Separated MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 10)

by Bella Knight

  The elevator opened. “Let me take you to a conference room, and you can make a decision,” said Bannon.

  “Of parents?”

  “Sadly,” said Bannon, as he led her to the small conference room; Three, on the side, “we can’t be legal parents. Just guardians. I can’t take away custody because he technically didn’t abuse you. But, we got you the best deal we could, and it gets whoever you choose paid enough money so the person can quit work, or change jobs if your needs change. You’ll have whatever you need, when you need it.”

  There were three folders on the table. Red, blue, and green. Sarah opened each one. Two female operatives and a male, all young, healthy, and fit. “Where’s yours?” asked Grace.

  Choi bustled in, tray in one hand, a folder in the other. “Sorry, Sarah. Had to print it out.” He put the tray on the table. “I’ve got both my assistants hopping, the legal aid and the contract specialist.” He handed her a yellow folder. “This one’s Bannon’s folder.” He put the tray down. “I took the liberty of having some Sonic brought over. Two blocks away, you know.”

  “One of the selling points of the office,” said Bannon, amused. He and Sarah sat down.

  “I got a cherry crush and a chocolate shake. Bannon likes either one, he’ll drink the one you don’t like. You were probably too nervous to eat, so I got you some cheese sticks and fries.”

  Sarah took both drinks, and selected the cherry crush. She then took the Sonic bag. “Where’s your folder?” asked Sarah.

  Choi schooled his face again, but both Sarah and Bannon saw the tears rush into his eyes. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Be right back.”

  “Good choice,” said Bannon. “I’ll be second, a backup if you need me. He lives above me, actually. Makes fun of me for living over his boss. He’s married to Kat. Kat’s a man, by the way. They’ve been trying to adopt off and on for four and a half years. They’re saving up money for another go.”

  “Well, then,” said Sarah. “Do you have house pictures?”

  “I can do better,” said Bannon, watching Sarah demolish her cheese sticks, dipping them in marinara sauce before inhaling them. “I’ve got party pictures.” He took out his phone, and called up the Christmas party, held at Choi’s house. Most of them lived there, anyway. “Safest building in the world. Most of us are ex-military. Sold the bottom floor to a cop. Security’s our own people, making an extra buck. Incentive to keep your own condo safe, no?”

  She played the short video. Kat was in a white dress, laughing. “Transvestite?”

  “Works in a show. Awesome show,” said Bannon.

  “Cool,” said Sarah. “Like RuPaul.”

  Choi came back in with a folder, in red. Bannon took back his phone. “I’m going to check every signature on Mr. Chalke’s documents,” he said. “Twice.” He pulled out a chair, and pulled Choi into it. “Give the girl a minute,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll have lots to talk about.” He took his chocolate shake with him, and gently shut the door.

  “Two,” he said. Lydia stood up from her desk and came over. “Chocolate shake,” he said.

  “Bless you,” said Lydia. “Dotting all our I’s and crossing our T’s. On camera, I might add.”

  “Good,” said Bannon.

  Bannon said goodbye to Darley, and saw him to the elevator. Lydia sent in her minion Charles to clean up the tea set, and to prepare for Trellin.

  Bannon entered the restroom, made sure no one was there, and made a quick call. “Kat,” he said. “I know this is early for you, but wake up. Your life is about to change. Get dressed, come into my office, and no arguing. Love you, bye.” He washed his hands, dried them, and came out. “Where’s Trellin?”

  “In One,” said Lydia. “Coffees all around, black, no sugar.”

  “Davy’s hopping today.” Davy was their barista. He also had a selection of sandwiches, croissants, and the breakfast food in the morning. He was fast, efficient, and the best way to keep a busy office supplied with drinks. The admins were super-busy and didn’t need to also fetch and carry.

  “He is,” she said. She handed him a folder. “Good luck, Sir,” she said.

  “I’ll need it,” he said. He took the folder and entered the conference room. “I am Bannon,” he said. “This is my company.”

  “We spoke to Gregory,” said the huge, pink-faced man with red hair and a beard, adorned in a three-piece suit. Bannon expected him to have a pocket watch on a chain somewhere in there.

  “You did,” said Bannon. He sat down, and poured himself coffee. “Gregory is onsite, and he should be here by the time our business is concluded.”

  “Excellent,” said the man. “I am Dennis MacRoberts. Can you ensure our safety during our conference?”

  “I can,” said Bannon. “Know that if someone wants you dead, they may try more than once, or use something like a bazooka or some other thing that is hard to see coming. But, we will have both hotel security and ourselves, and will have everything on visual and wired with our own system. We will have redundancies. All the operatives will be military-trained.”

  “Excellent,” said MacRoberts. “Now, let’s talk price.”

  “I believe Gregory already discussed that with you,” said Bannon. “If you want a lower price, you get less coverage. Period.”

  “Some of these books are priceless,” said a woman with auburn hair and a much lighter suit in mauve, much more appropriate for Las Vegas.

  The other two men had on light sweaters and pants. They must have been roasting. Bannon resolved to turn down the air conditioner in that office. One was cadaverous, and the other one was as round as MacRoberts.

  “I have no control over the person that manufactured the climate-controlled lockboxes,” said Bannon. “I do have control over access.”

  “Armed and armored,” said Gregory, entering the room.

  Bannon stood. “I will leave you with your clients,” said Bannon. “You are in excellent hands.”

  Gregory took his chair. “Now, gentlemen —and lady. Where were we?”

  Bannon slipped out, coffee still in hand, and turned down the room temperature on the way out. Lydia was typing away, her fingers a blur on the keys. He had a moment, then.

  The elevator dinged. Kat came out in full regalia. Her black hair was perfect, in a short, blunt cut. The makeup made her cinnamon skin glow, and brought out the blue of her eyes. She was wearing a pale blue top and a darker blue skirt. Bannon hurried to open the door, and let her in.

  “The tissues are in my purse,” she said.

  “Good idea,” said Bannon.

  “I’m terrified,” she said.

  “Relax,” said Bannon.

  He walked her to Three, and opened the door. Choi had one of the tablets out of the box and plugged into the outlet strip in the center of the table. He was explaining what to download.

  “Mommy Two!” said Sarah. Kat strode over, and hugged the girl. “Dad’s showing me some educational programs, and some games. I’ve never had a dad before. It’s kinda weird.”

  Bannon slid the door shut, and wondered where the girl got her definitions of “weird” from. He grabbed a moment, and escaped to his office to answer some emails before the next meeting.

  He didn’t have to see Chalke out. He was overjoyed. He was actually able to get seven emails out of his inbox, then he had a new appointment with a rugby team. The team actually needed protection from itself, as they tended to get into fights, postgame. He set them up with security and tickets to mixed, martial arts, cage fighting, followed by going to a pub that allowed loud singing, followed by a poker game, with drinks served by beautiful women, until dawn. The promoters were very happy.

  Bannon was able to get twenty more minutes of emails out before being called to a luncheon with a client. Dani Everson was smart, funny, and had legs to everywhere, and liked to dress in business suits that made her legs look even longer in black, plum, or cherry. She was dressed in cherry today, her blonde hair smoothed back and caught in a s
ilver clip at the nape of her neck, her black eyes snapping with intelligence and excitement —and more than a little mischief. Dani was an attorney, and a damned good one, an entertainment lawyer, in fact. The idea was to use Bannon and Gregory’s agency to avoid trouble, so she wouldn’t have to get her clients out of sticky messes.

  “It’s Sheila,” she said.

  Bannon nodded. Sheila was really Demi Kodasecker, a fourteen-year-old girl from a small farm in Australia. Her parents had made the difficult decision to move to the United States, because she could sing, dance, and play both the guitar and the keyboard. They were auditioning amazingly-talented women for her band, some backup singers, and some male and female dancers. Bannon handled security at the event. He (once again) thanked the universe for sending the Soldier Pack his way. His female operatives made Sheila feel fantastic with their quiet competence.

  The mother was the problem. Mrs. Kodasecker had never been out of her small desert town. She wanted to shield her daughter from everything possible, but Sheila was now in a business full of sharks who saw her as a meal ticket, and wanted to sexualize her to sell more MP3s. Rather than letting her get chewed up and spat out, Dani wanted to get everyone on board to go indie. They would make far less money and be playing in smaller venues. They would also have to compete against those who had signed up for the label’s promotion machine. As much as she didn’t trust the record labels and their smooth words, Mrs. Kodasecker was terrified to take her daughter out of the juggernaut and take a path that could lead… nowhere. Bannon arranged for this meeting, in his own offices, to keep the girl safe, especially from hangers-on that would report back everything to the record company, and to get out of their clutches long enough to have a conversation.

  “You look gorgeous,” said Bannon, and air-kissed Dani’s cheek so as not to ruin her red lipstick. “The sandwiches, waters, and all the rest are exactly what she and her mother like,” said Bannon.

  “Thank you,” said Dani, allowing herself to be air-kissed. “Unfortunately, that’s the least of our problems. The record company sweetened their deal. But, they want more control. A lot more. And, they want to choose the makeup, the hair, the clothes, the songs. They have writers out to write songs for her, despite her being a brilliant singer/songwriter of her own. The machine will chew this girl up and spit her out, and she’ll be washed up in two years.”

  “Her innocence is her draw,” said Bannon. ‘You’d think they’d go for that.”

  Dani laughed, and sat, crossing her legs in a way that made Bannon groan somewhere, deep inside. “They’re not that intelligent. Cunning, not smart. And, they’ll keep her a little girl too long if they do go that route, which they almost never do anymore, and not let her evolve naturally.” She grabbed a cherry water, twisted off the top, and smiled a little shark’s smile. “I’m smart, and I know better than they do, just how to manage her. With the makeup artist she feels comfortable with, a fun look that’s not too sexualized. Her lyrics have hooks that had me singing them, all damn day.”

  “Here they are,” said Bannon. They both stood.

  “Mrs. Kodasecker, Sheila,” said Bannon. “Please sit.”

  Jasperson, the girl’s current bodyguard, stayed in the room, just beside the door. Bannon knew damn well the woman could take the time to get a break while in their offices, but she was staying on point. Either there was some danger he wasn’t aware of, or there was a point being made. Or, it just made Sheila feel better. She wasn’t cutting him any looks with those ebony eyes, either, so he let it go.

  Sheila was short, with blonde hair that waved to her neck. She had even features, tall ears that swayed back a little, slightly tilted chocolate eyes, and tiny hands and feet. She put her guitar against the wall in the corner, then sat down carefully in the cushioned black chairs.

  “I’ve got…” started Bannon.

  But, with a squeal, Sheila figured it out for herself. “Vegemite! How did you…”

  “Got to keep the client happy,” said Bannon. “And, Las Vegas has a lot to offer, including vegemite.”

  Mrs. Kodasecker was short and blocky, and her short, wavy brown hair was streaked with blonde from the actual sun, not a bottle. She had square hands and thin lips, making her look like an angry school teacher. She was actually a swim instructor, the real-ocean kind. She was highly intelligent, and she cast a firm gaze out of sharp blue eyes.

  “What’s on the agenda for today?” she asked.

  “Opportunities,” said Dani. “But first, lunch.”

  They were all hungry, and dove into their food. Bannon ate a pulled pork sandwich and sour cream chips, and washed it down with a Mountain Dew. He was delighted to be eating real food. Many clients wanted to eat at incredibly expensive restaurants on his dime, and not the steak-and-potato ones that he preferred. He enjoyed good food, but preferred Ethiopian or Thai, to meals that took fifty-seven words to describe an entree. If they were being wined and dined, the Kodaseckers probably hadn’t had real food in a while, either. They ate like wolves.

  Finally, they took turns washing up in the restrooms down the hall, and then they got to work. Dani gave a magnificent presentation. “This is going to sound insane,” she said. “But it gets us out from under the thumb of the record companies.”

  “I’m listening,” said Mrs. Kodasecker.

  “I’ve wanted to start an indie record label for some time,” said Dani. “I’ve got the funding, and I’ve got the chops to get the job done. I want to help you with production, marketing, and distribution, and you’ll be in charge of yourself. I can give you the help you need, but you won’t make nearly as much money as the record label can. This is a far more slow (but steady) progression. You also won’t have to bankrupt yourself by paying for a million-dollar video. Artists have gone broke doing that kind of idiocy. I don’t want you to be a flash in the pan. You’ll own your own profits, have partial ownership in the label. We’ll get other young women together, over time, and protect them from the meat grinder. Give far more creative control. We want to help you, not make you into something you’re not.”

  “That sounds… interesting,” said Mrs. Kodasecker.

  “We have Bannon to keep you safe,” said Dani. “And, you have the capacity via YouTube and online sales through our website —and your own to keep far more of your profits.” She went into the presentation, including the numbers. She kept it short, trying to keep anyone’s eyes from glazing over.

  “So, Nayan Records will start with you as the centerpiece,” said Dani, addressing Sheila.

  “No,” said Sheila. “I came in third, and that wasn’t due to incompetence. A magician won. And I did the tour. There were four other girls, amazing singers. I want them with me. We can stop this looking-for-a-band nonsense, then. Kelli does drums, and a lot of other instruments, too. Rennie does keyboard and is an amazing pianist. Wren is smart, strong, and we can trade off doing leads. And, she thrashes at guitar. Quinn is a singer-songwriter, like me. We talked about doing a band, but I got here first, trying to set things up so I had more power.” She turned her clear green eyes on Dani. “Here, I get the power.” She pointed at the table. “There,” she said, pointing out the window that caught the Vegas skyline in full glory, “I have zero power. Maybe I get to pick a song, or a hairstyle, but that’s just handing me something to make me shut up.”

  “Yeah,” said Dani. “That’s exactly what that is. And, I’ve seen the entire show, beginning to end. I was watching you. I’ve already flown them in. They’re the ‘background singers’ and ‘band’ you’re supposed to meet later today.”

  “You knew I’d say yes,” said Sheila.

  “Wait,” said Mrs. Kodasecker. “I agree, this gives you more control, but you leave money on the table. A lot of money.”

  “And a machine willing to take your daughter up, turn her into a sex goddess, and spit her out. She’s tough, Beyoncé tough, but she won’t last two years that way. I’ve seen majorly talented girls destroyed. Drugs, sex, and a w
hole lotta trouble.”

  Bannon spoke for the first time. “I guard them, get them out of trouble. Try to prevent trouble if I can. But, I can’t prevent the sharks from eating you, one bite at a time. You may make money, even loads of it. If that’s your thing at any cost, then go for it. But, if you want to retain creative control, and prevent her from being mauled by the machine, then pick Dani’s plan. It’s up to you.” He stood up. “Either way, we will keep you safe.” He smiled, gave a little bow, and started to leave the room.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” asked Sheila.

  “We wanted to give you time to talk it over,” said Dani.

  “I’ve made up my mind,” said Sheila. “This is a better deal. For me.”

  Mrs. Kodasecker looked at her daughter. “This is your career. Playtime’s over.”

  “I agree,” said Sheila. “Gloves are off. You can’t be there twenty-four seven. Dani can read every contract, looking for fine print, but in the end, they’ll own me, and my music.” She pointed at the table emphatically. “You taught me to see things clearly, and this is what I want. It has nothing to do with my friends, or wasting my talents, or anything like that. It is about control, and I want it.”

  “Good,” said Mrs. Kodasecker. “I raised you right. Let’s create a record label, and give ‘em hell.” They all shook hands.

  Bannon smiled. He was a silent partner in the record label. More clients, and less difficulty keeping them safe. He knew it may have been another client to start it up, but Sheila was just perfect. He liked Sheila and her amazing music too.

  Number Six

  Henry stood at the site. He was genuinely astonished at the amount of work Tito, Nico, and the Wolfpack had done. The house had been inspected, and was found to be a nightmare. They went through it with full plastic bug suits on, sold or gave away anything usable, filled up many trash containers with junk, and bulldozed the house. They carted off the waste, moved the cacti, and they made a huge pour onto desert land. They made a track, a garage with an office and storage in back, and another building for whatever they chose to make. He knew the Nighthawks would find a use.