This was going to be one long epic BUT I suck at writing anymore, so, to make it easier on myself I'm making a series becuase that has smaller, easier to fulfill goals. I hope y'all are okay with that! (Oui, je sais, ANOTHER series J, blaaagh)

At least I have this first story in the series done, except for half of the last chapter :) So, here, enjoy the first chapter of the first part of my new series - The Thief's Bride

"Dis is such bullshit!"

Twenty five year old Remy LeBeau paced his office and growled furiously as he fought the tingle of a familiar charge building in his hands. His temper was through the roof right now and that always adversely affected his powers. That's why he was usually so careful to keep his emotions at least somewhat under control. But right now, there was no way he could keep a leash on his temper. The phone conference he'd just had with his father had guaranteed that.

Scowling, the young Master Thief, heir apparent to Jean-Luc LeBeau—Guildmaster of the New Orleans Guild and Patriarch of the Thieves Guild itself—was currently living up to his title of 'Prince' by throwing a tantrum of epic proportions. He stormed around his office and kicked at random furniture while trying very hard not to blow anything up. "I can't believe it." Remy snarled out, kicking a chair so hard it bounced against the far wall. "Dey can't make me do dis. Dey can't!"

Over at the side of the room, his head of security and personal bodyguard, as well as rather close friend, stood with his shoulder propped up against the wall, watching Remy's fit with the air of someone who was used to such things. Tall, a few inches over Remy's six foot four inch frame, and with a solid build, Timothy Miscall was a force to be reckoned with when needed. He was a Thief, the same as Remy, and a good one despite what his sheer size and almost military look, straight down to the buzz cut, would suggest. But he'd chosen to turn his skills towards the Guards instead of trying to become a Master Thief. His serious face rarely showed a smile, though those who knew him knew how to read the humor in his bright blue eyes. He and Remy knew one another well. Timothy had been guarding the Prince for seven years now, ever since Remy had first come to Las Vegas to train underneath Guildmaster Evans, and in that time the two had become close. Timothy protected him not just because he was ordered to. Remy had earned his loyalty, a thousand times over.

Remy's father had sent him here after trouble back home had almost cost Remy his life. There weren't many that knew the details. All that was known was that one moment, Remy had been engaged to the daughter of the Assassins Guildmaster, and the next thing they knew the engagement was off and there'd been a bounty on his head, and eighteen year old Remy was being shipped off to Vegas. The plan had been for the thief to train and learn about how to properly be a Guildmaster, helping to prepare him for taking over for his father one day. But when Guildmaster Evans had died two years back—a heart attack, they said, though rumors suggested something more—the young Prince had stepped up to the plate. In his time here in Vegas he'd earned his Master title He ran the Vegas Thieves Guild now with the help of the second-in-command, Marc Fontenot. But Remy wasn't technically the Guildmaster. He'd had to wait first until he was twenty five. Now that he was of age, his father had explained to him the final steps in what was required of him if he truly wanted to be a Guildmaster and stay in charge of this Guildhouse—which was the reason for the fit that Remy was currently throwing.

"Why de hell didn't anyone tell me dis sooner?" Spinning, Remy kicked the next chair so hard it cracked against his desk. He twisted back around to scowl over at Timothy. He held one finger up in the air. "One week! He tells me I got one week to announce my engagement if I wanna be Guildmaster here, or else m' engagement to Belle is back on. To Belle!" Throwing his hands up, Remy dropped down onto the only chair left standing. "What de hell am I gonna do?"

"You could pass this place over to Marc. If you aren't trying for Guildmaster, they can't force you to marry." Timothy suggested. His tone was dry, though, and held no real belief that Remy would do such a thing. He knew the Cajun far too well for that.

Sure enough, his suggestion earned him one hell of a scowl. "Like hell, Timmy. I've busted m' ass at dis place. I aint giving it up."

It was true, too. Remy had worked and trained hard from the minute he'd come to Vegas. Quite a few people had expected the princeling to come here with a swelled head and no true skill like some of the rumors suggested. They'd expected a spoilt brat who had gotten in trouble and was being sent away from home as a punishment. Remy had proved them wrong. He'd advanced through his training quicker than anyone and had achieved Master status years before anyone else in his age group. He'd proved time and time again that he had what it took to be a thief. Oh, he had an ego; there was no doubt about that. He was cocky, arrogant, had a nasty temper when provoked, was an admitted rogue, and a right little shit when the mood suited him. But he was also smart—far smarter than he let on—charming, and kind. He was loyal, and inspired the same loyalty in others. When Evans had passed on, Marc had been content to stay second-in-command and allow Remy to step up, despite his young age.

"You could always just drop out for a few years, give yourself time to actually find someone."

"I worked too hard to just walk away, even fo' a bit." Plus, they both knew that holding a place for Remy here just wouldn't work. If he left, he'd be handing this over, and there'd be no getting it back. Sighing, Remy dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling. "I never planned on getting married. How de hell am I gonna find m'self someone in a week, Timmy?"

"You really wanna saddle yourself to someone for the rest of your life just to keep your father off your back?" Timothy asked.

No, Remy did not want to saddle himself to someone. He didn't want to marry anyone at all! But ever since the day that Jean-Luc had adopted the ten year old boy who had tried to pick his pocket on the streets of New Orleans, the little boy had been raised and groomed to one day take over. He'd been trained to be who he was now. Becoming a Guildmaster was all he'd expected in life, all he'd planned for. It was everything he wanted. If he didn't marry, he'd be giving that all up, walking away from a life that he loved. If he wanted to keep it, he either had to marry someone of his own choosing, or he'd finally have to give in to his father's demands and marry BellaDonna Boudreaux in a political move meant to unite the Thieves and Assassins guilds into one. It was a move his father had wanted for as long as Remy could remember, and one that Remy had gone along with for years, right up until a week before what would've been their wedding.

Calling off that wedding hadn't done Remy any favors back home. His family was upset, understandably so, and the Assassins were furious. Sending Remy here to Vegas had been one of the only ways to keep them from killing him. Even then, Remy had had to be careful over the years and fend off more than one Assassin who either sought to avenge Belle's honor, or were sent at her behest. It was kind of a toss-up. Even back when they were happy, or pretending to be happy, Remy had never been quite sure if Belle wanted to kiss him or stab him. Knowing her, it had probably been both.

But Remy had built a life here. He'd worked damn hard to make himself at home here in Vegas. This was home to him now. Even if he missed New Orleans some days, this was home. This was the life he'd made for himself. He wasn't going to give that up. The members of the Guildhouse here respected him. He'd fought hard to earn that respect on his own merit, not just the merit of his name or title. It hadn't been easy.

Guildmaster Evans had trained Remy for this. He'd helped him get to the position that he was. And he'd named Remy successor for him when he passed away. He'd even left his business to Remy in his will. The Dusty Rose, a gentleman's club—not a stripper kind of club, but the classier kind, the kind with booze and cigars and card games and rooms that people could rent for business or pleasure, and bad men in business suits—served as both their Guildhouse, and Remy's home, but as a legitimate business through which the Thieves could launder the money they earned on their jobs. It offered them financial protection and worked as a perfect cover for the many meetings that Remy and his Council—the five top ranking Master Thieves in Vegas—had with one another, and with potential clients.

The three story building worked perfectly for them. The top floor, the penthouse, was Remy's private office as well as what they referred to as the Council Room. The second floor was all the rooms that they rented out to their clients, places where they could have card games, or meetings for their 'cigar clubs', or countless other things. And the downstairs was the bar, with plenty of open tables and a stage for live entertainment.

They had another building, a private building, in a very different part of Vegas. This, they used for training, though it took had its own cover. If pushed, it was just a simple gym—membership only.

Evans had created quite a safe place here in Vegas for his Guild. When Remy took over, he promised to do everything in his power to keep it that way. If that meant marrying someone he didn't know to keep this place safe, he would do it. No matter what.

Work had to be done and it kept Remy busy over the next couple days. He was constantly aware, however, of the deadline waiting on the horizon. With each day that passed without him finding someone, or some other way around this, he was one day closer to being put into a marriage he wanted desperately to avoid. But no matter where or how he looked he just couldn't seem to find anyone in his life that he was willing to tie himself to.

It was three days after the call with Jean-Luc that Timothy came to Remy with a chance at a solution.

Remy had been in his office doing paperwork when Timothy came to relieve the guard on duty. However, instead of just taking up post, he actually knocked to come inside. His presence was a bit of a welcome distraction. Remy put down the figures he'd been trying to balance and happily looked up, hoping that the man was here with something that would take him away from this. "Timmy, cher, y' got de best timing. I feel like m' brain's gonna bleed out m' ears if I gotta keep running dese numbers."

Chuckling, Timothy came close enough to the desk to take a peek. "You'd think you'd be used to it by now."

"Pfft. Aint never gonna get used to dis boring shit." Sitting back in his chair, Remy folded his hands behind his head and kicked his feet up on the desk. "So, what's up? What brings y' into m' office dis fine day?"

"You remember my cousin Juju?"

The question wasn't what he'd expected but it was an easy one to answer. A smile touched Remy's lips. "Oui, how could I forget?" The kid certainly made an impression. He looked like Timothy's exact opposite. A bit on the skinny side, and short enough that the top of his head barely came to Remy's chin, he was flamboyant where Timothy was subdued. He was a hooker, and not at all ashamed of it, and he had both an easy laugh and a bright smile that just kind of lit up the room. The kid was a walking gay stereotype, from the heeled shoes to the colorful leggings and flashy jewelry, right up to the black hair often pulled up in a bun held together by chopsticks. What people didn't realize about him was that those chopsticks could easily turn into weapons that Juju could wield with a deadly accuracy. He handled blades better than anyone Remy had ever seen.

"Well, he might've brought me a solution to your problem."

That got Remy's attention. He sat up a little straighter and his eyes sharpened as they focused in on Timothy. "Oh?"

Timothy's mouth quirked up at the corner. "Thought that might get your attention." He shifted his stance to one a bit more relaxed and hooked his thumbs loosely in his pockets. "I was talking to Ju last night and he told me about a friend of his that needs help. Apparently, this kid's Dad bailed on him years ago, left him with a mentally ill Mom to take care of and bills to pay. Ju didn't say how, but the kid gets by. Gets the bills paid, even went off to college."

It wasn't hard to imagine the ways someone would make ends meet in a situation like that. Remy knew what it was like to do what was necessary to survive.

"The thing is, his old man's a gambler, and they've hit the kid up more than once to cover his Dad's debts."

"Someone don't pay, dey aint afraid to go after de family." Remy said lowly. It was a practice he wasn't fond of and one he didn't encourage. If a client didn't pay them, there were other ways to get money, ways that didn't involve going after someone's wife and kids.

The glare on Timothy's face showed his agreement with Remy's opinions. "Yeah. But the kid's paid, each time. Only, this time, Juju says the guys want three mil, an there's no way in hell some twenty year old kid's gonna get together three mil. He needs someone to help pay off his debts. Someone who can keep him and his Mom safe from assholes like this coming back." He must've been able to read the protest building on Remy's lips because he quickly held up a hand. "Just hear me out, Rem. I know he doesn't sound like much, but he's more than you think. He's no stranger to the life—he knows about the Guilds. Ju says he's damn handy with a knife and a lot sneakier than he looks, plus he's smart. He's already got two doctorates to his name plus a few other degrees, an he's working on a third doctorate. But Ju says he's also loyal and he's the type to honor any agreement he makes, no matter what the cost. He won't marry you and then bail, and he won't come in and screw up your life or your work. Just, give him a chance before you say no. Meet with him at least. What's it gonna hurt? Unless you've found something better."

It was the last comment that stopped any protests Remy might've had. He sat back in his chair and stared at his security guard and friend. Not once had Timothy led him astray in the years that they'd known one another. He'd always had Remy's back no matter what. He wouldn't bring him something if he didn't think it was worth checking out. Plus, like he said, what would it hurt? Remy certainly hadn't found anything better and they both knew it.

"What's his name?"

"Dr. Spencer Reid."