‘No family photos,’ Nona said, glancing around his stark bedroom. She laughed coquettishly. ‘Armand, you are such a man of mystery, and why do I always see you with a different girl? Surely you wish to meet a woman you can share your life with?’
‘Why would I want to do that when I can have a woman like you?’ he said, gazing into her eyes as if he meant it.
And just like that, all his hard work paid off. All the compliments and sly attention and flattery, flattery, flattery.
She was his. All his to use and abuse and humiliate.
Because that was his pleasure, that was his kick.
First he kissed her, roughly forcing his lips down on hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, giving her no chance to object. Then, without warning, his hand swooped under her skirt, and his thick fingers slid past her panties into the soft mound of flesh, wet and willing and waiting for discovery.
No foreplay for this one. She was turned on the minute she’d walked into his apartment. Nona Constantine wanted it. And he was about to give it to her. Hard.
Navigating his thick fingers through her mound of wiry pubic hair, the furriness excited him. He wound strands of hair tightly around his fingers until she cried out in pain. This pleased him. If he wanted a woman shaved like a child, he would have a child.
‘Oh, Armand,’ she gasped, flushed and breathless. ‘We shouldn’t be doing . . .’
A little late for objections. Too late.
He shoved her down onto the bed and thought about Martin Constantine and the concealed camera recording every moment. His thoughts made him as hard as he’d ever been.
Dipping into his bedside table drawer he withdrew a glassine bag of cocaine, and sprinkled some of the white powder on her erect nipples.
She writhed beneath him as he snorted the powder from her breasts. Then, as she begged him to fuck her, he gave it to her hard, ramming his penis into her with considerable force, then turning her over and taking her from behind – ignoring her objections and sudden cries of pain.
Realizing this was not going the way she’d hoped for, she struggled to escape his relentless attack, but he was having none of it as he rode her hard, punishing her with his penis for being an unfaithful bitch.
He felt invincible and powerful. He was the man and once again a female had proved to him that all women were dirty whores.
Except perhaps his wife. But who cared about her? He certainly didn’t.
* * *
Later, after relentlessly fucking Nona Constantine in every possible way, he informed her she was a cheating filthy prostitute, physically dragged her from his bedroom, and threw her out.
The shock on her face was palpable as he hustled her out of his front door, flinging her designer clothes after her.
‘What? What did I do?’ she sobbed, red in the face as he slammed the door on her.
He didn’t bother replying.
It was satisfying to know that there was nobody she could complain to, nothing she could do. She was fucked in more ways than one.
Once rid of his conquest, Armand snorted more coke and summoned Fouad, who worked downstairs in a different apartment. ‘Come up here,’ Armand commanded. ‘Right now.’
Fouad hurried up to the penthouse.
‘What’s happening with The Keys?’ Armand demanded as soon as Fouad walked in.
‘There is a half-naked woman crying outside your door,’ Fouad remarked, noting that the Prince wore only a bathrobe, and that there was a telltale residue of white powder under his nose. Armand’s use of cocaine was escalating, and it worried Fouad as he watched Armand become even more irrational and moody.
‘I trust you ignored her,’ Armand said, striding purposefully toward his palatial bathroom.
‘Who is she?’ Fouad asked.
‘Martin Constantine’s wife,’ Armand boasted. ‘I told you I can have any woman I want. They’re all whores.’
Fouad shrugged and followed him into the bathroom. He was well aware of Armand’s predilections when it came to women. Privately he considered it a sickness, but he would never dare say anything. Although lately Armand’s sickness, coupled with his excessive use of drugs, was becoming almost dangerous.
‘That crying bitch deserved everything she got,’ Armand said, dropping his robe. ‘I took care of her in ways she won’t soon forget.’
‘Does it not worry you that she might tell her husband?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Fouad. She came here of her own free will. She wanted it. She was begging for it. Now remove the DVD from the camera, make two copies and put them in my safe.’
‘Yes, Armand,’ Fouad said. He would make three copies and keep one for himself. Nothing like insurance when dealing with a man such as Armand.
‘And The Keys?’ Armand said, quite unabashedly naked as he stepped into the all-marble shower. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I have several calls in,’ Fouad said, not wishing to reveal that he’d spoken to the owner’s attorney, and that he’d been informed that it was highly unlikely The Keys was for sale.
‘What is taking so long?’ Armand demanded, as four powerful showerheads rained down on his body.
‘You only told me you wanted to buy it two days ago,’ Fouad pointed out. ‘There are times it is prudent to be patient.’
Armand stepped out of the shower, dripping wet. ‘I am not a prudent man, Fouad. You, above all, people should know that.’
Fouad noted the Prince’s large appendage and attempted to avert his eyes, even though he’d seen it many times before. The Prince – like his father the King – was not shy.
‘I understand, Armand,’ he said evenly. ‘I am on top of it.’
‘You’d better be,’ Armand responded, vigorously towelling himself dry. ‘Whatever the price, I am prepared to pay.’
‘Of course,’ Fouad agreed, because agreeing was simpler than arguing.
‘How is your wife?’ Armand asked, abruptly changing the subject.
Fouad hesitated for only a moment; he had no wish to discuss his wife with Armand. He was well aware that Armand did not approve of his marriage. Armand thought he had made a mistake marrying an American girl. But Fouad adored his wife and two little children, and nothing Armand could say would ever change that.
‘Alison is very well,’ he answered carefully.
‘Hasn’t cheated on you yet?’ Armand said with a spiteful smirk.
Fouad maintained a steely silence.
‘All American women cheat on their husbands eventually,’ Armand stated. ‘Look at the whore I just threw out. She’s a classic example of a rich bitch with an itchy cunt.’
Fouad chose to ignore Armand’s crass remarks. Sometimes he found them difficult to understand, considering Armand’s own mother was an American. But then Armand’s relationship with his mother had always been something of a problem.
‘Go make some phone calls,’ Armand said, abruptly dismissing his faithful right-hand man. ‘And before the end of the day I wish to know that The Keys is mine.’
Chapter Six
‘What’s going on today? Anything I should know about’ Denver asked Leon, a young detective with whom she’d become friendly. It was Leon who had encouraged her to transfer to the Drug Unit, a move she was excited about.
Leon was African-American and quite laid back; he was excellent at his job and had helped her get acclimatized when she’d first arrived. They had a good buddy thing going on, which she hoped would last because sometimes she had a sneaking suspicion that Leon was on the verge of asking her out.
Please don’t, a little voice whispered in her head. I’m taken. Besides, it would be awkward.
Not that Leon wasn’t attractive. He was. He had a kind of chill Will Smith vibe going for him, and the ladies were always giving him the look. Denver ribbed him a lot. He acted bashful, but she knew he was a stud at heart.
‘There’s a hostage deal happening,’ Leon explained. ‘Some Mexican drug-pusher grabbed his baby and barricade
d himself in his house with an arsenal of weapons. I’m goin’ over there now. They’ve had to clear the neighbourhood an’ close the street.’
‘What else is new?’ Denver asked, immediately thinking how blasé she sounded. And well she should, because if it wasn’t a hostage situation it was a random shooting or a gang initiation or a murder or a high-speed car chase. Things were going on all the time, and she could not believe how isolated she’d been working at a top Beverly Hills law firm, where the main excitement of the day was some coked-out Hollywood starlet with two Driving Under the Influence charges trying to dodge jail time, or a boring client lunch at Spago.
‘Not enough for you, huh?’ Leon said with a wide grin. ‘An’ how come you was late this morning?’
‘I . . . uh . . .’
‘Boyfriend in town?’ he asked, leaning his elbows on her desk.
‘Yes. Bobby’s here,’ she admitted a touch sheepishly. ‘But that has nothing to do with—’
‘Morning sex,’ Leon said, his grin spreading. ‘Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.’
‘Excuse me?’ she said, pretending she had no clue what he was alluding to.
‘You got the glow, girl,’ Leon teased. ‘Comin’ off you in waves.’
Damn! She knew she had, and there was nothing she could do about it. Whenever she had sex it was written all over her face for everyone to see. How annoying was that.
‘I have to work,’ she said, powering up her computer. ‘So if you’ll—’
‘I’m outta here,’ Leon said, throwing up his arms. ‘Out. Gone. Goodbye. Adios.’
‘Be careful,’ she said.
‘Always,’ he said.
As soon as Leon left, her thoughts drifted to Bobby. It was ridiculous, but whenever she wasn’t with him, all she could do was think about him. So juvenile. It was almost as if they were back in high school, and who could forget those days? Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos, the most popular boy in school. Football star, major jock, head in his class at everything. All the girls lusted after him, including her. But he’d never noticed her, hadn’t even realized she existed. And now, ten years later she was his actual girlfriend, and how weird was that?
Stop thinking about Bobby and get to work.
Okay, okay, I will.
* * *
‘You’re up early for you,’ Lucky said, regarding her daughter as Max came wandering outside onto the patio. The girl was all long bronzed legs, a colt-like body, her green eyes still sleep-filled, her dark hair a cloudy mess. ‘Hard day’s night?’ Lucky questioned, thinking what a beautiful child she and Lennie had created. Although Max was no longer a child, she was a young woman getting ready to take off.
‘What?’ Max mumbled.
‘A Beatles reference.’
‘Wow, Mom, you can be so obscure,’ Max complained, flopping into a chair.
‘And good morning to you too,’ Lucky said dryly.
Yawning, Max reached for a jug of orange juice.
‘What were you up to last night?’ Lucky inquired.
‘Oh wow! You’re not gonna question me, are you?’ Max said, flashing her a disgusted look.
‘Why? You got something to hide?’ Lucky replied, faintly amused.
‘Oh yeah, like anyone could hide shit around you.’
‘Nice,’ Lucky said, thinking how much Max reminded her of herself as a teenager. Restless, full of sass, yearning for adventure, determined to do things her way, yet still not quite sure of herself.
‘Sorry,’ Max allowed after a few moments of silence. ‘Crappy night.’
‘That’s okay,’ Lucky said, taking the understanding route. ‘By the way, I spoke to your brother yesterday – he sends much love.’
‘Bobby?’ Max said, perking up.
‘No, Gino Junior. He’s loving their trip, so is Leonardo. They’re currently in Switzerland, skiing mad. Apparently they’re having a fantastic time.’
‘Where is Bobby?’ Max asked, wondering if she should tell him about Frankie. Or not. He’d probably be furious at her for taking Cookie and Harry to River in the first place. But how was she supposed to know it was Frankie’s club? She wasn’t a mindreader.
‘Not sure,’ Lucky said. ‘However, I do know he’ll be at your birthday party in Vegas.’
‘Mom . . .’ Max ventured. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m not certain I want a party.’
‘Do not even attempt to back out,’ Lucky said firmly. ‘You’re going to be eighteen. It’s a big deal. Everyone will be there. Gino, Lennie, Bobby . . .’
‘Is Bobby bringing his girlfriend?’
‘Which one?’
‘You know perfectly well which one. Denver. They’re like a major hook-up.’
‘They are?’ Lucky said vaguely.
‘Oh please!’ Max said, laughing. ‘You know it.’
‘No, actually I don’t.’
‘Wow! Then you’re the only one who doesn’t. Why do you think Bobby keeps coming to L.A. when his clubs are in Vegas and New York?’
‘How do you know he keeps coming to L.A.?’
‘’Cause I just do.’
Lucky was silent for a moment. She hadn’t realized that Bobby was getting serious with anyone. Like his grandfather before him, she’d always thought that Bobby was the love ’em and leave ’em type. He was still in his twenties, too young to tie himself down. She’d met Denver maybe once, but she hadn’t taken much notice of the girl since – like all the others before her – she hadn’t thought Denver would be around for long. Apparently she was wrong. Therefore if Bobby was bringing her to Max’s party, she’d better make some kind of effort to get to know her.
What really surprised her was that Bobby was, according to Max, spending a lot of time in L.A. and not even calling.
Who was this girl? And what kind of hold did she have over Bobby?
It was obviously time to find out.
* * *
‘So you’re gonna have a baby,’ Bobby said, as he and M.J. made their way into the Art Deco glass elevator that led them upstairs to Mood. ‘That’s really something. Daddy M.J. Never thought the day would come!’
‘Yeah,’ M.J. said ruefully. ‘Kinda weird, huh?’
‘Getting married in Vegas overnight was kinda weird,’ Bobby pointed out. ‘Starting a family goes right along with marriage. But what the hell, s’long as you’re happy.’
‘Couldn’t be happier,’ M.J. answered without taking a beat.
‘You’re sure?’ Bobby said, shooting M.J. a quick look, and thinking that he didn’t seem exactly ecstatic.
‘’Course I’m sure,’ M.J. said, hesitating for a moment before adding, ‘except for maybe one minor detail.’
‘An’ that would be?’
‘Cassie doesn’t want to have a baby right now,’ M.J. blurted out. ‘She keeps on threatenin’ to get an abortion.’
Bobby frowned. ‘You’re screwing with me, right?’
‘’Fraid not. An’ what the fuck am I supposed t’do about that?’
‘Shit, man,’ Bobby said, shaking his head. ‘How would I know?’
‘It’s a problem,’ M.J. admitted. ‘A big fuckin’ problem.’
‘You got plans to solve it?’
M.J. gave a helpless shrug. ‘I’m playin’ it strong. Tellin’ her if she goes ahead an’ does that – we’re over.’
‘Seriously?’
‘I’m dead serious.’
‘Well,’ Bobby said, finding himself at a loss for words, ‘I gotta wish you luck, man. Seems like you’re gonna need it.’
The elevator came to a stop and they stepped into the reception area of Mood.
Bobby glanced around his club. It always gave him a feeling of achievement to note what he and M.J. had accomplished. Their club was sleek and sexy; it featured spacious booths with muted gold leather banquettes imported from Italy, Brazilian wood tables, smoky mirrored glass walls, and clever lighting highlighted with glowing candles. And in the middle of everything was the pool – su
rrounded by private dinner cabanas – the place to be seated. And of course a state-of-the-art sound system – the best that money could buy. The entire vibe screamed style and class, comfort and fun.
Since its opening, Mood had become the club of choice for visiting Hollywood high-rollers, affluent Vegas locals, and showbiz performers when their shows finished and they were looking for somewhere to hang and relax. Tourists had a hard time getting in. Privacy was the name of the game.
Yes, Mood was banging – the very best.
‘Remember Sukie in high school?’ M.J. ventured, heading toward the bar. ‘The girl I knocked up?’
‘Turned out to be a false alarm, right?’ Bobby said, following him.
‘Uh, no,’ M.J. said. ‘I didn’t tell you ’cause you were taking off to spend the summer in Greece with your other family. Besides, Sukie swore me to secrecy.’
‘Man, why didn’t you say something?’ Bobby said earnestly. ‘I would’ve been there for you, you know that.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ M.J. said, going behind the bar and opening one of the fridges. ‘But we had to do something fast, ’cause by that time Sukie was almost four months.’
‘What did you do?’ Bobby asked, perching on a bar stool.
‘The janitor at school told us ’bout this midwife downtown,’ M.J. said, extracting a couple of cans of Diet Coke. ‘He told us that for five hundred bucks she’d take care of it. No problem.’ He slid a can across the bar to Bobby.
‘And?’ Bobby said, opening the can.
‘We drove to a rundown house in some shit neighbourhood, where an old Chinese woman took us inside, bundled Sukie into what she called her operation room, an’ demanded the cash.’
‘Jeez! Did you even have it?’
‘Uh-huh. I stole it from my dad’s dresser that mornin’. Had no other way of getting the money.’
‘Then what?’
‘For a start we were both scared shitless.’
‘I bet you were.’
‘Anyway, I handed over the cash an’ waited. After a while the old crone comes walkin’ back into the room where I’m sitting. This time she’s carryin’ a big bucket, an’ in it was the dead baby. She fuckin’ showed it to me like it was some kinda prize. “You see,” she says – like she’s proud or somethin’. “All done.”’