Goddess of Vengeance (13 page)

So be it. There were many women who would do anything he requested – no request too bizarre. Only yesterday in London he’d had two women crawling around his suite on all fours wearing leather dog collars, serving him dinner and then pleasuring each other for his amusement, while he sat back and snorted coke until he got bored and sent the whores away.

Soraya left the room and returned with Tariq, a tall skinny boy of eleven. The boy was clad in an American Lakers T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

Armand was incensed. ‘Why is Tariq dressed like this?’ he demanded. ‘It is disrespectful to me. Have him change immediately.’

‘Yes,’ Soraya murmured, shooing her son from the room.

‘When I come here,’ Armand said, his voice a harsh command, ‘I expect obedience and respect. Do you understand me?’

Soraya hung her head, still refusing to look at him.

Armand didn’t care. When the King died and he inherited what was his, perhaps he would abandon Akramshar and never come back. For it was not his country, not his home. America was his home. And Soraya and her brood were not his family.

*   *   *

King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan embraced tradition – his own personal tradition. Every year it was the same thing – an elaborate parade put on by his legions of grandchildren of whom he was extremely proud, followed by a public proclamation to the citizens of Akramshar – who revered their generous King. Then there was a series of more private celebrations. First a massive feast of roasted lamb, goat and other various animals. The men on one side of the huge tent erected for the festivities, the women and children on the other. For entertainment a dozen or so plump belly dancers jiggled their wares for several hours, until eventually the women and children were sent away, and a parade of exquisite Eastern European women appeared, dressed in tight, low-cut cocktail dresses, with soaring high heels on their bare legs, and an abundance of make-up.

The women formed a line, and the King chose the ones he wished to sit with him and his sons. Later the King would pair off with a woman or three of his choice, and after he had chosen, it was his sons’ turn to pick whoever they wanted. Since Armand was not the eldest son, he had to wait. This infuriated him. He felt because of his business dealings with his father, he should be next. But tradition ruled. When his time came he selected a sultry honey-blonde from the Ukraine. She reminded him of Nona Constantine, and he enjoyed reliving the ravishing of Nona. The high-class call girl didn’t, but she was paid a small fortune not to complain, so Armand had his fun with her, humiliating her in every possible way. When he finally dismissed her he could see the hatred in her eyes. It did not bother him. She was a paid whore, why would he care?

Year after year the King’s celebrations were a repeat performance. And the next morning Armand was on a plane out of there, back to civilization, back to the life he preferred.

Goodbye, Akramshar.

Goodbye, Soraya.

Goodbye to the family he’d never wanted.

Chapter Fourteen

D
riving along Pico on her way home from work, Denver checked in with Carolyn. She was curious to find out what had actually taken place on Carolyn’s date with a woman. It seemed such a random thing for her to do – changing sides for no particular reason.

‘Is Bobby in town?’ Carolyn asked.

‘No. He’s in New York,’ Denver replied, pulling up to a red light. ‘Why?’

‘’Cause I was thinking you might feel like picking up a Chinese chicken salad from Chin Chin and coming over.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Denver said, happy to do so. She hadn’t felt like spending yet another evening home alone and, although she wasn’t really into babies, she had to admit that Andy was extremely adorable and cute.

Sam had called and left a message. She hadn’t called him back, didn’t want to encourage him. After all, she’d told him she was still involved – sort of. Maybe he hadn’t taken her as seriously as he should’ve.

After stopping by Chin Chin, she headed straight for Carolyn’s house.

Carolyn was sitting out in her back garden, Andy balanced on her knee. The two of them made a perfect picture, straight out of
Modern Mother
magazine.

Denver wondered whether her friend was thinking of going back to work anytime soon. Andy’s dad, the cheating Senator Stoneman, was certainly not sending her any child support. Who knew if he was even aware that he had a son? And since Carolyn’s parents had split up, they were probably not prepared to give financial aid to their daughter forever. Besides, Denver reckoned it would be therapeutic for Carolyn to find a job and put all the Washington trauma behind her.

‘Hey,’ she said lightly. ‘I left the food in the kitchen. Don’t you ever lock your front door? I walked right in.’

‘Nothing for them to take except me and Andy,’ Carolyn remarked, completely unconcerned. ‘And I’m sure nobody wants us.’

‘How about your TV, your computer, your camera?’ Denver pointed out. ‘All valuable items.’

‘I’m hardly ripe for a robbery.’

‘Everyone should take precautions,’ Denver admonished. ‘Crime is all around us.’

‘Spoken like a true D.A.’

‘So,’ Denver said, throwing herself into the empty lawn chair beside Carolyn’s. ‘I’m dying to know – how was your walk on the wild side?’

‘Interesting,’ Carolyn said, as her front door bell chimed. She stood up and handed Denver the baby. ‘
Some
people ring before entering,’ she commented.

‘
Some
people haven’t known you since you were twelve,’ Denver replied tartly. ‘Are you expecting someone?’

‘You’ll see,’ Carolyn said, vanishing into the house.

‘I only brought enough salad for two,’ Denver yelled after her. ‘And I’m starving, so I’m not in the mood for sharing.’

Andy let out a big burp, and a dribble of drool slid down the side of his mouth. Awkwardly Denver tried to wipe it away with the back of her hand. She wasn’t used to babies; somehow the maternal gene had yet to kick in.

And then a vision appeared. A gorgeous woman with soft natural curly blonde hair, kindly eyes, and a bountiful figure.

Carolyn was right behind her. ‘Denver, meet Vanessa,’ she said briskly.

Denver was surprised and shocked. Somehow or other she’d imagined Vanessa to be big and butch with cropped hair, no make-up, and dressed in a manly leather jacket. This lovely feminine woman was the complete opposite.

‘Uh, hi,’ Denver said, embarrassed that she’d had such a clichéd view of what a lesbian should look like.

‘Hello,’ Vanessa said, proffering a firm handshake and a friendly smile. ‘Carolyn talks about you a lot. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.’

Finally?
One date and now Vanessa was acting as if they were in a relationship.
What the hell?

‘Vanessa works for a TV production company,’ Carolyn said, smiling blissfully at her new friend. ‘Documentaries and the like.’

‘Really?’ Denver said, suddenly feeling as if
she
was the odd one out.

‘Yes,’ Vanessa said, swooping down to steal Andy out of Denver’s arms. ‘I’m hoping to convince Carolyn to come join us. With all her Washington experience she’d be such an asset. Will you please talk her into it?’

‘I’ll try,’ Denver said with a weak smile.

Carolyn giggled. Carolyn was
so
not a giggler. ‘I’m thinking about it,’ she said coyly. ‘Nobody has to talk me into anything.’

‘Well, think faster,’ Vanessa chided, and the two exchanged an intimate look.

Oh my God!
Denver thought.
They’re acting as if they’re already a couple. Who knew?

*   *   *

Lucky’s apartment in The Keys was her dream home. Not that she didn’t love the Malibu house and spending time with her kids, but her haven in Vegas was her special place; whenever she was there she felt at peace. Sometimes she needed to be alone, and sitting in her penthouse above the Strip – looking out at the sparkling lights of the city – gave her immense satisfaction. It also reminded her of so many Vegas memories.

Sometimes the memories were overwhelming, good and bad.

Picking up the house phone she called downstairs to Danny, her personal assistant. Danny was the eyes and ears on everything Vegas when she wasn’t in residence. He’d only worked for her a year, but he was quite possibly the best assistant she’d ever had. He was young, twenty-something. Gay, in a long-term relationship with Buff, his high-school buddy. And he was on top of everything. She trusted him implicitly.

‘Did Gino arrive yet?’ she asked.

‘He’s here,’ Danny responded. ‘Feisty as ever. I cannot believe how old that man is!’

Lucky smiled, thinking of her ninety-something father who never slowed down. ‘Yes, he’s remarkable, isn’t he?’ she said. Gino had his own suite at The Keys, and there was nothing he liked more than sitting in a lounge chair outside his private cabana at the pool watching all the pretty girls pass by. He had not acquired the nickname Gino the Ram for nothing. Over the years he’d certainly lived up to his reputation. Married to his fifth wife, Paige, a woman decades younger than him, Gino seemed to have more energy than anyone.

‘Is everything set for the board meeting on Friday?’ Lucky asked.

‘Of course,’ Danny replied. ‘It’s all in order.’

‘I think I’ve persuaded Alex Woods to come. Make sure he has the right accommodations. And arrange to have cars meet everyone at the airport.’

‘Got it, Lucky.’

‘Okay then,’ she said, tossing back her long jet-black hair. ‘I’m on my way to see Gino. We’ll talk later.’

*   *   *

The Malibu party started off slowly. A trickle of friends hanging out by the pool drinking beer and Coke from cans, laughing and talking and generally getting loose.

Max glanced around and wished that she
had
invited Ace. Maybe this would’ve been the night they’d consummated their relationship, shifting it to another level. Since she was about to be eighteen, wasn’t it time to do something about taking things all the way?

She took a quick peek at her watch, realized it was only just past eight, so if she called him now he could probably make it in a couple of hours. But then he’d be annoyed that she hadn’t told him about it before, so it was best to leave it alone.

Cookie was busy draping herself all over the deejay Harry had gotten. The guy was Latin and a major hottie straight out of a Calvin Klein ad. Maybe Frankie wouldn’t show, and Cookie would settle for this guy. He certainly knew his stuff – rocking everything from Usher to Drake to Miley to old 80’s soul and Beatles classics.

This is going to be a perfect evening
, Max thought.
A mellow way to celebrate turning eighteen. And after I’m eighteen, I’m moving to New York, far away from parental concerns. I’m going to be exactly like Bobby and make my own life.

Doing what?

I haven’t decided.

She darted inside the house to check that she’d locked up all the main rooms. She certainly didn’t want anyone coming into the house, Lucky would
so
not appreciate it.

Harry followed her, his spiked hair gelled higher than ever. ‘You gotta tell Cookie to lay off Paco,’ he said, sounding flustered. ‘She’s such a greedy bitch. If it’s got a dick, she wants it.’

‘Who’s Paco?’

Harry’s pale skin reddened. ‘The deejay.’

‘Why’d you want her to back off?’

‘’Cause I gotta wild hunch he’s gonna be way more into me than her,’ Harry said.

‘Oh crap!’ Max exclaimed, getting the message.

‘So
do
something about her,’ Harry pleaded.

‘I’ll try,’ Max promised. ‘But you know Cookie . . .’

Yes, everyone knew Cookie. If there was a party, she was there. If there was a hot guy, she was there. Cookie had lost her virginity to one of her famous father’s friends when she was fourteen, and she’d never looked back.

It kind of irked Max that she lurked so far behind in the sex stakes, but then again she didn’t want to give it up to just anyone. The first time had to be special, and she was making sure that it was.

*   *   *

Back in New York, Bobby stopped by his apartment, checked his email, took a shower, put on fresh clothes and headed for Mood.

It was past ten by the time he arrived, and the place was packed as usual. Wednesday nights were usually extra happening as it was guest deejay night, and everyone enjoyed the change of pace. His manager, Paulo, a suave Italian, assured him things were going well.

Bobby did the rounds, stopping by tables, buying people drinks, complimenting the women. He wasn’t crazy about playing genial host, but he did it because he knew it was good for business.

Martin Constantine – the real-estate mogul – insisted that he join him and his wife, Nona, for a glass of champagne. At one time Bobby had considered asking Martin if he’d be interested in investing in future clubs, but then he’d decided against it, because Martin wouldn’t simply put up the money, he was the kind of man who’d expect to be involved.

Nona was not her normal flirty self. Bobby was relieved. He’d never quite figured out how to deal with the horny wives of rich men, and it was surprising how many came onto him. Horny wives were a business hazard he tried to avoid.