by Nigel May
‘And out…’
The referee signalled that the bout was over, and as a jubilant Orlando Vince punched the air in victory, a paramedic rushed towards his fallen opponent. It would be a few hours until another paramedic would be called to attend to the blood-soaked body of Sheridan Rivers, discovered by his wife, Sutton. Not even the moment she found the lifeless corpse of her hotel magnate husband, his head caved into a bloody pulp by an award he had won for Tycoon of the Year, caused any visible emotion to streak across the stretched skin on her face. Seeing him dead had not come as that much of a surprise.
1
A few months earlier…
The red carpet was stretched across the satin-soft sands of the Velvet hotel’s private beach. The group that clustered there painted on smiles as bright as the mid-morning sun that beat down from above. A popping of flashguns and a round of applause exploded from the line of photographers and journalists who had just watched them take their positions.
It was Sheridan Rivers who spoke.
‘Thank you all for coming today. It is with great pleasure and the utmost pride that I would like to announce that one of the most important boxing fights in global history will take place here, at Velvet Barbados, on 28 July this year. The fight will be between boxing welterweight champion of the world, “The Main Man” Hatton Eden, and his worthy opponent, Orlando Vince.’ Sheridan motioned to the two boxers standing either side of him on the red carpet, both eyeing each other with the malice of a stalking lion – and with lithe and sinewy bodies to match.
‘The fight will take place at a specially built sports arena, which we are certain will become the top sporting and concert venue in the Caribbean and turn the Velvet hotel into Barbados’s number-one entertainment and sporting destination, another worthy addition to the Velvet empire. The cornerstone of this building will be laid today by myself and world-famous boxer Hatton Eden and work will begin immediately.’
Hatton was too busy eyeballing his opponent to take any notice of his name.
‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you have any questions then I suggest you ask them now before we move on to the ceremony. But first, may I present to you our two prizefighters. They are men of steel, men of power and men of respect. But only one shall become victorious when they take each other on in…’ Sheridan paused for effect before announcing, ‘the Belter in the Swelter.’
A banner unfurled itself from a canopy over their heads, placed above the red carpet to protect the party from the blistering heat. It revealed the name of the fight. As it did so, Sheridan lifted the boxing-gloved hands of both fighters aloft and a steel band burst into a somewhat dubious and not overly recognisable version of ‘Eye Of The Tiger’.
Kassidy Orpin winced as the band played on, the tune drifting in and out of identification. Doubtless Sheridan would drag her over the coals about it since, as his assistant, she had booked them. He’d get over it soon enough when she told him that she’d already managed to potentially book Taylor Swift and Barbados’s golden girl Rihanna to perform at the new hotel arena before the end of the year. And if that didn’t impress him then she’d just have to take his mind off it in other ways, wouldn’t she? For now, though, she would have to make sure that every other aspect of the cornerstone ceremony went perfectly. Virtually every major TV channel on the globe had turned up and Sheridan would be livid if the words ‘Velvet’ and ‘Hotel’ weren’t splashed across every newspaper, website and blog by the time the Caribbean sun sunk below the horizon.
Sutton Rivers looked on, smiling as much as her latest round of Botox would allow, as her husband started to take questions from the gathered reporters. He skilfully fended off any that could paint the boxers and, more importantly, his precious hotels in a bad light. It was one of the things that had made her first fall in love with him. He’d always seemed so perfectly professional. He could manipulate a crowd, whether it was a boardroom full of suits or a hungry pack of headline-seeking journalists, with Obama-like skill.
Sutton gazed beyond him to the six-star hotel adjoining the private beach. She had been by Sheridan’s side when he’d first decided to build that too. How many years ago was that? Seven or eight? It truly was magnificent – everything he had said it would be. He always delivered. He’d been the same with his first hotel in London, plus those in New York, Toronto, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Sydney, Cannes, the list went on… She’d been there for all of them: smiling at the right moments, just as she was today; welcoming guests and dignitaries from around the world, making sure that their every need was catered for; entertaining rich bitches who had more money jangling around in their designer handbags than the entire Harlem street Sutton had grown up on could earn in a decade.
She had come a long way and blessed the day that the suave UK tycoon had come into her life. If he hadn’t she hated to think what she would have spent her life doing. She’d probably still be flipping burgers at some greasy, cockroach-infested diner or attempting to reapply some dodgy weave to a disgruntled customer in a Bronx hairdressers. That was of course if she wasn’t fending off some drunken bum hoping for a shag or a knife-wielding crackhead on the New York subway on the way home.
The thought of days gone by sent a shiver down her spine, despite the heat from the Bajan sun overhead. She’d never go back there. She couldn’t let that happen. She could never settle for anything less than the multi-million dollar booty she’d been used to for almost three decades. It would take a team of the strongest stray street mutts to ever drag her back there. Not that she wasn’t proud of her roots. Oh, Sutton was. She might be a rich bitch by marriage but the heartbeat of Harlem still pulsated within her and she would never forget where she’d come from, despite having no desire to return. She still had connections there but they only served as painful reminders of what might have been.
That was why she put up with Sheridan’s wandering eye. It had always been there. Ever since the first time she’d caught him with his pants down with a young opera singer at one of his hotels about three years after they’d married. It had been just a few days before Sutton went into labour with their first child, Nikki. As she was screaming, legs akimbo, her mind crazed with the pain of childbirth after a twenty-seven-hour labour, her husband clutching her hand, images of him ploughing his way into the young diva had filled her thoughts. It was not how she imagined childbirth. But she forgave him. She had to. And since then there had been countless countesses, lashings of ladies, more than a myriad of hot hotel maids and enough godforsaken glamorous guests than she could list. Word got round. But who was ever going to criticise the boss? It seemed that Sheridan liked to welcome his guests and look after his staff in his own inimitable way.
Sutton followed her husband dutifully to the laying of the cornerstone. She stared at Hatton’s body, the sun beating off his sculpted six-pack. The sleeve of tattoos down one of his arms captured her attention as she noted a few of the designs within it – an anchor, a dragon, a nun and cross, some stars, a collection of words in some foreign language. Latin, maybe? It was quite a piece of art. And he was quite a canvas. A frisson of excitement shot through her body.
Sutton glanced at Sheridan as he shook Hatton’s hand and posed for more photos. He was still in good condition for his age but he could do with a nip and tuck here and there, that was for sure. She’d suggested her own surgeons a million times. As far as she saw it, there came a time in life when every person’s body needed a helping hand. For Sutton, that time had come about fifteen years ago, when she was thirty-one, at the sign of the first crow’s foot and marionette line, and the moment her breasts started heading south. But Sheridan had always shouted down her suggestions for him to have work done, having no desire to go under the knife. He felt perfect, even if Sutton seemed to think otherwise. Hell, no one else complained.
Hatton’s young, twenty-something body was as sculpted as a Greek god, his chest firm and proud, a soft, clipped coating of russet hair spreading across it. His powerful arms were covered in a
slight slick of sweat from the heat of the tropical sky; his legs a mighty powerhouse of brawn. Sutton felt another ripple of sexual excitement as she took in his body. She stared back at her husband.
‘Yes, don’t think I don’t look at other men, Sheridan Rivers,’ she whispered under her breath, her smile still perfectly in place. ‘Oh, I do…’ At a time when her own sex life with her husband was becoming infrequent to non-existent, why wouldn’t she? Especially given his track record. Sutton knew that he was banging his PA, Kassidy. Did they think she was stupid? If she was stupid, she’d have been caught by now. And she couldn’t risk that happening. Not when she had so much to lose – signing a pre-nup handing over any rights to Sheridan’s riches had made sure of that before he’d walked her down the aisle all those years ago.
2
Nikki Rivers felt her body judder to euphoric orgasm as Julian Bailey, her father’s right-hand man and accountant, pumped the last few drops of his ejaculation into her. He let out a sigh. Fucking a woman of twenty-seven, over two decades his junior, especially one whose sexual appetite was as ferocious as a red-bellied piranha, was tiring.
‘I need a bloody drink after that,’ he said, filling a glass of water from the decanter in Nikki’s room in the Velvet Barbados.
‘That was the perfect end to a business meeting, Julian. You’ve got some stamina for a man pushing fifty, I’ll give you that,’ said Nikki, levering herself up from the table Julian had been screwing her on and adjusting her Christopher Kane silhouette skirt back into place. When she wanted immediate sex with Julian, the last thing she thought about was removing her clothes. Hitching it up and ditching her panties was sufficient.
Nikki Rivers was the socialite face for the Velvet empire, a ‘job’ she had bestowed upon herself for a hefty salary. As far as ‘work’ was concerned she could get away with doing next to nothing so long as she kept her father happy by promoting the family business at every opportunity with column inches across the globe. Her face was synonymous with the Velvet brand and a skilled Nikki managed to keep herself permanently busy jetting between the Velvet hotels around the world and showing off that face to great effect.
‘I’d need more than stamina if Sheridan ever caught us. I’ve worked for that man for nearly thirty years. I saw him buy you your first teddy bear. If he knew I was screwing you, he’d feed me to the nearest school of sharks.’
‘It’s not my fault that you find me irresistible,’ cooed Nikki. ‘Besides, he’s still busy schmoozing Hatton Eden and that other boxer after the announcement this morning. Probably making them spar in the gym or take a dip in the pool. He’ll be busy courting the press opportunities, no doubt.’
‘That fight will be a major moneymaker for Velvet, as will the arena when it’s finished. It may mean a few months of disruption at the hotel with building work going on and doubtless some of the guests will complain and head off to nearby hotels like Sandy Lane or The Crane instead but so be it. When that arena opens it will turn this hotel into even more of a goldmine. We may lose a bit of money in the interim but we can handle it.’
‘When you say “we”, you do mean you and I, don’t you, and not the Velvet empire at large?’ Nikki adjusted her position on the edge of the table as she slipped her panties back up her legs to give Julian another flash of what he had just savoured. His eyes were immediately drawn to her actions.
‘Of course, there’s enough money for everyone,’ he said, distracted by an avalanche of more lascivious thoughts as he stared at Nikki.
‘Good, because I need more money, and I need it now.’
Nikki had a propensity to spend huge amounts of money, even for somebody from one of the richest stables around, but certain necessities that wouldn’t go away had recently seen her draining both her trust fund and her salary. Over the last few months, her financial situation had become desperate. This was something she couldn’t go to Daddy Dearest to sort so Nikki had had to use her womanly ways to keep her head above water – which was when the sex-obsessed Julian had come in very handy.
Nikki shook her hair loose from the diamante clip holding it in place as she spoke. Her deep, ebony swirls tumbled down around her light, mocha-coloured skin. The effect was pure come-on, just as she intended.
‘More money?’ questioned Julian. ‘That will be the second payment this month and about the sixth since we started doing this. What do you need it for now?’
‘Let’s just say I was thinking of buying some special lingerie from the more elitist stores out there and a few designer items to spice up the bedroom. You know how a few toys turn me on.’
‘You have your own money for that, Nikki. Your dad pays you a good salary for hobnobbing around the world and I can’t keep siphoning off funds behind his back just so that you can…’ Julian’s voice tailed off as he watched Nikki slide her lacy panties back down her legs. ‘Just so you can buy underwear and, er… other stuff.’ His voice faltered as he finished the sentence. He could feel his cock, still spent from his recent orgasm, give a slight twitch of lust.
Nikki unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, revealing the naked desire she had in store for Julian. Her blouse and bra followed suit, allowing her breasts to spill free. Shards of bright afternoon sunlight streamed through the vertical blinds on the bedroom window as she slid off the table and sashayed her way over to a clearly flustered Julian. She still held her panties in her hand.
‘If Sheridan discovers what we’ve been doing he’ll never forgive us,’ he murmured.
‘Just a little more to keep me going, Julian?’ said Nikki as she positioned herself in front of him and sank to her knees. ‘And Daddy will never find out because you’re too clever about hiding it all with your mean and masterful cooking of the books.’
‘But you don’t need any more underwear. I’m perfectly happy with the things that you wear now.’
‘Please, Julian. Just another twenty-five thousand. It’ll be worth it, I promise. I know how much you love my underwear.’
He did. If there was one thing that Julian Bailey couldn’t resist it was Nikki’s underwear. She’d known that ever since the day, six months earlier, that she had caught him rifling through her laundry basket in her bedroom, his nose buried deep in her worn panties. At first she had been horrified, ready to report him for breaking into her room and diving into her used garments, but a flash of inspiration swept across her mind as she asked him what he was doing. The scared look on his face told her that he was petrified of what she might do. He was the dictionary definition of submissive and subservient. An idea crossed her mind and it was one that she had been happily playing out ever since. Nikki needed the cash and seeing as Julian was the man with his hands on the purse strings as well as on her La Perlas, she realised that she had the perfect opportunity to do whatever she needed: the dirty old man could become her dirty old gain.
She moved her panties up to his face and put them over his nose as she placed his still flaccid member in her mouth. To be expected at his age, she thought to herself as she worked it as best she could. Needs must. She heard Julian sniff deeply through his nose and utter the words.
‘I’ll sort the cash.’
He couldn’t resist her. He couldn’t afford to.
3
Blair Lonergan loved Tokyo. Other than his home city of New York, the DJ thought it the most alive place on earth. Its neon vibrancy and electric quirkiness made it the perfect place to play. Plus, his set there always went down incredibly well, his Japanese fan base becoming bigger and bigger with every trip.
Blair was born to be a DJ. He lived it. The rush of seeing people dancing to his musical choices as he mixed from one banging beat to another had never left him, not since he’d first experienced it in a church hall in the backstreets of the Big Apple back in 2000. He had been seventeen at the time and even at such an early age he had shown great skill on the decks as he mixed from Toni Braxton and Basement Jaxx into Deborah Cox and Mary J Blige. Word spread and before he knew
it, he was being asked to play at some of New York’s coolest underground clubs, watching the dance floor throb to the pulse he was pumping into it.
By the age of twenty he had played at some of the biggest clubs in Canada and Europe, his star rising, and when he dropped an EP of his own tunes on a demanding public a couple of years later, his popularity exploded even more, as he topped the charts worldwide. His pulling power and moneymaking potential went through the roof. And Blair was definitely somebody who was going to milk every last drop of pleasure from it. This was his time. First-class travel around the world, million-dollar gigs and residencies in the best nightclubs were offered to him on a plate. As were drugs, booze, groupies and the chance to work with some of the most notorious singers in the world. He took them all. Success and hedonism were tunes that he was happy to mix for as long as he could.
Blair snorted a fat line of coke from underneath the decks and let out a holler of excitement as the effect of it filled his nostrils and hit the back of his throat. He felt alive and as he watched a mass of excited Japanese fans pump their hands in the air to his music a sense of pride and invincibility swept through him. Velvet Tokyo’s dance floor was packed, everyone there to see the master at work.
He’d been playing Velvet in Tokyo for just over a year now, part of his lucrative deal with the hotel chain. It was a great earner and one that seemed to work for everyone. Velvet was ecstatic that their nightclubs were becoming trendier and a destination of choice for the discerning clubber. Blair was happy to see his bank balance ballooning and at the age of thirty-three he had never had more pussy in his life. And he’d had a lot.
