Married Lovers

“Fuck!” Gregg yelled, continuing to brandish the gun around. “The bitch wants to talk. Can you believe it? The bitch left me for dead in Hawaii three years ago. Yeah, you heard me he shouted, focusing his attention on Don. “Left me for dead an’ ran off in the middle of the night.” Picking up a bottle of red wine from the table he took a few solid gulps. “Yeah, I was in a fucking coma for months, but she didn’t give a shit; she thought I was a goner.”

  “Daddy!” Mandy moaned, quite appalled. “Do something.”

  Hamilton started to stand up, a look of controlled fury on his face.

  “Forget about it, old man,” Gregg growled, turning on him. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Hamilton sat down again.

  “What do you want?” Ryan asked, remaining calm, even though the shock of finding out that the man with the gun was Cameron’s husband was quite a revelation. “Tell me what it is and I’ll try to arrange it.”

  Gregg’s bloodshot eyes swiveled to encompass Ryan. “Who died an’ made you king of the group?” he snarled.

  “You must want something,” Ryan said, persisting.

  “Yeah, her,” Gregg said, gesturing toward Cameron with his gun. “I want the lying bitch to come with me now.”

  Cameron rose to her feet. She could not believe this was happening, she only knew there was no way she could allow it to continue. She had to do something.

  “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she said.

  “You’re coming all right,” Gregg sneered. “Every night with your new boyfriend. But didja know that while you’re comin’, he’s been fuckin’ the shit outta Mary Ellen whatever, an’ she’s knocked up by him? Didja know that, my lovely wife?” Reaching into his shirt pocket he produced Mary Ellen’s note. “Ya don’t believe me, read this,” he said, throwing it at her.

  The note fell to the floor and Don picked it up.

  “Where’s the panic button in here?” Phil whispered to Lucy.

  “Under the table,” she whispered back. “Right where you sit.”

  “See if you can get to it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Gregg was busy swigging more red wine and enjoying Don’s expression as he quickly scanned Mary Ellen’s note.

  “I’ll write you a check for fifty thousand dollars right now if you let us go,” Hamilton said, speaking up.

  “Fifty thou–” Gregg said, squinting at the famous producer. “Is that all your friends are worth t’ you?”

  “A hundred thousand.”

  “Do I look stupid?” Gregg demanded, his voice rising. “Do I look like a Sheila with no frigging brains?”

  “How much?” Hamilton said.

  “How much, the man asks me,” Gregg said, quite in his element. “How friggin’ much. Well, I dunno–a million or two might do it.”

  “Fine,” Hamilton said.

  Gregg roared with laughter and gulped wine from the bottle. “You rich fuckin’ assholes think you can buy anythin’, doncha? Well, you can’t buy Gregg Kingston, no siree, no can do. Gregg Kingston’s not for sale.”

  Cameron recognized the frame of mind Gregg was in only too well. Drunk and belligerent, violent and out of control. She’d seen him like this so many times, but never with a gun in his hands. This was a nightmare, there was no predicting what he was capable of.

  “I need water,” Lucy said, standing up and leaning against the wall. “If I don’t have water I think I’m going to faint.”

  Gregg looked at her for the first time, his eyes dipping to her breasts–on display in her Hervé Léger dress. “Aren’t you that movie-star piece of ass?” he said, checking her out. “Saw you in—”

  “Blue Sapphire,” she said, moving over to the table and reaching for a glass of water, surreptitiously sliding her other hand under the table and pressing the panic button.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Gregg said, pleased with himself for recognizing her.

  Lucy put down the glass and returned to sit with the others. “Did it,” she whispered to Phil. He squeezed her hand.

  Cameron could not take her eyes off Gregg. She’d kept her marriage a dirty little secret, and now Gregg was here because of her–threatening everyone. It wasn’t right. She’d left this man three years ago, this man who’d beaten and abused her. She’d left with a broken arm and a battered face and she’d been scared out of her mind.

  But things were different now, she wasn’t scared anymore. Oh no, she’d grown up, discovered new strengths within herself, and now she possessed an inner confidence she’d never known she had. If only she could persuade him to leave with her, then maybe no one would get hurt.

  “Gregg,” she said, her voice sharp and clear. “Let’s go. Leave these people alone, they’ve done nothing to you.”

  “Fuck it, little Cammy,” Gregg said, rocking back and forth on the heels of his cowboy boots. “I’m kinda enjoyin’ myself. I’m getting’ offered all kinds of money, meetin’ movie stars, an’ I like it. I can see why you get off on livin’ here, it’s a cushy set-up for a gal from the sticks.” Once again he swiveled his head to stare at Don. “How’s she doin’ in the sack now? I taught her everything she knows. Cammy was a virgin when I got her. Not a bad learner, had to teach her to suck a cock. You likin’ it?”

  “You sonofabitch—” Don said, starting to get up.

  Moving swiftly, Gregg whacked him across the side of his face with the butt of his gun, cutting Don’s cheek and drawing blood.

  Mandy screamed. Ryan tried to get up and do something–anything. But Gregg was quicker. Twirling the gun like a movie gunfighter, he fired off a shot.

  The bullet hit the wall and ricocheted across the room.

  “That’s like a warnin’ I mean business,” Gregg snarled. “An’ just so you rich motherfuckers know, the next one hits flesh. So fuckin’ settle your asses down, an’ stop pissin’ me off.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Marlon had fallen into an extremely pleasant stoned sleep. He was dreaming he was in a harem surrounded by curvy naked babes catering to his every need, while Amy Winehouse crooned ‘Rehab’ and Kate Moss–clad in a leopard print nun’s habit–massaged his feet.

  It was a wild dream, until Kid Rock appeared and shot Kate Moss straight between the eyes.

  Marlon sat bolt upright. Man, he might be stoned, but he could swear the gunshot was for real.

  He took a peek at his Swatch watch. Jeez, it was almost eleven, and he was still stuck in the maid’s room like some kind of dumb prisoner. This was not the way he’d expected the evening to go.

  Hauling himself up, he began pacing around the room. Enough of this bullshit, he’d been cooped up for three hours.

  Had he heard a gunshot or not?

  No way. It was in his dream.

  Taking out his phone he checked his messages. Three from various girls and a text from his friend, Randy, informing him there was a happenin’ party going on at the House of Blues, and he should try to make it.

  He inspected the pile of scripts, neatly stacked on a side table. Six pristine copies of his work ready to be distributed. Tonight was supposed to be the beginning of the career he really wanted, not the lawyer route his dad expected him to follow.

  Time to get this thing going, he thought, refusing to skulk around any longer.

  Gingerly he opened the door, making his way down the long corridor that led to the kitchen.

  Yeah, food, and then he’d poke his head around the dining-room door and attract Lucy’s attention.

  He sauntered into the kitchen–and what did he see? Holy shit! Two dudes on the ground trussed up like a couple of freakin’ chickens!

  Either he’d smoked too much pot and was experiencing hallucinations, or this was the real deal.

  Whatever.

  Better investigate and figure out what was up.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Now that Gregg had a room full of people captive, he had no plan what to do with them. He’d come here for Cameron. He hadn’t intended to take out the
gun, but he’d done so, and that meant he could be in big trouble when this was over.

  Problem was, they all knew his name–because–like a fool, he’d told them. And he’d smashed Famous Prick in the face with a gun–which would probably be regarded as an assault.

  Fuck! This was all Cameron’s fault. The bitch was responsible for everything. Best to tie everyone up and get the fuck out. Yeah, that was it. Grab her and go.

  While Gregg was trying to decide on his next move, Cameron was attempting to staunch the flow of blood from Don’s cheekbone.

  Don managed to give her a wan smile. “You couldn’t tell me you were married, huh?” he said, shaking his head. “Had to keep it to yourself.”

  “Yes,” she answered ruefully. “Just like you told me, I’m a slippery one.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  “Someone from far away and long ago. And for your information, I never tried to kill him.”

  “That was your first mistake.”

  Meanwhile, Ryan was trying to reassure Mandy that everything was going to be all right.

  “Don’t touch me!” she spat at him. “You make me sick! I hate you!”

  “It’s all a big misunderstanding,” he said, determined to explain, although how was he supposed to do that without giving Anya away?

  “Daddy was right about you all along,” Mandy said, filled with a mixture of fury at Ryan, and fear at the situation they were caught in. “I thank God we never had children together.”

  “That’s not fair. We tried.”

  “Did we?” she said spitefully. “My first miscarriage I was never even pregnant. The second one I aborted. And you know what, Ryan? I’m not even sorry.”

  Her words cut him like a knife. She’d aborted their child. She’d lied to him all this time, and he’d believed her, felt sorry for her, stayed with her because of everything he imagined she’d gone through.

  Waves of sadness and regret rushed over him. Suddenly it all became so easy. “When we get out of here we’re over,” he said.

  “Yes, Ryan,” she hissed back at him. “We’re over, all right.”

  Gregg was now balancing on the edge of the table rocking back and forth, still trying to decide on his next move.

  Cameron knew him well enough to understand that for now it was best for everyone if she stayed silent. Gregg had put himself in a corner, and that wasn’t good for any of them.

  She glanced over at Ryan. He and Mandy were involved in some heated whispered conversation.

  Hamilton was sitting ramrod straight, an expression of cold fury on his distinguished face.

  His young wife stared off into space, her pale blue eyes blank. Cameron saw that the girl was not afraid, and that was strange. A man had a gun pointed at them, their lives were in danger, the girl should be petrified. But she wasn’t.

  Phil had his arm around Lucy, protecting her.

  Damn Gregg. How could he do this? How could he march back into her life and ruin everything?

  And then the phone rang and everyone jumped.

  “Ignore it,” Gregg instructed.

  But it kept ringing.

  He waved the gun at Lucy. “Shit! Answer it, get rid of them fast.”

  Lucy stood up and walked over to the phone, her heart pounding. Thank God the children weren’t home, that’s all she could think of. “Hello,” she said, picking up the phone.

  “Mrs Standard?” a male voice said.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Detective Saunders. Are you all right?”

  “No.”

  “Is there a gunman in your house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hang up,” Gregg commanded.

  “Put him on the line,” the detective said.

  She stretched out her arm and handed Gregg the phone. “It’s for you,” she said, and then everything turned to black as she fainted.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Marlon untied the chef and the barman, and the three of them made it outside the house where Marlon immediately got on his cell phone and called the police.

  Man, he thought to himself, when two minutes later a couple of squad cars arrived at the end of the long driveway, these motherfuckers are swift.

  It turned out that they’d received some kind of silent alarm signal from the house, which is why they’d arrived so quickly.

  Both the chef and the barman needed medical attention for cuts and bruises. While they were getting attended to, a detective took down their statements. Marlon also gave a statement, only he didn’t have much to say.

  “I never saw the dude,” he informed the detective, “but I sure as shit heard the gunshot. Woke me up outta a deep sleep. Scared the crap outta me.”

  “What were you doing at the house?” the detective wanted to know, as if he, Marlon, might be involved.

  Marlon explained about Lucy and their script, but the detective still instructed him to stay put. Like he was about to leave–not. He had a front-row seat to a real-life drama, there was no way he was going anywhere.

  Within the hour TV camera crews turned up, which pissed the detectives off. But hell, there was a siege situation going on, so there was nothing they could do about it.

  Marlon latched onto a young blonde reporter in a short skirt and knee-high leather boots. “I was in there,” he told her. “You know whose house it is, don’t you?”

  “Actually no,” she responded, all soft crimpy curls and gleaming lip-gloss. “Why don’t you tell me.”

  “Lucy Lyons.”

  “The old movie star?”

  “She’s not so old.”

  “Wow! My dad took me to see that movie–Blue something or other, when I was twelve years old. He thought it was about dolphins. We got quite a surprise!”

  “I bet,” Marlon responded, figuring Miss Glossy Lips was around twenty-three. Exactly the right age for his next older-woman fling.

  “So,” she said, interest perking, “tell me everything you know.”

  “Oh, I will,” Marlon said, giving her a lopsided grin.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Sweating and filled with rage, Gregg was confused and angry.

  This whole fucking thing had turned into a siege, and that’s not what he’d wanted at all. Without a doubt it was all Cameron’s fault, she was the one responsible for everything that was happening to him. He’d come to Los Angeles to find her and punish the bitch for trying to kill him, and now he was caught up in this no-win situation.

  Some shit-ass detective had spoken to him on the phone like he was a fucking moron. “Put the gun down, come outside with your hands up and everything will be all right,” the detective had said.

  Oh, thank you, Detective, you’ll just give me a smack on the wrist and send me back to Hawaii, is that it?

  Yeah. Right.

  Who’d called the cops, that’s what he’d like to know. Had one of the assholes in the kitchen gotten loose and summoned them?

  “You!” he said, jerking his gun at the girl in the scarlet dress sitting against the wall by herself. She hadn’t said one word all night.

  “Yes?” she answered, staring at him with lifeless pale blue eyes, exhibiting no fear.

  What was up with her? The rest of the group were shit-scared he might suddenly go berserk and shoot them, but not this one–nothing.

  “What’s your name?” he said, swiping a hand across his sweaty brow.

  “Anya,” she said flatly.

  Ryan shot an alarmed look in her direction. Why was she reverting to Anya when everyone knew her as Pola?

  Cameron leaned close to Don. She’d managed to staunch the blood from his cut cheek, and now he held a table napkin against it.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  “Nothing a plastic surgeon can’t fix,” he answered with a wry shrug.

  “Go check out the kitchen, Anya,” Gregg commanded. “See if there’s anyone in there, then get your ass back here or I’ll pop a bullet in your daddy’s face.”


  Hamilton bristled. He’d personally see that this criminal received the maximum sentence when he was caught.

  Slowly Anya stood up, taking her time, sensuously smoothing down the skirt of her clinging scarlet satin dress. She knew why Hamilton had bought it for her, it was the kind of dress a prostitute would wear. That’s how Hamilton saw her–as a prostitute. He was right, that’s exactly what she was. A prostitute, a whore, a hooker, a tart. As long as they paid, men could use her whenever they liked. They could spit on her, degrade her, beat her, fuck her. She was a piece of flesh for sale. Sex mattered. In the world Anya lived in–it was all that mattered.

  “Move it,” Gregg muttered, sweating profusely. “And while you’re up, see if you can score me a bottle of Scotch. This wine shit ain’t doin’ the job.”

  Anya stared directly at him, licking her lips in a suggestive fashion. “Do you want to fuck me?” she said in a low husky voice. “You will not be disappointed. I am very accomplished in bed. I can do anything you want me to. Anything at all.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Hamilton exclaimed.

  “Oh my God!” Mandy gasped.

  Gregg was speechless. This girl coming onto him was the last thing he’d expected. Had Cameron put her up to it? Was his bitch wife playing games?

  Ryan jumped to his feet. He got it. Anya was in shock. She didn’t know what she was saying–or doing–because now she was starting to peel her dress off.

  Gregg suddenly realized this was a trick–some kind of scheme to catch him off-guard. But he wasn’t falling for it, oh no–he wasn’t that dumb.

  Did these people honestly think they could trick him? He was Gregg fucking Kingston! Nobody could trick him. He was invincible.

  “Sit down!” he roared at Ryan, his hands starting to shake. “An’ you,” he yelled at Anya. “Sit the fuck down too.”

  But Anya wasn’t stopping, she was allowing her dress to drop to the floor and then, quite naked, she was walking straight toward him.

  Cameron had a horrible feeling that something bad was about to happen. Gregg was panicked, she could see it in his face. She attempted to rise, but Don prevented her from doing so. “Stay still,” he muttered, gripping her arm.