Double Lucky (100 page)

“Please don't worry. I won't say a word.”

“I'm not worried, I'm confused. Who told you this?”

Annabelle glanced quickly at Eddie. He was busy talking to Lennie and Alex. “Uh … Armand Jordan. I ran into him at the casino.”

“
My
casino?”

“No. Over at the Cavendish. He's staying in a villa there.” She paused. “I'm so sorry. I guess I shouldn't have said anything. Armand swore me to secrecy.”

“About what?”

“That he's buying The Keys, and the deal will be set tomorrow.”

“You
are
kidding me, aren't you?”

“No, I'm not,” Annabelle said, feeling a slight shiver of apprehension because the deep anger in Lucky's eyes was unmistakable. “I'm simply repeating what Armand told me.”

“Where do you know this man from?”

“New York. We, uh, went out a couple of times.”

“How
well
do you know him?” Lucky asked, her dark eyes glowing.

“Not … uh, not that well. He's more of an acquaintance than a friend,” Annabelle stammered, realizing that she had probably said the wrong thing. Lucky did not seem at all happy about it.

“Then if you know him at all, you know he's a misogynistic, lying, delusional scumbag.”

Alex leaned in for the end of Lucky's speech. “Talking about me again,” he said with a wry grin.

“You wish,” Lucky said, abruptly standing. She beckoned M.J. “I need to make a private call. Take me to the office.”

“Certainly,” M.J. said, jumping to his feet. “Follow me.”

“I think I just pissed Lucky off,” Annabelle said to Eddie.

“Well, darlin',” he replied. “Seems you're an expert at doing that. C'mon, let's dance. I'm in a celebrating mood.”

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

It was a while before Armand realized Annabelle wasn't coming back. By this time he was blurry-eyed from too much cocaine, too much booze, too much of everything.

“Where is she?” he demanded of Luscious, who was using a tall potted palm as a makeshift stripper pole.

Luscious stopped what she was doing and said a ladylike “We gonna fuck or what?”

By this time Seducta had almost passed out. She was slumped on the floor, her eyes half closed.

It was a sorry scene, but Armand was too high to even notice.

“Where is she?” he repeated, rising from the couch, swaying slightly, almost losing his balance altogether.

“Your girlfriend took off an hour ago,” Luscious offered, leaving her potted palm and moving over to him. “Least I
think
she did. Either that or she's dead in the bathroom.” Luscious snickered. Wouldn't
that
be something. Another psychic revelation. Although if the girlfriend was dead, best not to hang around.

“Bathroom?” Armand questioned. He wasn't thinking straight at all. His heart was pounding, and he felt nauseous.

“Yeah,” Luscious said. “She went in there. Want I should take a look?”

“Why?” Armand said, giving her a hard stare.

“See if she's there.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“'Scuse me?”

Armand threw her a disdainful look. “A gun?”

Luscious wrinkled her nose. This motherfucker was sicker than she'd thought. Although she preferred him in this state than the way he was when he'd slapped her and Seducta around. “Whaddya want a gun for?” she inquired, thinking it might be smart to humor him.

“Because,” Armand stated mysteriously.

“'Cause what?”

“Because I have time to kill,” he answered grandly.

Shit! He was off his rocker—something her mom used to say when the old cow was sober enough to say anything at all. What the hell. He was either a stark raving loony or a dangerous psycho.

“You're not lookin' so hot,” she ventured. “You'd better sit your ass down.”

“Are you aware that I have more money than you'll ever see in your lifetime?” Armand boasted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “You're a whore, you should appreciate money,” he added, tossing a handful of bills at her.

The money fluttered around her naked, skinny, tattooed body before falling to the ground.

This nut job with the snake eyes was definitely crazy.

She squashed the urge to bend down and snatch the money up.

Seducta wasn't so patient. After watching the money fall, she began crawling over on all fours to collect.

Luscious wasn't having it. Before Seducta could get there, she quickly bent down and scooped up as much money as she could.
Holy fuck!
she thought, cramming the bills together.
There has to be a coupla thou here. This asshole is loco for sure.

“A gun,” Armand said. “I wish to obtain a hired gun. Do you know where I might find such a service?”

“Why?” Luscious said boldly. “You gonna shoot your girlfriend?”

“What makes you think that you can speak to me in such a fashion?” Armand said, glaring at her, a disdainful look on his face. “Do you not
know
who you are addressing?”

“You di'n't give me your name,” Luscious said, noticing a couple of hundred-dollar bills she'd failed to pick up.

“Not a name,” he announced with another grand gesture. “A title. Prince Armand Mohamed Jordan, soon to be king of Akramshar.”

“Sure, honey,” Luscious said, carrying on humoring him while grabbing her purse and stuffing the money inside. “Whyn't I just call you Arnie?”

“A hired gun,” Armand continued, nodding to himself. “To kill an enemy of the people. Get me that, and money is no object.”

“No object, huh?” Luscious said, a thousand jumbled thoughts running through her head. “Y'know what, Arnie? I gotta hunch you might have yourself a deal.”

*   *   *

Randy Sorrentino lay back on a lounger (a couch that was about to fall off the back of a truck was being delivered next week), abstractedly stroking his cock and balls while a
Real Housewives
of somewhere episode played on the TV in front of him. Rich pieces of ass with tight faces, plastic bazooms, and stupid fuckhead husbands made it a trip to watch. Plus, he liked checking out their over-the-top houses to see how easy it would be to break in and relieve them of some of their stuff. They all had too much stuff. A little sharing wouldn't hurt.

Randy was done for the day. He'd taken care of business, and now he could relax until Luscious got home.

His girlfriend of almost a year was a piece of work. She catered to him like no other woman ever had before, and that was saying something, because there had been a lot of women. Oh yeah, too many to remember, especially when he'd been into making porn flicks and there'd been an assembly line of fresh gash every week—each girl desperate to make it as the next Jenna Jameson.

Yeah, Luscious was different, and if it weren't for her crazy jealous streak, he might have even considered making it legal between them. But the jealousy thing turned him off. He couldn't help that he'd been endowed with a huge piece of meat. It wasn't his fault that plenty of women wanted to give it a good old chewing.

For instance, Seducta was always coming on to him, rubbing her big tits up against him, whispering dirty messages in his ear, trying to grab a quick feel, suggesting that they'd make a fine team.

No way. She was married to his older brother, and Mikey, like Luscious, was jealous as shit. So Randy attempted to steer clear, but Seducta was relentless. She kept pushing, and lately Luscious seemed to think that it was
him
coming on to Seducta.

It was a fucked-up situation, and if Mikey got wind of it, he'd beat the crap out of him. Which would be a shame, because over the past couple of months he and Mikey had patched up their differences and were getting along fine, which hadn't always been the case. Right now they had a lucrative drug business going, which suited both of them. It was steady money, which made a pleasant change.

Randy was considering whether or not to whack off, when his cell phone buzzed.

It was Luscious.

“What?” he said impatiently.

“Get your ass over here,” she said in a hoarse whisper, her voice rising with excitement. “We got ourselves a live one. An' bring the crack pipe, your piece, an' your big old self. We're about to make us some
real
money.”

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Son of a bitch!
Lucky thought.
Son of a motherfucking bitch!
What kind of balls did Armand Jordan possess, going around telling people that he was buying The Keys? No fucking way was she letting the asshole get away with it. He was dealing with the wrong woman.

She'd known he was trouble the moment he'd set foot in her office with his “women are inferior” attitude and smug expression. What a dumb prick! And in Lucky's world, if a prick had the temerity to challenge her, she was up for it. Oh yes, nobody got away with this kind of shit. To think that he had the nerve to go around saying that tomorrow The Keys would be his. This was something she had to put a stop to immediately. She didn't care that it was way past midnight, this was too infuriating to wait. It had to be dealt with
now
.

She didn't tell Lennie where she was going, because Lennie—always the voice of reason—would've tried to stop her. And right now she was in unstoppable mode.

Instead she tried calling Danny. But Danny wasn't home—Danny was at a gay club with Buff, dancing the night away. She sent a text message to his cell.

Next she called Jeffrey Lonsdale, who also failed to answer. Jeffrey was in bed with an attractive divorcée he'd met at the blackjack table, and he'd put his phone on vibrate. She didn't bother leaving him a message.

Finally she called Fouad Khan, whom she presumed was at the Cavendish also.

The phone rang in his room and no one picked up. Fouad was standing outside on his terrace smoking a cigarette—a habit he did not often indulge in, but he was hoping it might help him get to sleep. He did not hear the phone because he had the glass door shut lest the smoke make its way into his room and bother him.

Frustrated, Lucky made an on-the-spot decision. She would deal with it herself.

M.J. was waiting outside the office for her to emerge. “Tell Lennie I had to go take care of an urgent problem,” she said briskly. “Okay?”

“Is it anything I can help out with?” M.J. asked.

She shook her head. “Nope. It's something I have to do personally. And since I don't want Lennie coming with me, just say that I'll see him back at the apartment.”

“Right,” M.J. said, wondering what was going on.

“Is Bobby around?”

“I think he left. You want me to double-check?”

“No problem,” she said, thinking,
Mr. Armand Jordan, you are about to get a visit from your worst fucking nightmare. A woman—who's going to kick your sorry ass.

*   *   *

Denver soon observed that a woman on her own walking around a casino was fair game. Every man appeared to think he had the right to talk to her.

“Where you from, honey?”

“Here on vacation?”

“How about I buy you a drink?”

These comments came from men traveling alone. However, men traveling in packs were far bolder.

“Nice rack. How much for a night?”

“Wanna go to a slumber party?”

“You got an ass that would stop traffic.”

After a while she'd had enough. She probably did look as if she were selling it, wandering around in circles. Still, she wasn't ready to go upstairs. If Bobby was there, they'd probably get embroiled in a dumb fight, and if he wasn't … well, she didn't want to think about him
not
being there.

Then her imagination launched into overdrive, and she pictured him in bed with Gia, kissing Gia, going down on Gia …

Oh my God! I'm turning into one of those too-much-in-love pathetic idiots!

She determined to do something positive, and spotting an open seat at a blackjack table, she slid onto the vacant stool.

*   *   *

It wasn't what Max had intended to happen, but it was inevitable—falling into bed with Billy. He was so sexy and strong, and downright gorgeous, and he smelled so good.

Mister Movie Star—the man who just that afternoon she'd thought she hated—was once again making mad love to her, and this time it was even better than the first.

If that was possible.

Yes, it was possible.

The way he touched her was electrifying. She'd had no idea that actually doing it could feel this good. Wow! If only she'd known, she would've been into it a lot sooner.

Or maybe not. There was a reason she'd waited, and the reason was Billy.

“Couldn't get you off my mind,” Billy said in a low voice, gently running his fingers down her back as they lay on top of the bed. “Kept on remembering the beach, an' finding you there like a social outcast all by yourself.”

“Social outcast!” she objected, stretching languorously. “It was
my
party.”

“And you weren't enjoying it one bit. Not until I came along. Admit it, Green Eyes, you were hiding out.”

“True.”

“But if you hadn't been hiding, I wouldn't've stumbled across you, and we wouldn't be here together. Right?”

“So right,” she murmured, thinking about how happy she was to be with him.

“You do know it's way past midnight, so today's your birthday,” he stated. “Makes me pissed that I'm not going to be spending it with you.”

“I wish you could,” she responded. “But can you imagine everyone's face if I turned up with
you
by my side?”