, the fighter’s weight was mostly distributed in lush curves that made his mouth water – a round, pronounced backside, heavy breasts barely contained by the leather of her armor and a s
taunch, round belly. Her frame was strong and wide, and she clearly had well-trained muscles underneath the plump padding. Her skin that carried a strong tan and scars that spoke of her profession.

  She would be so soft to the touch, he thought, so smooth to sink into.

  “Few favor Hele’s particular brand of exotica,” Lady Esplyn cooed to Kenner, who only then realized that his fascination had showed more than was wise. “But those who do pay well for a repeat performance. If you wish, I shall have her sent to your quarters this very eve.”

  Fighting the urge to choke the bitch on the spot, Kenner turned to Lady Esplyn. “One night is not enough,” he said, surprising everyone in the Loge, even himself. The thought of this resplendent creature being anything but free made his heart ache, and he felt an inexplicably strong urge to save her from these monsters.

  “Do you truly fancy the beast so fervently?” the Emperor asked, highly amused by this turn of events.

  “If Lady Esplyn is looking to sell, I will meet her price,” he replied simply. Arul looked at him as if he lost his mind, but Kenner ignored him. He may not have understood why this was important to him, but he knew that it was.

  The Emperor of Skatia laughed. “Then we must make certain Lady Esplyn gives you a fair price,” the Emperor replied graciously, much to the barely contained displeasure of the lady.

  She had no time to protest, however, for the trumpets sounded once again, announcing the beginning of the first fight of the day.

  Chapter Three

  Teresa stood in the sands of the Pit, looking at the man in the Imperial Loge who didn’t seem capable of taking his eyes off her. What an intriguing creature he was, she thought to herself, as she used the seconds she had before the second trumpet to absorb as much of him as she could.

  He wore what looked like armor of a shiny black material she did not recognize, and even though he was seated, she could tell that he had a few inches on her, and possibly a few dozen pounds as well. Unlike her, however, he was built of nothing but muscle, sinew and bone, and looked as if all of it had been gained through strenuous physical work. His face was very rough and very masculine, all hard edges, deep-set eyes, strong nose and square jaw, with a wild head of jet black hair that fell down his shoulders in uneven, wavy tresses that made her want to run her fingers through them. There was an olive tone to his skin, and she was too far away to see such details as the color of his eyes, but that didn’t diminish the tremendous amount of strength – no, power! – he radiated, or the focus with which he watched her. There was something almost animalistic about him, something wild and dangerous, yet Teresa felt an undeniable pull towards him.