Better Run

by Shel Stone

  This wasn’t so much a place for talking business, more to agree when and where the talking should take place. These girls couldn’t be trusted and everyone knew it. They would sell their mothers for a nice paycheck. It wasn’t so much the cops he had to worry about as it was rivals. The cops had a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy, provided everyone more or less behaved. As long as everything was quiet and unseen, they didn’t charge in, so stupid people, loose cannons, had to be weeded out, or the Mayor would have to be seen as doing something.

  In the fringes, there were bit players and they were a problem, but they didn’t represent the real industry, which had stable relationships with police and officials. The real unscrupulous players were shut out and that suited everyone involved. They had to be guarded against, because they wanted in and it took an iron fist to keep them out.

  The status quo was a boat no one wanted to rock, because you couldn’t be a tourist haven without drugs. It was a simple fact. No drugs and no tourists. It was a status quo that went back to prohibition days, and everyone made money.

  The legit drug companies had been peddling through the medical channels, but the tide was turning on them and the mess they’d left behind, attracting more unscrupulous players to town.

  Because of this, he needed to vet people coming into the business. A few had been brought in tonight for his approval, here so he could check them out, see how they acted. He didn’t have great hopes, but he was prepared to meet them. It was hard to find good help. And at times, he had to do favors for the people up the food chain, like taking on the young guy, Conners, here to learn the business on the customer side. Conners stood chatting with a few of the guys, wearing a russet brown suit that shone when he moved. Bad taste and a penchant for being flashy. That instinct had to be drummed out of him.

  Taking a deep breath, he ran his thumb along the stubble on his chin as he exhaled. He wasn’t really in the mood for this, but business was never about what he was in the mood for. His eyes roamed over the people gathered, roamed over the girls. Quite honestly, he’d had all this lifestyle had to offer—sex, drugs, money. There was nothing out of reach, nothing new to be had. No wonder rich people clambered after the latest exclusive handbag or whatever, paying ridiculous prices for something exclusive—when one had everything, the only thing of value was what others couldn’t have.

  Momentarily completed with the most exclusive handbag on their arms, rich women, he had learnt, were crazy. There were plenty of them around, and they were nothing but trouble. Whores were easy, they just wanted the money. There was really nothing to be had there either. A mere service.

  The prospects arrived, looking out of place in this crowd. One was skinny with a mop of hair, the other darker and dressed in ill-fitting clothes. And they brought a girl. Couldn’t judge a guy by his clothes, but this wasn’t encouraging. Then again that local club market had always been hard to reach for him. The young local crowd trusted their own.

  The girl they’d brought, a hot mess if he’d ever seen one. These boys were putting up a front, with the music video girl that would be wrapped over the bonnet of a car if there was one around. She was part of the image. Seriously short skirt and boots. Wild hair and pure attitude. Palmer snorted.

  “Hey,” one of the guys said. “Nice view.” He wasn’t looking at the view, he was looking at the whores.

  “Please, enjoy the party.” The girls were amenable, they would find. Like true gentlemen, they left their female companion to it, and she stood there looking like a fish out of water. Lean legs and nice, tight hips. Beyond doubt a dirty girl. Clearly not his type, in any capacity, but in these parts, she was a foreign bird. And she didn’t veer toward any of the nicely suited men, instead straight to the bar where she ordered something clear with lime. Not a whore then, or a whore with no confidence—a distinctly disadvantaged breed.

  One of the guys was more outgoing than the other, who was already letting himself be tempted away by one of the women. Clearly a guy with pussy problems. They tended not to keep their eye on the prize, so Palmer dismissed him as a prospect. The other one showed some interest in the men gathered and Palmer could see he was the driving force behind this trio. He was the reason they were here—the one with ambition.

  Was this a trio, though? Was the girl part of the deal or just window dressing? She’d walked out on the balcony with her drink, avoiding people. Great body, but nothing sleek about her like the other women here. She wore black and too much makeup. Wild curls, but the tips of her hair were pink.

  Rising from his chair, he made his way out on the balcony, leaning on the glass door as he watched her. Desire fired through him and it surprised him. Maybe because she was different and attitude was sewn into everything about her. She dressed to make you salivate, but would give you the finger when you did. Young girls were like that, liked to punish you for your desire. It had been a while since he’d messed with a girl like that. He’d been there, wanting those girls so badly every part of his body would vibrate with energy.

  Was she even legal? Not that it was a problem. In a party full of drug dealers and whores, who cared about an underage girl drinking?

  “So what brings you here tonight?” Palmer asked and she turned around. The suspicion in her eyes was clear. This was a girl on the defensive.

  “This your place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nice view. Must be quite spectacular in the morning.”

  “Do you wish to stay and see?”

  “Not what I meant,” she snorted. “Just saying.”

  No need to beat around the bush, he supposed. “Are you here for a job interview?”

  “Nope.”

  So she was window dressing. Did these boys think she would impress him? Clearly they did, and in some respect they were right, but probably not in the way these boys meant.

  “Seems your companions have deserted you.”

  “So what is this?” Her eyes were roaming back toward the party.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Bunch of guys in suits and whores.”

  She was no wide-eyed innocent, it seemed, but then in a skirt like that, she was hardly going to be. This wasn’t some rich girl slumming. She was the real deal. “What’s your name?”

  “Nook,” she said with a challenge in her eyes, almost urging him to comment.

  “Clearly not your real name.”

  “Is Palmer Dorian your real name?”

  “Yes. You a runaway?”

  “I’ve got my shit together.” Clearly a point she wanted to make. Palmer smiled. “So is that why they’re here, for an interview?”

  There was no point answering. Pretty face. Pink lips, clear eyes, with a slight gloss. She was on something. “Is there something you would like, we have all sorts of interesting things.”

  “No, I’m alright. I’m putting enough trust in you by drinking your drinks. Figure I know where you live.”

  “Is my hospitality being doubted?”

  “Forgive me for not trusting you. Do you trust perfect strangers?”

  “I trust people’s greed,” he replied honestly. This whole operation was set up on greed and it was the most pure thing there was in the world. It kept everyone in line—checked with the occasionally necessary violence, which Carlos, his security head, inflicted with utmost professionalism. They called him security, because it sounded professional, but he did all the dirty necessary things. It was the benefit of being the boss, you didn’t have to do the dirty jobs—not that Palmer wasn’t capable if the need arose.

  “There is that, I guess,” she said, taking another sip of her drink.

  “Do you think I should hire your friends?” He was absolutely not going to take her word for it, but he was curious to see what she would say.

  “Depends what you want them to do.”

  “I think you know.”

  She looked uncomfortable for a while, and it wasn’t the drugs that made her uncomfortable, or the whores.
It was the power. She was a smart girl, and she knew she was out of her depth. In fact, she was probably a better prospect than either of the two guys. She was cautious, but then she might lack that ambition that was so important in keeping his team together and functioning.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her.

  “Wouldn’t know,” she said. “I don’t have the experience to say.”

  Smart. It also showed she didn’t have blind loyalty to her friends. Too wise for loyalty to guys like that. Nook, ridiculous name, watched out for number one, and he wanted her to stay. He wanted to peel her clothes off and see how much attitude she had then. It had been a while since he’d wanted a girl so much. And although guarded, she wasn’t entirely uninterested. He’d seen her gaze linger—she was curious.

  Chapter 4

  PALMER DORIAN WAS something else. There was something about him that didn’t match that fine suit of his. His suit didn’t cover up a weak body underneath like it did with most. He was built. Not bodybuilder built, but he could lift her over this balcony and throw her off if he wanted to, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him.

  Not a pretty guy—a hard guy. Strong jaw, trimmed stubble making it look harsher. Cold, almond eyes. There was nothing soft about him. Cold beauty.

  His accent was soft, so she couldn’t quite tell where he was from, but it wasn’t from around here. Probably up north, but she wasn’t great at telling.

  The fact that he was interested in her was beyond doubt, but why when he had what had to be the most gorgeous whores in town. Clearly he was recruiting, for something highly illegal. There was money in this, which meant it was even more illegal.

  She sure as hell wasn’t getting into bed with him—figuratively speaking. Literally, she was tempted. She’d never spent six hours with a guy like him. In fact, she’d never met a guy like him. Confidence dripped off him. He ruled the world and he knew it.

  That drumming tension of desire had caught in her, but she was wary. This was not the kind of guy you got yourself tangled up with. How many kind of ways could one say trouble?

  Strong legs. She had to fight the images that were stealing into her head, but he should be with one of those model-like whores. Him and one of those girls, it would be a sight of beauty. She’d probably pay to watch that.

  What she didn’t know was what he wanted. Everyone always wanted something. Did he feel the drumming of tension as she did? Was that why he was out here talking to her? With someone like him, she had trouble reading the situation.

  An image of him taking her from behind in the bathroom snuck into her mind, her leaning over the sink. A further thrill of desire shot through her.

  He stepped closer and her breath hitched. The scent of him was gorgeous—she just wanted to breath him in. Her panties were dampening. Oh, this was trouble, but her fingers itched to touch. Reaching out, she touched his hip just below the black leather belt, so lightly she was sure he didn’t feel it.

  “You should send your friends home,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. It tickled along her spine like a physical force.

  With a whirl of scent, he left, walking into the apartment. Nook watched him go. Damnit, damnit, she repeated to herself. This was not the kind of guy to mess with, but she wanted him so badly. A night, how bad could it be? Desire raced through her body. Who knew she could be into a guy like that? So not her type. But maybe that’s what got her. He wasn’t her type, but he was so incredibly sexy—and dangerous.

  Really, she should head to the door and not look back. Take the fucking bus back to her part of town and go to bed, or head out to her local bar where everything was familiar. Maybe she could call Andi to come pick her up, but she was probably still at work. Andi probably wouldn’t believe how this night had unfolded.

  That want had bit hard, though, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave. It just had to be dealt with or it would haunt her. But now what? Zero interest in chatting with anyone here. What was the point. Samie was doing enough networking, Jaz was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she ended up getting another vodka, lemon and lime and simply stood and watched Palmer Dorian as he slowly made his way around.

  He had zero interest in the hookers, but he was polite to them. That said a lot about someone. Even at work, you saw immediately what you were dealing with by how they treated the girls—including her. Mostly it was young guys showing off to their friends that were the problem, but sometimes you got real creeps. Dorian wasn’t a creep, but he was cold. Perhaps he had to be in his line of work.

  It showed that he was the boss. The guys were deferential, and Samie was clearly targeting him. From his body language, she could tell how excited Samie was, but Palmer was just cold. Gave nothing away. Tall and broad, compared to Samie, who looked like a scrawny teenager next to him. Man versus boy, as clear as night and day, even if in reality they probably weren’t all that different in age. There was something that set them apart, more than the suit and the serious case of coldness. A way of being, perhaps. A stillness, a confidence.

  Maybe she was growing up, she wondered, as something in her appreciated the distinction. This was new. Obviously, there had been hot men she’d come across, but they hadn’t set her alight like this. It was always, for an old dude, he was alright. She could do him, not that she had. As opposed to some, she was strictly an ‘own age’ kind of girl.

  Heart racing, her hands clammy, she couldn’t wait for the night to progress. And that body—she couldn’t wait. But come first light, she’d be out of there. No driving her home, no calling her a car. She didn’t want him to know where she lived. This was a one night thing, and when it was over, it was over.

  Slowly, people were starting to leave. Dudes were taking the hookers away with them, which might be a good way to part company with Samie and Jaz. Neither would particularly want her around, would they? Although she hoped they didn’t try to take these girls back to their flee-ridden crash pads.

  Alright, maybe it made sense why Samie wanted to be in with this crowd. It wasn’t like he was ever going to get into money like this legitimately. Not sure he had impressed Palmer, though. She sure as hell wasn’t tempted. That wasn’t entirely true, but she quashed the question before it even arose. There was a price to pay for that money, and prison was probably the only cherry on top.

  Besides, what the hell did she need money for? Hookers and cars? Freedom was so much better. She prided herself on that understanding. Few got that—were always chasing the dollar. Palmer was obviously one of them, because he’d gone all the way.

  Again, she wondered if she should just head for the door. It would probably be the wise thing to do, but then she looked back at Palmer and he looked so good. She could imagine the disappointment she’d feel with the next guy when he didn’t live up to what she expected here. But then maybe she’d be disappointed. Would a guy like him really try hard? Then again, he might be a complete animal, making her come harder than anyone ever had.

  “So let’s stay for a little while, yeah?” Samie said, appearing at her side. “Quite some party, huh?”

  “Seems people are taking those girls home with them. Are you?”

  “And where the hell would I take them?” It was surprising Samie had such foresight. “No, I think we need to stay and talk some business.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Maybe at the last moment, when they were ready to leave, she’d say she was intending to stay put for a moment. They would know exactly what for, but they’d brought her here, so they could just deal with it.

  More guys were leaving and Nook felt her anticipation grow. Even Jaz said goodbye to his girl. Understandable perhaps. They obviously wanted some kind of agreement with Palmer. It was why they’d come here, after all.

  And then it was just them. And the staff cleaning up. The barman packing away his things. It was a gorgeous apartment now that she saw it without the people. Sleek with leather and chrome. Definitely put together by an interior designer. Maybe P
almer had seen it and decided it was what he wanted. Somehow she couldn’t see him flouncing around with an interior designer.

  “So, boys,” Palmer said. Samie bristled at the reference. Why? Why would he do that? “I think the night’s over.”

  “Not yet,” Samie said and reached behind him, pulling out a gun.

  Nook’s eyes widened. “What the fuck, Samie?” She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was like they’d left real life and stepped into a movie—a stupid one where everyone dies. “What are you going?” Her voice was going sharp and high.

  “Just talking a little business,” Samie said coldly. He was acting like some gangster, trying to be cool, but she could hear how nervous he was through his voice and his jittery movements.

  She turned to Jaz, who was obviously not surprised. This had been the plan all along, to pull a gun on probably the biggest dealer in town. This was fucked up. It was suicide.

  “No, this is just a joke,” she said, looking at Palmer beseechingly. He wasn’t looking at her, instead at Samie. If she’d thought he’d been cold before, she hadn’t seen anything. There was absolutely nothing in those eyes.

  Chapter 5

  THE FUCKING LITTLE SHITS had just pulled a gun on him. That was fucking stupid. What the hell did they think they were going to achieve?

  “Now, we’d like some coke please,” the skinny one with the gun said. Samie his name was. Well, Samie’s life was over.

  “That’s not how it works, kid,” he said. Anger tinkled like ice through his veins. He wanted that gun and he wanted to smash that guy’s head in, but clearly these boys were not thinking rationally. Also, he was going to murder Sunderson for bringing these mental kids in.