by Tia Lewis
I smiled genuinely then, and as gently as I could. “I think a lot of that had to do with trying to follow in my father’s footsteps. Know what I mean? It wasn’t what I wanted, not really. He always made his job sound so exciting that I decided when I was a kid that I wanted to do it, too. Only I grew up and realized he was sugarcoating and exaggerating and doing everything he could to make it seem more exciting than it was. And I can’t live my life based on some misguided childhood fantasy.”
Uncle Joe chuckled and raised his wine glass. “About as good an explanation as I could come up with,” he said, grinning at me.
“I can’t help but feel you’ve changed,” Karen muttered in the voice of a woman who’d experienced the ultimate betrayal. I did everything I could to not lose my temper with her.
“No offense, Aunt Karen, but how would you know? You don’t know me very well. You only know what my father told you about me.” I turned to Peter, who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than where he was. I could relate to that feeling. “What about you, Peter? I’m sure there’s plenty about you that my aunt doesn’t know because it’s not the mundane sort of thing your mother would want to tell her.”
“Yeah. I should go,” Peter said, ready to bolt.
“No, please.” I put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot, or to start telling stories about yourself. Just tell me if I’m right, or I’m wrong, is all.”
“You’re right,” he admitted.
“See?” I turned to my aunt. “I’ve grown up, I’ll grant you that, but I wouldn’t blame that on Drake.”
“Oh, of course, you wouldn’t.” Aunt Karen got up from the table, rushing into the kitchen with her hands over her face. The kids looked like they couldn’t have cared less—they might as well have been deaf. All they did was eat with their heads down, plowing through their food like they’d never been fed before.
“I guess I should go to her,” Uncle Joe said, pulling the napkin from his lap and standing. He couldn’t have sounded less enthused if he tried.
Peter stood. “I should go, too.” He looked down at me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what this was all about when she invited me. She didn’t tell me you were already engaged.”
I shook his hand. “I’m sorry, too.” He left like the house was on fire. I glanced at my cousins, who glanced at me in between bites of food.
“So then what happened?” Tamara asked, pouring me a second drink.
“So then I finished my dinner, left the cake there and came straight here.”
“Oh, you even left the cake there? That cake looked good, too.” I’d texted her a picture of it before leaving my aunt’s house.
“I was so proud of it, too. I don’t know what I was thinking, accepting that dinner invitation. Naiveté, I guess.” I tossed back my whiskey, the sharp liquor burning a trail down my throat. “I truly thought she only wanted to show off her house.”
“Without Drake being there,” Tam reminded me with a knowing smile.
“Yes, well, it’s not like he would have wanted to come, anyway. There’s no love lost there—clearly.” We both laughed.
“I’m gonna guess you don’t want him knowing about this,” she murmured, casting a glance back toward the room in which half the club sat around a car table.
“Your guess is right,” I whispered in reply. “I don’t want to be the start of even more bad blood. It pisses me off to think she knows nothing about Drake but is so quick to judge. If she would only get her head out of her ass, she’d see what a good guy he is. How good the Blood Riders all are.”
“You didn’t always feel that way, Nicole.” She gave me a knowing smirk.
“Yeah, I know. But I learned, didn’t I? I figured it out once I got to know all of you. I wish my aunt would take the time to do that.”
“You only got to know us because you were in a position to know us. And I hate to say this, but you’re young. You don’t have all of your ideas set in stone the way she does.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” I hoped she would come around, and fast. I couldn’t spend my entire engagement, then marriage, wishing she would stop trying to set me up with random men.
9
Drake
It was time to meet with Bobby Jones, head of the Vipers. I had been looking forward to it for days.
I would have felt better about it if Nicole knew it was going down, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t be a fan of us getting mixed up in prostitution. She didn’t need to know until the deal was done—if the deal would ever be done. There was still the matter of a vote, no matter how excited Creed was about the idea of being around whores all day.
We gathered around the long, wooden table in the meeting room. I sat at the head, while Bobby and three of his crew sat at the other end. I’d known Bobby for a long time—not personally, not on a close basis, but I was aware of him. He was aware of me, too, obviously. He smiled warmly, professionally. I’d heard rumors that he’d gone to business school on the club’s dime to make sure he knew how to run a business, not just an MC. I had to give him credit for that if it were true.
His dark eyes shone with confidence, and his bright white teeth flashed beneath his thin mustache. “Are we ready to start?” he asked, looking around the table.
“Whenever you are, Bobby.” I smiled, sitting back in my chair. This would be worth seeing. He’d requested a laptop hookup and a screen. The best I could do was a long wall at the end of the meeting room. We weren’t exactly the audio/visual types.
He started up a very slick looking PowerPoint presentation. I could tell from the looks and murmurs of appreciation from around the table that my guys were already half sold. I wished I’d taken the time to remind them that we played things close to the vest. I couldn’t have the Vipers getting cocky, thinking we were already sold on the deal before the presentation even started.
“As you all know,” Bobby started, “the Vipers have been in the process of high-class, high-quality companionship for the past three decades.”
“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Creed murmured. My guys laughed softly. Even Bobby smiled.
“Yes, well, it’s much nicer than calling it prostitution. What do you call it when you pay girls to fuck you?” We laughed again, louder this time. I joined in. Creed didn’t look put off in the slightest. He always appreciated a person who could give as well as he gave it to them.
“As I was saying,” Bobby grinned. “We’ve been in the business for thirty years, since before I took over the club. And we’ve been quite profitable. In the first two-quarters of this year alone, the club has pulled down over two million dollars.”
We were all impressed, looking at each other with blank expressions. “Did you say two million?” I asked.
“Just from the women?” Diesel added.
“Yes. Just from the women. Over two million in two quarters. We’re projecting another three million to round out the year, bringing us a grand total of just over five million dollars for the fiscal year.”
“Holy fuck,” Creed muttered. He stole a glance at me, and I kept my face blank. He turned back to the presentation.
Bobby hit a key, and a series of charts appeared on the wall. “These charts list our growth in revenue over the last five years. Once we moved out of the clubs and hotels, and into high-class establishments, we’ve skyrocketed. We don’t just provide a woman for an hour or the night. We provide the entire experience. And the clientele we target—affluent businessmen, men of taste and class—they’re the people who appreciate the difference.”
“So you started out, what, out-calling?” Creed asked.
“You sure do know the lingo. Yes, that’s how we started out. Our girls would travel to hotel rooms, high-class clubs, that sort of thing. They would provide companionship and entertainment for a pre-confirmed amount of time. That was fine and well, and we would have kept making money at it. But I had a vision for something much grande
r—and, frankly, much more legal.”
“Do tell,” I said, leaning forward. “How is this more legal than any other approach?”
“Easy. We market ourselves as a recreational establishment, just like any strip club—oh, I’m sorry, gentleman’s club. That’s what we are. Our members play cards, drink fine liquor, and make the acquaintance of beautiful women while they’re at it.”
“I see,” I said, sitting back with a smile on my face. “So you have members, then, not just any Joe Blow off the street can get in.”
“Oh, God, no. Can you imagine?” Bobby and his guys chuckled. “That’s not the image we want to maintain at all. Our brand is high-end, exclusive, first-class only.”
I looked around the table to a bunch of nodding heads.
“And what about the girls you use?” I asked with a smile. “Who are they? Where do they come from? What sets them apart?”
“Other than the fact that they’re paid to do what they do?” Ace added.
“They’re all highly intelligent girls, and they provide high school and college transcripts to prove this. They’re tested regularly for STDs, infections and the like. They’re physically impeccable, respectful and tasteful. Again, they’re in keeping with the brand. I wouldn’t let any man walk in off the street anymore than I would let any woman walk into work for me.”
“And you employ all flavors?” Creed asked.
“Anything a man could want, I have,” Bobby said with a smile, nodding in acknowledgment of Creed’s question. “I don’t discriminate. But I do prefer the girls to be in shape—although the thought of a club with only larger girls has crossed my mind. You would be surprised how many men will only be seen in public with thin women, but prefer bigger women behind closed doors. It’s not my place to judge. I merely provide. It’s all about supply and demand.”
There was something slightly creepy about the way he went about describing his business—like he was the puppet master while the girls and the clients were his puppets. He had the sense of a man who was used to being in charge. No way our personalities would work well together in close quarters, but he wasn’t asking for that. He only wanted our money.
“No trouble with the law?” I asked.
“Why would we have any? Have you seen any gentleman’s clubs raided lately? As long as my girls are smart and my clients discreet, I have no problems—oh, and in case you were wondering, we have a strict screening process for members, too. Just as strict as the one for the girls, if not more so. Financial records, criminal history, everything.”
“Wow. Pretty thorough.” I could appreciate that.
“Again, a little time spent in advance can go a long way toward avoiding unfortunate mishaps down the line. I would hate to find out that one of my members misused a girl in any way, for example, or that he’d decided to run his mouth about the club to his buddies and out us, so to speak.”
“You cover all your bases, in other words.” I nodded appreciatively. With that, Bobby got back to the financial side of the arrangement.
“We would require an upfront investment of five-hundred thousand dollars.” I willed the rest of my guys to keep their mouths shut. No way I could let him know we were at all impressed with that kind of money. We had it in various accounts, but it would take a minute to get it all together.
“And where would this new location be?” I asked.
“Right in the heart of Manhattan. We’ve had an old storefront in club possession for a while now, always in the hopes of starting up a new location there. It’s only been a matter of getting the investment together.”
“I see.”
Bobby flipped to a new slide, showing us the building in question. He had plenty of pictures. There were four floors, all of which had been converted to apartments over the decades since it was originally built.
“Let me guess. That used to be some robber baron’s mansion.”
Bobby nodded. “Close enough. It was converted in the early twentieth century but yes, that used to house a single family and their servants. I believe the family was friends with the Roosevelts.”
“Damn,” Creed muttered. “Can you imagine?”
“So the upstairs will be bedrooms?” I asked.
“Entertainment rooms,” Bobby grinned. “The downstairs will feature the bar, the game rooms, that sort of thing. Each of our girls will have an apartment in the building—that’s our front, you see, the fact that they live above the entertainment area.”
“Got it.” I looked around the room. “One more question. How soon until we start seeing a profit from this?”
“Always a good question.” Bobby smiled and clicked again on his keyboard. “Mind you, we’re projecting using past figures from other locations. The one in question sits in the financial district. It was immediately profitable, making back the money we spent in building it within the first six months. After that, it’s all returns.”
“And how you would split the profit? Fifty-fifty?”
Another smile—this one tighter than before. So Bobby was a business man, fair enough, but he wasn’t one who liked to part with his money. I vaguely remembered a warning Jack had given me years earlier when I’d considered bringing other clubs in to wipe out the Cobras. The victors wouldn’t share the spoils easily.
“Ordinarily, I would say sixty-forty in our favor,” he said.
“Sixty-forty?”
“That’s correct.”
“But why in your favor? We’re putting up the bulk of the money.”
“That’s true, but we’re absorbing the risk.”
“You mean to tell me if the cops were to raid you guys, they wouldn’t see that we were an investor in the club? They would only focus on you?”
“Like I said, that’s not going to happen. But no, they wouldn’t have to know that you were our investor. We’re a little, how do I say it, creative with our bookkeeping. Lots of code words, lots of creative ways to funnel money into other projects and side interests. You don’t need to know about all of that.”
But I wanted to know about all of it. I stared him down as calmly as I could. No way I would let him walk out of my clubhouse thinking he had played me for a fool.
He smiled. “You also cut me off before I finished my statement. As I said, ordinarily, I would say sixty-forty. However, since this is our first time doing business together and we’re asking for such a large investment, I’m willing to go fifty-fifty. If we were to negotiate another deal, I might not be as generous.”
“Fair enough.” I thanked him for his time and asked him and his men to wait outside. “Tamara will pour you all a drink,” I said, and I watched as the men filed out. I waited until the door was closed and I heard her voice coming through to talk things over with my crew.
“Well? What do you think?”
“I think he looks and sounds pretty slimy,” Creed muttered. “But I think he knows what he’s talking about, too.”
“Agreed,” Ace seconded. “I like the sound of those numbers, but I get the feeling that if you fuck with him, he’ll have you at the bottom of the East River in no time.”
“And he wouldn’t sweat it,” Diesel said. “He’s cold, man.”
“It’s all business to him,” I said. The rest of the guys at the table nodded. I looked down the line and back up, seeing nothing but acceptance and excitement in the faces of my crew. I knew what the answer was going to be even before I called the vote.
I got up from the table, swinging the door open. “Tam? Pour us a round of drinks.” My guys clapped and cheered, visions of beautiful hookers dancing through their heads, while I shook on it with Bobby.
“Wonderful. I’m so glad you decided to join us in this.” His hand was smooth, almost too smooth for a man. I resisted the urge to wipe my palm on my jeans.
“I guess I’ll see a contract in the mail sometime soon?”
“I’ll have my lawyer drop it off for you tomorrow,” Bobby suggested. “You can have your lawyer take a look at it.�
� We drank to our new partnership, and I hoped I knew what I was getting us into.
And I hoped my fiancée wouldn’t be too pissed off about it.
Once the Vipers had left, we sat around talking about the new location. The guys couldn’t wait to try it out.
“Hey, you know what he said. They only take members.”
“Wait, you mean that includes us, too?” Creed asked me, his face falling.
“Yeah, dumbass. That means us, too. We get the money. We don’t get the pussy.”
“This is the most depressing day of my life,” he muttered.
“Besides, if anybody saw a bunch of bikers walking into the place, they would start asking questions. We don’t need those questions in our lives, guys. That’s how cops start to ask questions when they hear other people asking them. If we wanna make our money back and then some, we have to play it straight. Got it?”
“Got it,” Diesel nodded. “But we can dream, can’t we?”
I laughed. “Hey, how about we throw a party sometime? We’ll send an invite out to the Vipers and let them know we wanna meet up with some of the girls. You know—checking out our investment, that sorta thing.”
Creed’s eyes lit up again. “You’re a smart man, President,” I smirked.
Ace came in with the mail, sorting it out, tossing things here and there. Girlie mags, more girlie mags, bills which I took to look at later on.
He held up a plain manila envelope. “Hey, Drake. This one’s labeled ‘Personal and Confidential.’” He handed it to me. I took it, along with the bills and other junk, and went to my office. It had been a long day already, and I would have to spend hours putting up with the energy of the guys. They were like horny little teenagers, all talking about what it would be like to have high-class hookers around.
I sat down with the mail, leaving the manila envelope for last. It was all handwritten, which made me wonder how personal and confidential it was. There wasn’t much in the envelope. I opened it, finding just a single piece of paper inside.
