GREED (The Seven Deadly Series) Read online

  “What’ll it be?” he asked.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked Peter.

  He smiled. “Macallan, eighteen, neat.”

  “The same,” I said with a grin, oozing charm. Open up room for conversation.

  “Popular tonight,” the bartender said simply, making my adrenaline spike.

  “It’s a great vintage,” I hedged.

  We silently watched the bartender pour me a matching glass and walk away to attend another customer. I internally breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Jonathan,” I lied, extending a hand.

  I was always Jonathan. I don’t think “Lola” knew it as anything else during our little charades.

  “Peter,” he answered, taking it.

  I took a sip then set the glass down, nervously twisting it back and forth in the palms of my hands. I sat up slightly, checking my actions and angled myself toward him, making eye contact. Establish trust. I breathed deeply, taking yet another sip. Don’t waste time.

  “Are you were from the area?” I asked.

  “No, actually, I...” he started but before he could finish, I faked a clumsy movement, sweeping the pen he had sitting on the bar top next to him onto the floor.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, as we both made a move to retrieve the pen.

  I grabbed it first and awkwardly fumbled with it, distracting him further. Hope he buys this. I watched through my peripheral as Lola subtly switched her roofie laced whisky with his glass. When she righted herself, I handed it back to him. He sat back in his stool.

  “Butter fingers,” I joshed.

  He took a swig, a third of the glass’ contents gone.

  “Nervous?” Peter asked, more astute than I previously gave him credit for.

  I went with it. “Uh, yeah. I’m meeting a girl here. Blind date.” I noticed Lola smirk.

  “Well, that explains it then,” he laughed, slapping me on my sore shoulder. I took the pain. I deserved it. “Get out early, I always say. Dating is the pits,” he joshed.

  I cleared my throat and followed his lead as he took another swig, unaware of the poison streaming down his gullet.

  “Married then?”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “Thirty years next week, actually.”

  I felt beads of sweat pour down my back at the declaration. He took yet another sip. I narrowly stopped myself from swiping the glass from his hands. Even if he drops, which he will, you can still back out. Just help him to his room. He’ll think he’d had too much. He’ll only wake up with a great night’s sleep.

  “And you’re still happy?” I asked, ignoring my conscience, grasping for anything terrible, anything that could justify what I was about to do.

  “Oh, you know, it’s not easy, not all the time anyway, but I can honestly say I am genuinely happy with Maggie. She’s my everything, if I was being candid.” He laughed at some private joke. I hated jokes. My punch line would destroy him if his wife ever found out.

  My gut began to ache so terribly, my hand inadvertently scrubbed at my neck. He mistook it for nerves.

  “Don’t worry, son. I’m waiting for someone, too, though it looks like he’s a no show and I flew in all the way this close to Christmas for nothing. Anyway, I’ll wait with you.”

  “That’s so kind of you,” I told him honestly as he finished his drink.

  He ordered another.

  I glanced at Lola and she lightly tapped at her wrist but avoided eye contact.

  Peter and I spoke of nothing consequential over the following fifteen minutes, but when that time came to a close, he appeared totally inebriated. So much so, that the bartender stopped by.

  “Is he staying here?” he asked. “Wish I’d known the guy couldn’t hold his liquor.”

  “It’s not a problem. He’s got a room here,” I told him. “Don’t worry, he’s a friend. I’ll take him back to his room.”

  He nodded in answer, setting our tabs down on the bar top. I paid his as well as my tab in cash to avoid trace backs or, for that matter, waiting any longer. The drugs were seriously taking effect, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle his dead weight despite my daily reps of two-eighty-five.

  I made a move to stand as Peter slumped forward a little. You waited too long. “Come on, dude,” I told him, throwing his arm over my shoulder. We made our way toward the elevators.

  “You’re a good man,” Peter slurred. “That’s rare…someone so young.”

  I didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, really.

  We barely made it to the elevators. I pitched him inside and sat him against the sidewall then held the door open with my hand, praying no one else would come. Lola quickly emerged ten seconds later without a word spoken and we let the doors close.

  “We waited too long,” Lola finally said, when we reached her floor. She stuck her head out when the doors opened. “It’s clear,” she said.

  I swung middle-aged Peter Knight onto my shoulders with only a little difficulty, glad for the minute rest I’d gotten between supporting his weight during the walk through the lobby and reaching Lola’s floor. “Lead the way,” I told her.

  Lola took me to her room, quickly unlocked the door and we entered. The entire ordeal couldn’t have taken more than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I pitched him onto the bed. He laid there, clothes in disarray, hair mussed, and snoring.

  Lola and I watched him for a good thirty seconds, waiting for him to stir but he didn’t, he was dead to the world.

  “Shall we get started?” she asked.

  I vacillated back and forth between right and wrong, willing myself to just walk away, begging myself to figure a way out but no argument was more convincing than the mil’ I was getting paid. Besides, I thought, as long as he complies, this is not a big deal at all. He can go back to his wife and kids and I can go back to Brown a little bit wealthier.

  “Yes,” I finally answered.

  Lola slithered from her dress and stood in her lace bustier and garters, let her curled hair down and went to the mirror, leaning over to freshen up her lipstick. I went to the bag on her bathroom counter and removed the SLR, slid on the power button and waited for her at the foot of the bed. I watched her, taking in her beautiful body, admiring her, internally acknowledging why she was the most expensive call girl I knew. She caught me staring in the mirror and smiled with perfect white teeth.

  That’s when I noticed it. She was breathtaking, yes, but if you really took stock of her, took in her little flaws, she was revolting. Nose tinged red from recently snorting. Of course, I thought, how else could you do what you did. Slight bruising expertly covered up with makeup around the throat and arms, evidence of her profession. I thought of my sister and wondered if Lola had a brother or even a father. Ribs protruding, proof to the naked eye that she starved herself to stay thin. Another product of our society. Another otherwise gorgeous girl made ugly by the pressures and influence of an L.A. life. I turned my head and observed the man sleeping in front of me.

  And how are you different? I asked myself. You’d do just about anything for money. You’d risk this man’s wife and family. And for what? So that your dad can manipulate another business deal to make him even more cash than he already has? More cash to spend in places where cash needn’t be spent?

  Lola crawled across the bed, yanking at Peter’s tie, and licking the side of his face, posing with her leg wrapped around his.

  Click.

  Another million can give you better security, ensure you can live within the lifestyle you’re accustomed, eventually give you freedom from him.

  Lola switched it up. She unbuttoned his shirt and spread her lacquered nails across his chest, pressing closely to him and smiling a viper’s expression at the camera.

  Click.

  It’s not likely this Maggie woman will ever see these photos anyway. It’s low risk and you get a cool mil out of a night’s work.

  Lola straddled him, unbuckling his pants and threw her head back in mock satisf
action.

  Click.

  “Here’s your blackmail fodder,” I told my father as he sat at his desk.

  He clapped his hands together in excitement, rubbing his palms quickly back and forth and grasping at the flash drive like he was the devil and I’d just thrown down sin, which is a little too spot on. I turned to walk out the door.

  “Stay right there,” he ordered. I obeyed, standing where I stood but didn’t turn to face him.

  I heard him pop the drive into his laptop then a few clicks of his mouse.

  He groaned. “These are good,” he giggled like a toddler. “These are fantastic.” He paused. “Wow. I might have to give Lola a call—”

  “Stop,” I said, refusing to face him. “I did your dirty work, but I don’t have to listen to another damn word.

  “Fine,” he said, like I’d slapped him. “One day you’ll get it.”

  “Trust me,” I said, “if ever the day comes that I ‘get you,’ that day will also be synonymous with my death.”

  “Come here,” he said.

  I faced him at his desk.

  “Come around here,” he ordered.

  He was logged on to an online banking session. It was a wire transfer. A million dollars made out to me. My heart began to race in anticipation. He slowly hovered the mouse over the send button and pressed. The click resounded through my head. It was different this time. Too reminiscent of the clicks that earned me the pictures. This transfer didn’t quite feel the same as all the others though, and my stomach dropped.

  “You’re too afraid to accept it,” my father began, leaning back in his chair, “but I’m gonna say it anyway. That transfer. That, among the many others, is you ‘getting me’”

  I backed away slowly. “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is,” he answered with the same serpent’s smile, elbows on the chair’s rests, hands steepled in front of him.

  “I’m nothing like you,” I told him. Who are you trying to convince? “Nothing,” I repeated.

  “Son,” he said, leaning forward, “you are me.”

  I turned and bolted down the hall, away from his cackling laugh, away from his accusations, desperate to leave my own suspicions behind. I ran up the stairs, shedding pieces of my suit as I went, determined to shower, resolute in washing away what I’d just done, who I really was, but I was certain there was nothing that could cleanse me, to launder my poisoned blood. This was who I was. Hopeless personified.

  I vomited twice, showered and brushed my teeth, but it did nothing to appease my unsettled stomach. I threw on a pair of Adidas pants and laid on my stomach in bed, curling my blanket over my head after turning on my stereo. I’d left one of The Cure’s albums in there.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Come in,” my voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “Come in,” I said with purchase.

  My door opened and I lifted my head to see Bridge. “How was your date?” she asked, hopping on the bed and laying next to me. I shifted onto my back, the blanket falling between us, and tucked my hands behind my head.

  “It was okay,” I lied.

  “An untruth,” she said, throwing her hands behind her head as well. “But I’ll let it go for now.”

  “You’re doing that a lot lately,” I teased. “How are you feeling?”

  “It passed,” she said, getting quiet.

  We shared a moment of silence.

  Finally, I studied her, my brows creased. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, fine,” she hedged, hopping up. “Hey, want to get dinner Friday? Just you and me?”

  “Sure. Mom doesn’t have dinner plans for us?” My mom usually had every minute of our days planned when I came home.

  “Nah, she and dad are going to his office Christmas party.”

  “Okay. How’s school?”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re only four years older. You act like my freakin’ father or something.”

  Someone has to. “All right, simmer down now. Simmer down.”

  She rolled her eyes again but smiled. “Want to watch It’s a Wonderful Life?”

  Hell to the no. “Absolutely not.”

  “A Christmas Carol?”

  It’s like she has a window into my conscience. “No, let’s try something funny.”

  “Elf,” she recommended.

  “Elf it is.”

  That night I opened my laptop and set it on the bed beside me. I toggled between wanting to log on to my Swiss account and wanting to throw the whole damn machine across the room. I settled on logging on. I couldn’t help myself.

  Seven million two hundred ninety-three thousand eight hundred fifty-nine dollars and seventeen cents.

  A burn of satisfaction radiated across my chest and I couldn’t help the smirk that appeared after, but that burn turned into a different kind of heat, an uncomfortable heat in my stomach when I thought of the imaginary image I had of Peter Knight’s wife.

  I imagined Peter’s face when she opened the envelope of pictures. I imagined how he would fluster and struggle to explain images he had no recollection of. I imagined her slapping the innocent man, imagined her packing up a bag and the kids and leaving him.

  I slammed my computer shut and ran to the bathroom, vomiting once more. But it did no good. I still felt like the piece of shit I was, and there was nothing I could do about it. My only choice now was to sit there and pray that he would choose the merger route, to save his family.

  My only consolation was that he seemed like the kind of man who would pick his family over his career.

  Besides, he’ll get rich off this merger...Nevermind that he didn’t want the merger in the first place because he thinks your father is a dishonest prick.

  And yet, despite the fact that I knew it was wrong, I was going to keep the money because the idea of letting it go was more painful to me than the sin I’d committed against Peter Knight. I was deathly afraid to admit it out loud but I was exactly like my father. And it felt like I could do nothing about it.

  The greed was more powerful than the will to do right.

  I’ve got to get out of here.

  I took my dad’s private jet without asking. I did this often whenever I would do his bidding. He never questioned it. The pilot would return to L.A., and I’d call him back when I needed him.

  A limo sat at the bottom of the airstairs. I immediately climbed in just as my cell began to ring. I stared down at the name displayed across its face. My mother. I hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether I should answer it.

  Get it over with.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Spence, honey, where in the world have you gone?”

  “I’m in Vegas, Mom, what’s up?”

  There was a long pause.

  She sighed. “I know your daddy can be a little much sometimes, but that’s just his way. He loves you, darlin’.”

  I stifled a bitter laugh. “Yeah, okay. Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I need a day or two to catch my breath. I’ll be home soon. You won’t even know I was gone,” I charmed.

  She sighed yet again. A guilt tactic that usually worked, but my desperation to be away from my father trumped it. “Bridge is very disappointed,” she plied.

  I sighed. “Shit. The dinner. Tell her I’ll be home Friday morning. I promise.”

  “Fine,” she conceded. Her voice was weak, reminding me of all the times she spoke to my dad the same way.

  “I love you,” I added, narrowing my eyes. “I’ve got to go. There’s something troubling in the car with me.”

  “Okay, honey, love you too and be careful?”

  “I will,” I lied and hung up the phone, laying it in the seat next to me.

  I ran my hands over my hair and smoothed my pants before resting my palms on my thighs. I cut and lit the Gurkha HMR cigar, courtesy of the hotel, in the tray next to my seat. I took a long, silent drag, letting the smoke out slowly and filling the car with an intoxicating scent. At fifteen thousand dollars a box, i
t better taste and smell like fucking heaven.

  I settled a little deeper in the leather. “Who are you?” I asked the silent girl on the bench across from me.

  She cleared her throat but spoke smoothly. “I’m Piper.”

  “Is that your real name?” I asked her, rolling the window down an inch to watch the lights and let a little of the smoke out.

  I turned back to her. She was beautiful, without a doubt. Shiny burgundy hair curled to meet her waist, her eyes were brown and bright and her skin was flawless.

  “Yes,” she told me, and I believed her.

  “Piper, why are you in my car?”

  “I was sent.”

  “By whom?” I asked, staring straight at her.

  “I’m not at liberty,” she explained.

  “Ah,” I said, letting it lie. “What are you here for?” I asked, knowing full well what she was there for.

  “I’m here to do whatever you want for however long you want.”

  “That’s vague,” I replied.

  “Consider me your own private attendant.”

  “That clears it up, thank you,” I teased with a smile.

  She smiled back and it wasn’t all too unpleasant a look. I decided she could stay, but I wasn’t sure what all I was going to do with her. I’d decided to play the night by ear.

  “We’ll eat,” I told her.

  “Naturally,” she flirted.

  I shook my head and smiled at her then rolled down the divider. “Joël Robuchon, please,” I told the driver.

  Oh my God, my head. The pounding was intolerable. My eyes felt heavy, too heavy. I began to move my arm, but it felt pinned by something, making me crack open an eye. I glanced to my left. Shit. Shit. Shit. The back of Piper’s head rested on my wrist. I slid my arm out from underneath her but she only groaned, dead to the world, it seemed.