THE HUSTLE: GODS OF CHAOS MC (BOOK FOURTEEN)

by Honey Palomino

  It seems so long ago, and as I wound my way up the curves of the 101, the sound of the crashing ocean waves echoing through the salty night air, I was reminded of how easily I believed it was all real back then.

  Pop and I would sneak into the movie theaters off Broadway and I would drink all that glamour in, secretly telling myself that it might be my face up there on that silver screen one day.

  Like a fairytale come to life off the pages, I thought Hollywood was a magical place that if I worked really hard, and got really lucky, maybe I could be a part of.

  Now that I was a part of it, I saw how naive I was to ever believe it was real.

  Once I got off the highway, I began the climb up into the hills. Passing an endless stream of elaborate iron gates that led to the hidden ornate mansions of the rich and famous, I realized I haven’t been impressed by any of this in quite a while.

  To be completely honest, I was disgusted by it now.

  The excess.

  The greed.

  The blind ambition.

  It was enough to drive one mad.

  And it does.

  Over and over again.

  People lose their sense of right and wrong. They forgot their values. They sacrificed everything they ever stood for, for just a small moment in the spotlight.

  And in return, Hollywood ate them up and spit them out.

  Too old? Spit out.

  Too ugly? Spit out.

  Too poor? Spit out, unless you’re hot, then maybe but we’ll only keep you around to sexually harass you for a while.

  Talent? Forget talent, tell me how many Instagram followers you have and if you have a famous last name we can exploit.

  Got an original idea? Come back when you’ve reinvented Friends or The Office or have another idea for Scream 16.

  Have a unique and interesting flaw or scar? No worries, we can photoshop that right out.

  You get the picture…

  Look, I’m jaded. I get that.

  I was also tired. Of the games, the mindless conversations, the backstabbing and petty grievances.

  I was more than tired of the sexual harassment.

  I’ve seen more asses get groped than I can count since I arrived in this god-forsaken town. When I first arrived, my eyes were still full of stars and while I’d honed my street smarts well, I still found myself stung by a bastardly snake’s charm.

  And yet, despite all that, wild horses couldn’t drag me away.

  This was home.

  I knew this town like the back of my hand now. It was an easy target. Full of easy marks. It was like picking the low hanging fruit — why get a ladder if you don’t need one?

  So, I stayed put.

  I lived the good life, the easy life, and I chose my marks carefully, just like Pop taught me.

  Any dreams of becoming famous myself faded as quickly as the stardust of a falling star. Once I saw what would be required of me to ascend that particular hierarchy, I decided to stick with what I knew best.

  Conning.

  Grifting.

  Hustling.

  You might think that all these pretty people would be smarter, more aware, but they were as clueless as the throngs of tourists down on the Sunset Strip. Gullible. Starry-eyed. Distracted…

  I saved the really big hustles for the bad guys, though - again, just like Pop taught me. Nobody got taken in any serious way unless they deserved it.

  Did I feel guilty about it? No way.

  I thought of myself as an asset to this city. Those assholes with all the power needed to be taken down a peg or two every now and then. They needed to be reminded that they weren’t as invincible as they thought. They were just as vulnerable as all the people they took advantage of to get where they are. Do you think they felt guilty for all the people they stepped on along the way? Hell no, they didn’t.

  Which brought me back to this party I was headed to tonight.

  Perched on the edge of a cliff in Malibu, the palatial home of Mr. Washington MacArthur Paige, and his lovely wife, Tulsa, looked out over the ocean like it was floating in the air.

  Artie Paige, as he’s known in the industry, was one of the hottest and most powerful movie producers in this town, and he made sure everyone within earshot knew it.

  His wife, Tulsa, was known for her philanthropic ways, not to mention her perfect C-cups and platinum blonde hair. The svelte, toned yoga body and capped teeth were a requirement for her role, as well. Artie would have it no other way, no doubt.

  The fact that Artie owned enough stock in Warner Brothers to make Jeff Bezos’ head turn was also well-known knowledge, and his influence in getting projects off the ground was the main reason their house was overflowing with Hollywood’s brightest and trendiest stars of the season right at that very moment.

  Tonight was the night most of these people had been preparing for all year.

  No, not the Oscars. It was Artie’s birthday.

  Every year he threw the biggest party of the year at his house — for himself, of course. All the cool kids would be there, all hoping to catch the eye of any number of influential producers or directors that might be in attendance.

  If they could get close to the man himself, even better.

  An invitation to Artie’s house was literally the equivalent to winning the lottery.

  Their life could be changed forever.

  The beautiful ones.

  The lucky ones…

  The big iron gate was open as I arrived, a stream of luxury cars waiting patiently to be parked. Once I finally approached the Paige’s estate, I spotted throngs of celebrities pouring in and out of the house, dripping in diamonds and designer dresses.

  Right away, I recognized a few faces — Scarlett Johansson was draped over Colin Jost like she was attached to him. Leo DiCaprio had two gorgeous young women on each side of him, the four of them hanging onto every word he said like he’s some prophet as they descended the front stairs and strolled to the side of the house, joining the rest of the guests in the garden.

  Standing on the edge of the crowd I spotted Evergreen Love, America’s latest sweetheart. Her hunky boyfriend, Preston Drake, stood by her side, dutifully holding her purse as she air kissed all the people vying to get close to her.

  With a smile, I slid out of the car and gave the valet the keys, taking the ticket he gave me, and ignoring the side eye he shot me as he looked at my car.

  Well, it wasn’t my car — not technically, anyway.

  It was a sleek, black Jaguar I borrowed from the parking garage a few blocks away from my apartment in Los Feliz, but that doesn’t matter.

  “Enjoy the ride,” I said, winking at him and strutting away.

  Holding my head high, I walked up to the security line. You’d think they would have been even more heavy handed with the security tonight, but because of the sheer amount of people invited, it truly made it even easier to sneak in without an official invitation.

  I’ve made it my mission over the last few years to get to know as many people as possible — in a bunch of different circles. In Hollywood, actors mingle with musicians and directors mingle with hair stylists. It’s all about who you know and who you know depends on where you can go, and most importantly, what you can get away with.

  My eyes darted around from face to face until I predictably landed on a familiar one.

  “Jenna!” I called out, walking over to Jenna Addison. I didn’t know her well, but well enough for my trick to work. Jenna was the lead actress on a popular sitcom and oozed politeness. I met her at another party six months ago.

  “Sarah!” she replied, turning to greet me with her million-dollar smile. She was dressed in a vintage Valentino, black silk gripping her every curve like a glove. Her long black curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing the glittering diamond necklace draped around her slender neck.

  She was under the impression that my name was Sarah and that I was a costume designer for Paramount.

  “How’ve you been?”
I asked, my eyes glued to her face as I fell into step with her and her entourage as we made our way through security. Since her face was so recognizable, the guards didn’t bother to ask any questions and waved us all through.

  And just like that, I was in.

  It was ridiculously easy.

  “Good, good,” Jenna said, as she was pulled away by someone at her side. She waved apologetically and promised to catch up later.

  I flashed her a smile and turned my attention to my work.

  First, a little surveillance was in order, so I strolled around, taking in every detail of the premises.

  This particular job was personal — a little revenge to soothe the soul, so to speak. I had a history with Artie Paige and I wanted to milk every ounce of satisfaction I could get out of screwing over this asshole as brutally as possible.

  That means I quickly traced over the property, noting every entrance and exit. I looked for cameras, which I found a small amount of mounted all over the house, looking out over the premises.

  The Paige’s property was layered.

  The main residence was high up on the hill overlooking a series of gardens below, perched on different levels. At the side of the house, steps led down to a massive open yard. Below that, another small garden was situated right at the edge, looking out over the cliff.

  I strolled down to the lowest level, my stilettos clicking on the stone stairs until I reached the edge. With the absence of the blue sky overhead, the ocean was now a black abyss stretching out endlessly into the darkness of the night, its stark white waves crashing violently and loudly below, their symphony echoing up the cliff and over the billowing conversations of the party above.

  I breathed in the salty air, reminding myself that this was really why I stayed here.

  The clean ocean air, the clear blue sky, the never-ending majesty of the Pacific…

  I turned back to the party and a smirk etched itself across my face.

  The easy targets, I thought to myself…

  I headed up to the party, ready to get after it.

  Gossip was a valuable tool in this town, and I made sure to keep up on it as best as possible. I use it to decide whose pocket would be the most fruitful to pick. Or, if a particular person might be useful for knowledge that might be valuable to me. It was all about what I can get out of someone. You never knew what you might be able to use.

  I grabbed a drink and stood at the edge of the upper garden, watching the mingling crowd. A stage was set up in a corner of the yard and the cities hottest up and coming band, The Red Foxes, were playing a set that seemed to be holding a sizable portion of the crowd’s interest.

  Distraction was my biggest friend, so I was happy to see that.

  I scanned faces, looking for a good place to start my evening. Mostly, I was here for Artie, but a little warming up was always fun.

  My eyes landed on a tall handsome man watching the band. People were dancing around him, but he was alone. I recognized him as a B-list actor named Eddie Denison, who just had a prominent role in a popular action film. He was beefy and gorgeous and rumor had it, a dumb as a rock playboy with a sadistic side, according to a recent ex-girlfriend.

  The perfect starter mark to warm up with.

  I headed over to him, swinging my hips slightly as I made my way through the crowd. A man murmured to a nearby buddy and the heat of their gaze wasn’t lost on me, but I ignored them completely as I brushed past them.

  I approached Eddie and stood next to him, waiting for him to speak first. Once he noticed me, he did a double-take and puffed out his chest, turning back to the band. I suppressed a smile at his obviousness and didn’t turn my head. He took a deep breath, then finally turned to me again.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” I turned to him and flashed him a smile. His eyes fell to my cleavage, pushed up and displayed perfectly by my black, beaded Gucci gown. He reached out a hand and I put mine in his. He shook it gently.

  “Eddie,” he said, simply, as if half the world didn’t know who he was. How quaint, I thought.

  “I’m Tara,” I said, taking my hand back and sliding his watch off his wrist. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Hi, Tara,” he said, before gesturing to the band, completely unaware of the fact that his Rolex is now mine. “They’re great.”

  “They sure are,” I agreed, leaning in closer to him. He smelled amazing, like a mix of cedarwood and sage. He noticed and smiled down at me, his bright blue eyes peering into mine. If I had half a heart, it might have melted under that movie-star gaze, but instead it did nothing to me at all. “I’m going to get another drink, can I get you something?”

  He nodded and lifted his glass. “Whiskey?” I asked.

  “Please,” he said, obviously surprised at my offer, just as I wanted him to be. I headed towards the house.

  As soon as I entered, I groaned in disgust. The interior was styled in all-white.

  Not a splash of color to be found anywhere.

  White floors. White couches. White cabinets. White marble kitchen countertops. Even a white fireplace, with brick that’d been painted white. Every cushion and cotton throw was a shade of white.

  The rugs were white.

  Even the fucking flowers were white.

  I absolutely hated it.

  I wondered about the sanity of people whose houses were devoid of color. Not one warm wood tone to be found anywhere. No pop of blue or green or purple or pink. No cheery, colorful flowers. No plants.

  People who lived like that must be mad, I’d decided.

  Quickly, I found the nearest bathroom. It was all white marble and mirrors and matched the rest of the house perfectly. I locked the door and pulled Eddie’s wallet out of my purse. The black leather was as soft as butter. It was nearly empty, except for a black American Express card, a keycard for his gym, his valet ticket and five crisp hundred-dollar bills. I shoved the cash and the credit card neatly into the inner pocket of my purse with his Rolex, and left the gym card in it.

  A guy like Eddie needed to stay in shape in a town like this.

  After reapplying my lipstick and adjusting my boobs, I grabbed my purse and headed back out. Eddie found me just outside the door, holding two drinks in his hands.

  “I took a detour to the ladies room,” I said, leaning into him again and slipping his wallet back into his pocket. “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay, I got our drinks,” he said, clueless again.

  “Oh, how nice of you,” I replied, pretending to take a sip. I knew better than to accept a drink from a man I didn’t see poured. I didn’t care how good-looking or famous he was.

  “So, what do you do, Tara?” he asked.

  I trailed my eyes over the Paige’s pale living room as I answered him vaguely.

  “Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that,” I laughed. I wasn’t lying.

  “You in film?”

  “Who isn’t?” I replied, with a dismissive wave.

  “Yeah,” he said, looking away nervously. I knew the look well. It meant he’d decided I wasn’t of value to him anymore — either professionally or personally — and he was looking for a graceful exit.

  It’s a common transaction around here, and a quick one, as well as another thing I hated about this town. It’s subtle and unspoken, but clearly mutually understood. If I’d taken even one quick moment to flirt with him, or if he thought I could advance his career in any way, he’d have stayed interested.

  Instead, I chose to grant him mercy.

  “Thanks again for the drink,” I said, my hand on his arm for a slice of fake sincerity. “I see a friend I need to say hello to.”

  Relief flooded his face and he smiled and nodded.

  “Take care, Tara,” he said, turning away and heading back outside. Later, he’d figure out his watch, credit card and cash were missing, but he’d never suspect me.

  I took a deep breath and strolled around, looking for my next target.

 
My stomach growled, so I walked towards the buffet set up near the kitchen. Servers in crisp white button-down shirts and black aprons stood dutifully behind the table, doling out tiny hor d’oeuvres. I grabbed some caviar and blini — tiny Russian pancakes that were all the rage at parties these days. I couldn’t deny they were delicious, though. Something about the salty treat left me wanting more and more.

  After putting two of Eddie’s hundreds in the waiter’s tip jar, I took my tiny plate and tiny mother-of-pearl spoon and stood quietly in the corner, eating my tiny caviar covered pancakes as I let my eyes and ears drink in everything that was going on around me.

  Two men in custom tailored Versace suits talked quietly together a few feet away. I honed in on their conversation, sizing them up as I listened. They were both tall and handsome, but not handsome enough to be movie stars. And not slick enough to be directors, either. Executives of some sort, I decided.

  “Did you give the stuff to Artie?” The tallest of the two asked, his accent laced with a bit of Old Italy. The other one nodded, running a hand through his short hair nervously.

  “Yeah, of course,” he said. His eyes darted around the room quickly, then trailed up the stairs. “He said he’d come talk to us in a few minutes.”

  “Was he pleased?” the first man asked, sipping from a snifter of whiskey.

  “I sure fucking hope so,” the other man growled, his eyes still glued upstairs.

  My interest piqued, I finished my tiny food and put away the baby-sized dish and spoon. After finding an adult-sized drink I’d acquired myself, a tall glass of sparkling pink champagne that I was ninety-nine percent sure wasn’t laced, I casually strolled up the stairs, sipping it along the way. I watched to see if anyone was paying attention, but even the two men I’d heard talking had moved outside.

  No one even noticed me go up.

  Just as I’d wanted.

  With any luck, I’d be able to take a look around and get out without running into anyone. I had no idea of how it was possible, but the upstairs was even whiter than the downstairs. While the wallpaper lining the hallway was a gorgeous ornate Victorian velvet pattern, it was just more white on white. White consoles lined the hallway, holding white vases of white roses in front of huge mirrors.