by BJ Bentley
Sleight of Hand
A Syndicate novel
BJ Bentley
© 2018 BJ Bentley
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or in spirit, is entirely coincidental.
iPad™ and iPod™ are registered trademarks of Apple, Inc.
Jell-O™ is a registered trademark of Kraft Foods.
**This story may contain triggers for violence and rough/intense sexual situations.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Excerpt from The Long Game
Prologue
Bertie
This has got to be the most pretentious, stick-up-the-butt crowd I have ever had the displeasure of mingling with. My back was starting to ache, and if I had to wait even another five minutes for my opening, I was liable to throw in the towel on this job. I took another sip of the delicious, yet probably overpriced champagne in my glass, and steadily moved closer to my mark.
“Hello, little one,” a voice, smooth like twenty-one year old single-malt Scotch, drifted into my ear.
I didn’t have to turn around to know who was speaking. He’d been watching me for a while. I felt a touch, light as a feather, as he trailed one fingertip over my bare shoulder. My hunter green, strapless, silk evening gown suddenly felt like it was too tight. My nipples pebbled to the point that there wasn’t a padded bra in the known universe that could conceal them.
“It’s rude to ignore someone who is speaking to you,” the voice growled.
“Indeed it is,” I retorted and turned my head slightly to keep my mark in my line of sight.
“A mouthy one, you are. I could have so much fun with you,” the voice said, promising all kinds of carnal delights.
Noticing that my mark was probably going to be engaged in “conversation” with a pair of double Ds for the foreseeable future, I turned my attention to the voice. That was my first mistake. His features were classically handsome, his hair a blonde so light it was almost white. His eyes were the color of the Caribbean sea, and his bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top. Even in his Armani tux, I could see he was in peak physical condition. He had wide shoulders and narrow hips. I’d bet an internal organ or two that he had a fantastic ass.
“Fun? I’m not a toy, Sven,” I said, sounding offended.
I stifled a smile when I saw his brow furrow.
“My name’s Aleksander. Not Sven.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “You look like a Sven to me,” I said flippantly.
His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply and narrowed his eyes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mark moving away from the walking pair of boobs, and I knew I had only a small window to make my move.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, Sven, I see someone I need to talk to.”
I glided as gracefully as I could with my aching back across the stone terrace to my payday. When I was close enough, I faked a trip, spilled my champagne, and declared, “Oh! I am so sorry! Look what I’ve done. I am so clumsy!”
I kept my eyes cast down as though I were a shy, innocent girl, and let the man fawn all over me trying to make sure that I was unhurt and that my dress wasn’t ruined by spilled champagne. When I was sure I had his interest, or rather, when I was sure my cleavage had his interest, I slid my hand stealthily into his pocket and nabbed the item I came for.
“There we are, pet,” the mark said as he finished looking me over. “Please, allow me to get you another glass of champagne.”
“Oh, that is so kind of you, really, but I fear I’ve already had too much to drink this evening. In fact, perhaps I should say goodnight,” I batted my eyelashes at him.
“Will you allow me to drive you home, then?”
Before I could come up with an excuse to extricate myself from the situation, someone else answered for me.
“That won’t be necessary. The young lady is with me,” said Sven. Or, what did he say his name was?
“Ahh, Aleksander. I wasn’t aware that you had a date with you this evening,” the mark said, suddenly looking very annoyed.
Right, Aleksander.
“Indeed. If you’ll excuse us. I’d best get her home,” Aleksander hinted.
“Of course, of course. Thank you for coming this evening. I hope you found it… productive,” the mark seemed to be alluding to something.
“Yes, quite. Goodnight, Alan,” Aleksander dismissed him.
Wrapping one large hand around my elbow, Aleksander escorted me to the front of the property and passed off his ticket to the valet. We stood in silence for a moment while we waited for his car to be brought around.
“Well, this has been fun, but I really gotta go, Sven,” I said as I tried to pull from his grasp.
“First of all, little one, you will stop calling me Sven. Secondly, what the fuck did you think you were doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” he demanded.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, big guy,” I feigned innocence, which clearly wasn’t working.
“You think you’re clever, but I was paying attention, little one. I saw every move you made. And I want to know what you took from him,” he whispered in my ear.
I stared at him in mock offense. “I beg your pardon! Are you accusing me of something?”
“I think my little one is a thief,” he declared with a raised eyebrow, just daring me to contradict him.
Knowing I’m caught, I roll my shoulders back in defiance. “Believe it or not, I actually prefer the term ‘pick pocket.’ It’s so whimsical. Reminds me of those charming little street urchins in Oliver Twist,” I smiled.
I watch his lips twitch slightly. I think he actually finds me amusing. Just then the valet returned, and handing Aleksander the keys said, “Here you are, Mr. Magnus. Enjoy your evening, sir.”
Something niggled in the back of my brain at that name, Magnus. Aleksander opened the passenger door for me, and something snapped into place. Aleksander Magnus. The real estate mogul who was also said to have his hands in several illegal pies. Fuck.
“Coming, little one?” he asked when I hesitated.
Slipping my mask back into place, I nodded and moved to the car, but I stopped just short of getting inside.
“Actually, you know what? I think maybe I should just take a cab,” I said, as I turned away and pulled my cell from my clutch.
His hand landed on my shoulder and spun me around. His mouth crashed down on mine in a demanding kiss. When my lips parted on a surprised gasp, he took full advantage by slipping his tongue inside and thoroughly explo
ring my mouth. The racing of my heart and the weakening of my knees just confirmed what I already knew: there was no way in hell I could get in that car with him.
He ended the kiss but didn’t pull away from me. With our lips still grazing each other, he said, “Get in the car, little one.” His gravelly voice made my stomach flip.
“I can’t,” I whispered, full of regret.
A car horn blared, but neither of us paid it any mind. It wasn’t until someone started shouting at us to stop blocking the drive that Aleksander loosened his grip on me, and I took a step back.
“Get in,” he demanded one last time, as he moved around to the driver’s side, obviously thinking I wouldn’t dare defy him.
I took advantage of his distraction and slipped into the shadows, disappearing into the night.
Chapter 1
One month later
Aleksander
Pulling my car into my ‘Reserved for the CEO’ parking space outside Magnus Corp, I cut the engine and wondered if seven AM was too early for a drink. Stepping out into the sweltering Las Vegas heat, I lifted my phone from my pocket and selected a number from the recent calls list.
“Rogers, what do you have for me?” Harry Rogers was one of the premier private investigators in Las Vegas. A transplant from Chicago, he had that gritty, inner city ex-cop vibe down pat. I’ve had him on retainer for about eight years now. He has come in handy when I need to know the ins and outs of a company before I decide whether to stage a takeover. Right then, though, he was working something a little more personal.
“Not much, Mr. Magnus. I’ve heard whisperings of the girl you described, but she’s like a ghost. I can’t seem to get a solid lead. Every trail has gone cold,” he said disbelievingly.
I couldn’t blame him; there’d been close to nothing that has gotten by him in the past eight years. “Keep on it, Harry,” I instructed him. I needed to find her. She had been my obsession for the past four weeks. I kept thinking about how close I had been to having her, only to have her slip through my fingers.
“Yes, sir,” he said as we both hung up.
I nodded at the guard stationed at the front desk of my office building and made my way to the elevator. My secretary, Madeline, was already at her desk. Stellar employee that she was, she already had the coffee made. Grabbing myself a cup, I made my way to the sidebar to add a healthy dose of Scotch before making my way back to Madeline’s desk.
“Alright, Maddy, what’s on the agenda for today?” She hated it when I called her anything other than ‘Madeline,’ but I couldn’t help myself. Madeline was as no-nonsense as you could get. Her clothing was flattering but rather conservative. Her shoes were sensible, and her dark hair was always pulled back into a severe bun. As someone who thrived on control, I could easily recognize the quality in others. Madeline ruled her workstation with an iron fist.
“Good morning, Mr. Magnus,” she said. Always polite, but also always professional. “Your day’s itinerary is already printed and sitting on your desk, just like it is every morning at six forty-five when I prepare it for you.”
It took great effort for me to stifle my smile at her thinly veiled snark. “Ah, yes, thank you, Maddy,” I said as I sauntered back into my office. Madeline was a creature of habit, and though I had known that I would find my itinerary on my desk, just as she said I would, I couldn’t help but poke the bear. The truth was, Madeline was the best Goddamn administrative assistant Magnus Corp had ever seen, and I’d do anything to keep her on board. She was compensated generously for having to put up with me on a daily basis. And, I’d probably never tell her this, but I not only admired her work ethic, intelligence, and ability to anticipate all my work-related needs, but I also respected the hell out of her for not cowering before me. All that didn’t mean that I didn’t want to see her loosen up just a little, however.
Part of Madeline’s morning routine, aside from printing my itinerary and making the coffee, included firing up my laptop. So, all I had to do was enter my password, and I was ready to start work. I scanned my emails, looking for anything that should take priority, and opened the file from Harry Rogers. There was nothing concrete inside, just what he told me over the phone. Mentions of my mystery girl, but no identity and no idea where to find her. I closed the file with a sigh, and skimmed through several emails pertaining to a few properties I was buying in Reno. I shot off a couple of replies and determined that there was nothing else there that needed my immediate attention.
My friend and associate, Jensen Holm owned the majority of Las Vegas and was practically king of the south, but I did alright myself. Magnus Corp was headquartered here in Las Vegas, but I had offices in Los Angeles and Phoenix and owned properties in those cities as well as Reno and Salt Lake City. Yeah, I was no slouch. And those were just my legitimate businesses. I had less-than-legal ventures including forging legal documents for immigrants, which Jensen took advantage of in his human smuggling activities. And while prostitution is still legal in the more rural areas of Nevada, my operation extended throughout the state and even into California in cities like Los Angeles and San Diego and in the opposite direction to Phoenix.
I downed the rest of my spiked coffee and prepared myself for the first conference call of the day. Some asshole in Phoenix thought he could renegotiate the terms of our takeover agreement for a bigger payout. He was about to be sorely disappointed.
I had my jacket and tie off before I even left the office. That’s how over that day I was. I must have driven home by muscle memory because I don’t even remember making the choice to do so. I was distracted and restless, and that was a frustrating combination. I informed Elaina, my cook and sometimes housekeeper, that I’d be skipping dinner this evening. I needed somewhere to focus this energy, so I took a shower and dressed for a night out.
An hour later, I was entering Bound, a sex club owned by my friend, Rafael Caruso. Bound catered to nearly every kind of kink, but I was looking for a submissive for the evening. Someone I could exert my dominance over for a scene or two before parting ways. And I found that in a petite redhead who called herself Giselle.
She knelt before me, naked, as she was instructed, as I unbuckled my belt. I looped the belt around the back of her neck and pulled her closer. “Giselle,” I said. Her eyes met mine, eager for my next directive. “Unfasten my pants, and take my cock out.” Again, she did as she was told. “Stroke me.” I hissed when she gripped me with the perfect amount of pressure and stroked me from the base to the head of my cock. “Stop.” She immediately stilled. I guided my cock to her mouth and forced it past her lips. Wrapping either end of my belt, which was still around her neck, around my hands, I used it to hold her steady while I rode her face. I felt the tip of my cock hit the back of her throat, and I instructed her to swallow. “Good girl,” I praised her as I slid in and out of her mouth. After a few more shallow strokes, I slid in deep once more, and this time she swallowed without being directed to. “Ahh, fuck! Grab my balls,” I grunted, and when she did, I said, “Squeeze.” Nearly the moment she did my orgasm overtook me, and I shot my load down Giselle’s throat.
“Thank you, sir,” Giselle said softly after I pulled out of her mouth.
“You’re welcome, pet.” I walked the few steps to the bed and laid down on my back. “Come now, Giselle,” I invited her to join me. “Up on my face, pet. Hands on the headboard.” Once she was in position, I devoured her pussy until she screamed, and her juices were running all over my face. Then I flipped her over onto her back and used my belt to bind her wrists. I grabbed a condom from the club’s supply that’s provided in each room, and slammed inside her while I held her bound wrists down. Her low moans spurred me on. I rode her hard enough to leave her walking funny tomorrow, and granted us both another orgasm.
Coming down from my high and catching my breath, I said, “Thank you, Giselle. You were just what I needed tonight.” The look she gave me let me know she was up to play again anytime. Since our scene was over, we both cle
aned up, and Giselle redressed while I refastened my pants and belt. The whole thing felt more like a business transaction than an intimate act, and I was slightly bothered by the fact that that had never bothered me before.
After leaving the club, I took a circuitous route home. The fire inside had been banked but not extinguished. My thoughts continued to turn to bronze skin, dark brown eyes, and a mop of black curls. My mystery girl. My obsession. I had to find her. Just thinking about her brought my erection back full force, as if my time spent with Giselle hadn’t even put a dent in my desire. I made the decision to call Rogers first thing in the morning and inform him that I was allocating more resources and he was to double his efforts. Outsource if he needed to. I had to have her before I went mad.
Chapter 2
Bertie
I moaned as my head hit the hardwood floor with a crack. Blood continued to run into my eyes, both of which were nearly swollen shut, but I could still make out the silhouette of the ugly mug standing over me.
“You have forty-eight hours, and not a minute more, Miss Reynolds, to produce the item you stole, unless you want to suffer the same fate as Mr. Denning,” the ugly mug said as he calmly wiped my blood from his hands.
As I had recently learned, Alan Denning was dead. Very dead. As in, cut into tiny little pieces dead. Couldn’t really get much deader than that. But there was still no way in hell I could let this ugly fucker get his grimy paws on that flash drive.
“I...destroyed it,” I croaked.
“Tsk tsk. I hope for your sake that isn’t true. Forty-eight hours, Miss Reynolds,” he warned before he and his goon squad walked out of my apartment, leaving me lying in a pool of my own blood.
I woke up some time later groggy and disoriented. It took everything in me to pull myself up off the floor, crying out from the pain of cracked ribs and a throbbing head. I made my way to my bedroom and packed whatever I could fit into my small bag, which was essentially a change of clothes and my switchblade. I winced when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I cleaned myself up as best as I could and struggled to change into something that wasn’t torn or bloodstained.
