Taking Control (10 page)

“Are you planning on sleeping with this chick tonight?” I ask. She pauses in zipping-up her third outfit. No wait, maybe this is her fourth.

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Ian. Help me.” She turns her back to me and I slide the zipper up. This outfit is a dress, which is probably a bad idea for a bar whose second floor is made almost entirely of glass.

“Did you forget that people can look up your skirt at the bar?” I ask, sliding a finger up the inside of a creamy thigh. “Because I can see starting a lot of fights tonight if you intend to wear this, particularly with those panties on.”

Her undergarments currently consists of a black lace thong that has one small panel in the front and is attached to a miniscule patch of fabric in the back with two rows of satin strings. In the dark light of the bar, it would likely appear as if she were wearing nothing. My palm covers her pussy. “Did you forget that this is mine?”

She sways and her hand finds my shoulder—either for stability or because she wants to press down on me. With diabolical intent, I draw back so that my fingers can rub over her clit and pussy lips.

“Mmm,” she whimpers. “Stop. You’ll make my thong wet, and I’ll have to change.”

Despite her protest, though, she doesn’t move away.

“That’s entirely my plan.” I slip my middle finger inside and draw out the wetness I find there.

“Then maybe I should go without,” she says breathily but with challenge. I smile to myself. It’s always a fight with her, but that’s part of what I adore about Tiny Corielli. She doesn’t give me even an inch. Pulling my finger out, I suck the light moisture from the digit while smoothing down her skirt with my other hand.

“Then I’ll fuck you on the dance floor in front of everyone.”

Her eyes widen, and I wish my hand was still on her pussy so I could feel the flood of arousal. She might not give voice to it, but the idea intrigues her. I’ll suss out later whether exhibitionism is something she’d actually enjoy or whether it’s just the thought that turns her on. Either way, I can deliver for her.

“Maybe we’ll just stay in the VIP section,” she muses and gestures for me to unzip her.

“I’m wondering if I should be offended that you’ve never worried this much about how you’re going to look when we’ve gone out.”

“I thought your preference was for me to be naked.” Her fingers riffle through her clothes. Clearly she doesn’t have enough.

“So it is.”

“It’s just that I haven’t been out with Sarah for years and I feel so disconnected from everyone. It’s like I woke up one day and every girlfriend I had disappeared.”

I refrain from pointing out that her five year struggle with her mother’s cancer might have had a lot to do with it. I didn’t know Tiny and her mother when the cancer first appeared and then went into remission, so I don’t know what the battle was like the first go-around, but I know that when Sophie Corielli’s cancer came back a second time, Tiny worked extra jobs on top of taking care of her sick mother. She didn’t have time to go out and party with her girlfriends.

I’m reserving judgment as to whether this friend of hers is worth Tiny’s time. Where was she when Tiny was trying to hold the pieces of her life together? That’s when Tiny could have used a friend. Now suddenly this Sarah turns up and asks if Tiny can get her into the exclusive nightclubs that she’s seen mentioned in the gossip rags.

Tiny finally decides on a pair of leopard-print shorts with a low-cut black tank top covered in sequins. She pulls on a sexy black lace bra with scalloped edges. The shirt makes a slight musical sound as she moves and the light catches on the small silver disks, drawing the eye to the perfect swell of her breasts peeking out from the top of the tank. Before I can form a protest at how much of her will be on display, she throws an off-white jacket over the top and pushes up the sleeves.

When she straps on a pair of metal-studded stilettos, I know she’s really trying to impress. She’s a tennis shoes and flats kind of girl. I want to draw her into my arms and tell her that everything is going to be fine, but I wait until she’s done fixing her golden hair into a messy side braid. Strolling over to her, I tug on the braid.

“I like this. I can think of several things I want to do with this braid.”

She gives me a coy look and purses her painted lips. “You can look but don’t touch.”

The coquettish attitude is tempting me to bend her over and show her how I can touch her a million different ways without messing her hair or makeup, but the downstairs bell rings, signaling the arrival of her friend.

Tiny pulls her hair from my hand and rushes downstairs. I grab my jacket and follow her.

“Be nice,” she hisses over her shoulder as she opens the door.

“Vic!” A tall woman with dark curly hair appears in the entryway. Tiny rushes over and gives her a hug. “You look amazing. I love it. Shorts, how chic!”

“Thanks, you look great too. Come and meet Ian.” Tiny tugs Sarah’s hand and they walk over to me. I use the time to measure Sarah. She’s about six inches taller than my girl and slender. The navy blue and white bandage dress accentuates her thinness. Jesus, these women need to eat more.

“Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand. It’s firm and dry, which I take as a good sign.

“Great place you have here.” She smiles at me but it’s friendly appreciation only. There’s no flirtation in her greeting. Just to make sure she knows that I’m firmly in the hands of Tiny, I draw her to my side.

“Tiny says you’ve never been to the Aquarium.” The bar is a new establishment owned by a friend of mine, Tadashubu Kaga, heir to one of the largest beverage corporations in the world. About ten thousand Kaga beverages are consumed every second. His brand of entertainment is currently creating outrageous nightclubs and throwing parties. The Aquarium is so named because the interior is filled with water and blue paint. We’re the fish, and we’re all swimming around in Kaga’s bowl.

“Nope. But Vic says it’s amazing.”

“It is,” Tiny says. “But I thought I told you the floor was glass.”

“Oh you did,” Sarah replies. Her lips curve up in what can only be described as a naughty smile. “And I can’t wait.”

Tiny laughs. “Okay then. Let’s go.”

T
HE
LAST
TIME
I
TOOK
T
INY
here we entered through the back door and went straight to Kaga’s private box. But I didn’t want to bring an unknown person into his space. Kaga is a private man. Plus, I had no idea what or
who
he’s doing in there. Instead, we enter at the front, bypassing the huge line. The doorman waves us in. Obviously Kaga’s people are trained to recognize certain individuals and allow them access without IDs or checklists. The meticulous attention to detail is part of why Kaga’s clubs are so popular.

I lead the two straight to the VIP section and into a booth overlooking the first floor dance floor. The VIP section is set on a balcony at the front of the bar. On the exact opposite wall, some hundred yards away, is Kaga’s black glass one-way viewing box.

A light flashes several times in a rhythmic pattern. “Fucking Kaga,” I snort.

“What is it?” Tiny whispers in my ear.

“Morse code. He says ‘don’t talk, just dance.’ I think that message is for you.”

“So you’re one of those?” Sarah interjects.

“Those what?”

“Guys who refuse to dance?”

“I don’t refuse. I just know the limits of my skill set, which doesn’t include dancing.”

“You move pretty good in other places,” Tiny murmurs.

“If you want to have sex, I’m your man, bunny.”

“And if I want to dance, do I find someone else?”

“No.” I shake my head emphatically. “You dance right here, and I enjoy every minute of the show.”

“Come on,” Sarah pulls at Tiny’s hand. “Let’s go try out the dance floor.”

Tiny allows herself to be dragged away. They head downstairs to the first level, where the dance floor surrounds a circular bar that has two twenty-foot high aquariums filled with sharks and sting rays.

“I’m surprised you let her out of your sight, old man. I heard you were pretty attached to her.”

Richard Howe. With some effort, I manage not to clench my fingers into a fist and drive it into his face multiple times.

“I know a good woman when I find her,” I say, refusing to look at him. “Are you here to tell me you’re leaving? I didn’t need a verbal announcement. A letter would have sufficed.”

While the cushion is too well-made for me to actually feel him taking a seat at the end of the blue velvet banquette, I sense it. It’s only due to years of rigid self-control that I’m able to remain seated. Across the way I see the light flash again. It’s Kaga wanting to know if I need an intervention. Not yet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Cecilia says you’re too much your father’s son to hurt her, and sending me away would hurt her.”

There’s a tap on the table as he sets down his glass. A waiter stops by and sets a tumbler of amber liquid in front of me. “From Mr. Kaga,” he says with a nod of his head.

“I’ll take what he’s having.” Richard tips his empty glass toward the waiter who looks at me for approval. I shake my head. No way in hell Kaga would serve Richard a drop of the famed Kaga reserve. With another nod, the waiter walks off, leaving Richard fuming.

“This place won’t stay in business longer than six months with that kind of fucking service.”

“You should find someplace else, then.” I take a sip, hoping the smooth liquor will ease the rage that I’m barely suppressing.

“Aquarium is the hottest nightclub in the city and we both know it.” Richard starts tapping the bottom of his empty glass against the table.

“Shouldn’t you be at home with the lovely wife?” I ask.

“Sissy’s too busy puking her dinner up and washing her mouth out with scotch. Besides, the old girl hasn’t opened her legs since they invited the iPod.”

Sissy’s had to suffer nearly two decades of marriage to this worthless piece of trash and yet she stays with him. I should just kill him. Take a gun to his head and blow out his brains. But then Tiny would be alone, and I’d be sitting in a prison cell. Money has ruined other people. It will bring Howe down too. I’ll apply a little pressure. Maybe if Cecilia was on the brink of ruin, she would leave him. Because damn her, she’s right. I don’t want to hurt her. “She should divorce you.”

“Can’t. Daddy would have a fit. Speaking of my old man, how does it feel to be fellated by him publicly? ‘Ian Kerr is an example of what New York can do for people and what I want do for New York.’” Richard mocks his father’s latest sound bite. “He keeps asking me why I’m not a success like Ian Kerr who didn’t even go to business school.”

“Why aren’t you, Howe? Degrees from Yale and Columbia. Old family name. Connections. You should be rolling in it.” I dig the knife in as hard as I can.

“Fuck you,” he curses. “You’ve just been phenomenally lucky.”

“Or smart.”

“You invested in one technology early that set you up for life. Everything since your investment in SeeMe is just gravy. That’s fucking luck. And everyone knows your money was dirty. You’re no better than a fucking mobster.” He looks ready to throw the glass on the floor.

“There were plenty of people who were offered the chance to invest in that video sharing software. I believe I heard you were even approached.”

“I could have had her, you know.” He abruptly switches the subject. I glance over the dance floor at Tiny and Sarah who are busy shaking their hips and arms to the heavy bass of EDM being spun by the DJ. “If her mom hadn’t died, she would have eventually succumbed.”

Finally I turn to look at him, and he flinches from the murderous look in my eyes. “If it pleases you to delude yourself, go right ahead.” Another sip. I concentrate on the liquid, savoring the cherry notes on top of the smoke and wood, but I don’t take my eyes off of him.

“If you only knew the women I’ve had in the past.” Richard’s words are a tease and the closest he’s ever come to admitting that he slept with my mother; that he took advantage of her at her lowest moment; that he drove her to suicide. I squeeze the tumbler so that the cut crystal of the base digs into my palm. I want him to admit it. To verbalize his deed so that I can take him down without feeling an ounce of remorse.

It takes a superhuman effort, but I’m able to respond without inflection. “I don’t doubt your past is littered with stories. None of them are of any interest to me,” I lied.

“Then let me tell you—”

“Mr. Howe, there’s a phone call from your father.” Kaga appears suddenly. “He says it’s urgent that you present yourself at campaign headquarters immediately. Something about a young woman claiming to have personal information about you.”

There are two burly bouncers standing behind Kaga who are clearly ready to drag Howe out of the VIP section, willing or not. He leans forward, so close I can smell the cheap booze and desperation. “You are nothing, Kerr. And whatever you’ve built can be ripped down in a moment. Without your money, you wouldn’t be able to buy a whore in the city let alone sit here like a goddamn sultan purveying his harem.”

“Your clock is ticking, Howe. I can bring you down with one phone call. And all of this—” I sweep my arm toward the bar “—will be out of your reach.

He looks behind him and curses. “I’m not the only one with plans. Keep your loved ones close, Kerr. Not everyone has the same principles as you.”

“I’d take your threats more seriously if you weren’t such a complete and utter failure at life, Howe. Maybe I’ll give you more time. Your humiliation is entertaining.” I flick my hand in dismissal. Kaga nods his head and the two bouncers grab hold of one arm each and pull Howe toward the exit. Shock paralyzes him, and I savor the spectacle until he gathers himself and jerks his arms out of their grip and trots hurriedly down the stairs.

“Call from his father?”

Kaga shrugs and sits down. A glass appears in front of him before his ass can hit the cushion. “His father should be keeping a closer eye on him. And you need to either pull the trigger on Howe or just let it go.”