“What’s the matter?” Venus asked.
Should he tell her? Well, at least he’d better make up a cover story in case he’d infected her.
“Got a slight problem,” he said sheepishly.
“What problem?”
“One of the stuntmen on the movie had crabs. My stunt double, believe it or not. Wardrobe got our pants mixed up, and since I was going commando—”
“No!”
“Sorry, babe. I only just found out. Hope I haven’t passed them on to you. I’ve got the cream to treat ’em…”
“I don’t believe this!”
“Yeah. I know. I could kill the son of a bitch.”
“So that’s why you’ve been in such a strange mood.”
Whew! He was off the hook. All she was worried about was his mood.
“Uh … yeah … guess so.”
“You should’ve told me before.”
“I should’ve?”
“Well, yes. It’s unfortunate, but these things happen.”
“They do?”
“Oh Billy, you’re such a baby,” she said affectionately.
If he’d had a hard-on, it would’ve deflated on the spot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
After spending time with Francesca and assuring her that everything was on track to bring down the Keys and the Santangelo family once and for all, Anthony realized there was nothing for him to do in Miami. Sure, he had Emmanuelle, and he had his kids, but he’d been neglecting business, and since the crux of his business operations was in Mexico City he decided he should get back.
He instructed The Grill to have the plane ready. “We’re going to Mexico City,” he informed him.
The Grill nodded, a man of few words, always ready to move at a moment’s notice.
Anthony had promised to take Emmanuelle out to dinner, but he didn’t bother informing her that he would not be doing so. Emmanuelle getting all dressed up and sitting around waiting for him gave him a sense of extreme power and control. Women needed to be controlled at all times, and any man who didn’t realize that was a foolish man indeed.
The thing with Tasmin had disturbed him, and even though it was Tasmin’s own fault, Renee’s reaction had put a damper on his weekend. Fuck Renee Falcon. How dare she criticize him. It wasn’t as if he’d experienced a rush of adrenaline knowing that he’d accidentally killed a woman. Now, if Tasmin had been a man …
He called Renee on his way to the airport.
“Everything taken care of?” he said roughly.
“What do you think?” she replied, sounding distant and cold.
Lesbian bitch! When she’d dealt with the Vegas business it was time to set her straight and let her know who was boss.
Give a woman too much power and it always came back to bite you in the ass.
* * *
Sometimes Irma felt as if she was living in a prison—a luxurious, magnificent prison, but a prison all the same. Oh yes, the house was grand, the grounds lush and green, there were servants to do anything she wished.
She had everything anyone could possibly ask for, and yet there were guards at the gates.
Anthony had informed her that he employed the guards to protect them from kidnappers and robbers. But she knew the real truth. Her husband was a drug dealer—and as such he had to surround himself with all the protection he could pay for.
When she’d first met Anthony, he’d told her he was in the import/export business, and that’s what she’d always tried to convince herself was the truth. But she’d always known it wasn’t so. Anthony was a major dealer, that was a plain and simple fact. She’d met several of the men he did business with when he’d taken her to Colombia to attend a drug lord’s daughter’s wedding. And she’d witnessed many meetings at the house, and mysterious helicopter arrivals late at night.
Now that Luis had made her feel desirable and confident again, thoughts of leaving Anthony were constantly on her mind. She could not communicate this to Luis, but what did it matter? She wasn’t planning on running off with him, although sometimes she daydreamed it might be possible.
Every night she tossed restlessly in bed, her mind racing in many different directions, thinking about what to do. She had a lot of burning questions. Since she had no money of her own, no bank account, no savings, how would she survive without Anthony to support her? Anthony had never allowed her to have her own checking account; he gave her a fistful of charge cards and cash whenever she asked. His office in Mexico City paid all the bills.
She had her clothes and jewelry, but what about her children? Could she simply abandon them?
It really didn’t make any difference because she wasn’t allowed to see them anyway, not unless Anthony said so.
I need a lawyer, she thought. And not a Mexican lawyer who will automatically be on Anthony’s side—an American lawyer. I have to get away from this place I am imprisoned in. My life is seeping away and I am kept here like a caged animal.
She wondered what Anthony would do if she asked him for a divorce.
Silly question—she knew exactly what he’d do. He’d go berserk, he’d start screaming the way he screamed at his grandmother, he’d refuse to believe that she wanted to leave him. Anthony had a very high opinion of himself, especially sexually. Not that he’d touched her in almost a year, but he still regarded himself as King Stud.
Being Mrs. Anthony Bonar was a huge burden to carry around, and the time had come to shed that burden.
Luis was the perfect lover for her. He was young and available, and conveniently he was allowed on the property at all times, since he was one of the estate’s gardeners. Who would ever suspect him? Who would ever guess that she had personal knowledge of the rippling muscles beneath his workshirt, that he was built like an Adonis, that his kisses were so sweet and tender? Who would ever suspect that she would fall in lust with this man?
Most of the staff had Saturday off, unless Anthony was in residence. Only Marta, the cook, remained, and she was half deaf anyway. As usual the guards were stationed at the front of the house with the dogs, and the old gardener never came in on weekends—there was only Luis.
Irma glanced out the window, making sure he was there, before taking a leisurely bath, then putting on a simple white dress. She felt like being virginal today. Virginal, so Luis could rip the dress from her body. She knew that once her bedroom door was locked, the lowly gardener turned into a sensuous animal, and frankly she couldn’t wait.
After putting on the white dress, she dabbed perfume behind her ears, between her breasts, and on her thighs. Then she hurried downstairs, making a detour through the kitchen.
Marta was sitting in front of the kitchen TV engrossed in a dramatic Spanish telenovella with the sound turned up.
“Marta,” Irma said, startling the woman. “I won’t be needing anything else today. I’m on a diet, so no dinner for me. You can go home now.”
“Gracias, señora,” Marta said, quickly standing up and gathering her purse before Señora Bonar changed her mind.
“Enjoy your weekend,” Irma said, walking outside into the garden.
Luis spotted her and quickly looked away. He never indicated anything intimate between them; it was only in the privacy of her bedroom that he became this erotic and sensual creature.
“Luis,” she said, approaching him in a formal manner. “I’d like you to come look at my houseplants.”
She kept up this charade because she never knew who might be watching them. There were many cameras on the property, so it was possible they could be observed without them knowing.
“Sí, señora,” Luis said, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.
“I’ll see you in the house,” she said.
He didn’t understand the words she was speaking, but he did understand exactly what she meant.
She turned and headed back toward the house.
He waited a few minutes, then casually made his own way across the lawn and into the big house.
<
br /> Luis always got a thrill entering the cool tiled hallway with the massive chandeliers hanging from the fifty-foot ceiling. It was such a magnificent mansion, so different from the squalid two-bedroom house he lived in with his sickly mother, three argumentative sisters, and pregnant wife. Obviously Señora Bonar was unaware that he had a wife, and he was not about to tell her. Not that he could, since he didn’t speak her language.
He climbed the marble staircase two steps at a time. How fortunate was he? He had a job, a frustrated American woman who wanted sex every day, and a wife at home who would shortly give birth to his first son.
Irma’s bedroom door was open. He walked in, closing and locking the door behind him.
Irma was lying on the bed in her white virginal dress, waiting for him.
Luis didn’t hesitate, he hurriedly unzipped his pants and fell on top of her. He was hot and horny and he took her fast.
Irma was dismayed—fast sex reminded her of Anthony. She expected Luis to take his time like he usually did.
“Luis,” she objected, making a vain attempt to push him off her, “what are you doing? Slow down.”
“Qué?” he muttered. But it was too late—he’d already come.
Irma was disappointed and a little angry. If she wanted fast sex with someone rough, she would hardly have chosen Luis.
She got off the bed and stalked into her bathroom, near tears.
Luis could tell she was upset, so he followed her.
“No, Luis,” she said, shaking her head. “Not like that, never like that.”
“Ah, cara,” he said, and very slowly he moved toward her and began peeling down the straps of her white dress, exposing her full breasts.
“No, Luis,” she repeated, holding up her hand. “No more.”
Ignoring her, he started touching her nipples with the tips of his fingers. Fondling, squeezing, then bending his mouth down and sucking, kissing …
She was immediately filled with a fierce and overwhelming desire for this man.
Oh yes, Luis knew how to turn her on. They might not speak the same language, but he certainly knew how to fulfill every one of her fantasies.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was morning, Max knew that. She knew because she could hear birds singing outside the small room she was locked inside. The one window in the room was boarded up, but light filtered through the cracks.
Her head ached, her shoulders hurt, her stomach rumbled, and she had a desperate need to pee. She’d slept fitfully, experiencing hideous nightmares about Cookie’s predictions that Internet Dude could turn out to be some kind of maniac serial killer. Was this person who’d held a gun on them and brought them to the cabin a serial killer? Were her worst nightmares about to come true?
She was lying on a hard bed, her left ankle chained to the sturdy wooden leg of the bed. Ace was nowhere in sight.
Pulling her thoughts together, she started going over the events of yesterday in her head. The drive to Big Bear, the waiting around for her Internet guy to show, hooking up with Ace, and finally the weasel-faced stranger approaching her and telling her he was Grant, although he looked nothing like the picture he’d posted. What a liar! What a creep!
Fortunately, Ace had reappeared all set to rescue her, but the man had pulled a gun on them, then forced them both into her car. He’d made Ace drive while he’d sat in the back next to her.
She was horrified at what was happening. Then she’d started thinking that maybe it was a hoax, some kind of weirdo TV show that Cookie and Harry had set up.
But no, they wouldn’t be so nuts.
I’m not frightened, she’d told herself. I refuse to be scared.
But when the man had leaned over and forced a blindfold around her eyes, she’d finally felt the cold grip of fear.
“Where’re we headin’?” Ace had asked at one point.
“Be quiet and drive,” Grant had replied in a low, even voice. “Follow my instructions and do not say another word.”
“You’ll never get away with this,” Ace had muttered.
“That’s for me to decide.”
Scrunched in the backseat, she’d stayed as far away from the Internet Freak as possible, managing somehow or other to remain calm. She’d thought about her mom. What would Lucky do?
Oh man, Lucky would probably kick his ass big-time. Her mom was known for taking no prisoners, and although they had their differences, under it all Max really admired her.
They must have driven for at least half an hour before finally stopping. When the car came to a halt, Internet Freak had ripped the blindfold from her eyes, and she’d seen that they were parked outside a cabin in a heavily wooded and seemingly remote area.
“Both of you—get out of the car,” he’d ordered.
Ace had slid out of the driver’s seat and stationed himself next to the car.
“And you,” he’d said to Max. “Tie his hands behind his back.”
“With what?” she’d answered, staring him down, letting him know she wasn’t intimidated, not her.
“Use your blindfold for now.”
She’d tied Ace’s hands, making the knot as loose as possible.
“Stay cool,” Ace had whispered when she was close to him. “We’ll get out of this.”
“I know,” she’d whispered back.
“Tighter,” Internet Freak had said, watching her closely.
She’d redone the knot, her heart beating fast, her mind reliving every horror movie she’d ever seen. Those kinds of films were always set in some backwoods area, and there was always a teen couple who inevitably ended up dead on arrival. Oh, great! Was that their destiny?
“What do you want?” she’d asked, turning to face him. “Money? ’Cause my mom will pay you.”
“Your mom,” Internet Freak had sneered. “I don’t want your mom’s money, I have plenty of my own.”
“Then what do you want?” she’d asked, keeping her voice firm.
“I’ll tell you when I’m ready to tell you,” he’d said. “And stop asking questions.”
He’d then instructed Ace to get in the trunk of the car. When Ace objected, he’d threatened to shoot her, so Ace had complied.
After that was done he’d commanded her to enter the house. Once inside he’d shoved her into the small room and manacled her ankle to the leg of the bed. Then he’d left her there without saying another word.
Now it was morning and she had no idea what was going on.
Where was Ace? Was he all right?
Where was Internet Freak? What were his intentions?
He’d taken away her purse with her cell phone, but surely by this time someone would’ve called her and realized she was missing? Her mom, Cookie, Harry—they’d all been so adamant she had to check in.
The room smelled musty, as if it hadn’t been used in years. Her eyes ached to match her relentless headache. She was desperately hungry and thirsty.
After a few minutes of getting acclimatized, she half fell off the bed, attempting to drag it toward the window.
The bed was too heavy, it wouldn’t budge.
She reached down to her ankle. It was beginning to chafe and swell.
“Hey!” she yelled loudly, refusing to panic. “Anyone out there? Anyone at all?”
There was no response.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Giving Brigette and Bobby a tour of the Keys was a thrill for Lucky. She flew to Vegas every week, so nothing was new to her, but seeing the enormous development through Brigette’s and Bobby’s eyes was exciting, and they seemed fully impressed, as so they should be. Even if she said so herself, the Keys was awesome.
“This is probably the best hotel I’ve created,” she said proudly. “What do you think?”
“Oh my God,” Brigette gasped. “It’s amazing. I want to buy one of those apartments today! They’re incredible.”
“Yes, and I’m happy to say they’re nearly all presold, although I think there might be a couple of penthouses
still available.”
“We’ll take ’em,” Bobby quipped. “I’ll buy one, Brig can have the other.”
“I thought you were going to build your own hotel, Bobby,” Lucky said, teasing him.
“Maybe I will,” he answered. “Put you out of business.”
“So that’s your ambition, is it?” she asked, hands on hips. “To put your poor old mom out of business?”
“Poor old Mom, my ass!”
They grinned at each other, shadowboxing.
She’d given them the grand tour, making their way through an army of workmen finishing up various areas. Finally they’d reached the private rooftop nightclub where the final touch-ups were taking place.
“Well?” she asked both of them. “Opinions please.”
“It’s okay,” Bobby said, surveying the premises with a critical eye. “I could’ve done better for you.”
“Really,” she said coolly, making it more of a statement than a question.
“It’s … y’know, nothing special.”
“Nothing special!” she exclaimed. “Are you kidding me? How about the illuminated staircase? The one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view over the Strip? The indoor fountains? The VIP rooms? The paintings—all originals I might add.”
“That’s not what makes a great club, Mom. A really cool club is all about the vibe.”
“And what vibe would that be?”
“The people, the mix—now, that’s what makes a club a happening place.”
“And what makes you think we won’t attract the right people?”
He shrugged.
“Hey, Bobby,” she said lightly. “I do have major connections. I’ve built hotels before, I ran Panther Studios, Lennie is one of the most respected directors in Hollywood, so between us we know just about everyone.”
“You gotta get ’em young,” Bobby explained. “It’s all about the youth culture. Hot sexy girls in hot sexy outfits. Rich dudes with their Ferraris and cool dude attitudes. All under thirty-five and horny.”
“Thanks, Bobby. Are you trying to make me feel old?”
“You? You’ll never be old. Look at you, you’re the best-looking mom I’ve ever seen.”
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