Sexual Persuasion (7 page)

Jack Davidson was a bigger slug than he thought, and he knew enough about him to find that a surprise. First, he’d go to the Pussy Club. That was where the bastard’s current girlfriend worked. He only hoped he could contain the urge to flatten him if he was there. He’d learned over the years that a calm manner delivered a more threatening message than any loss of temper. Max and his father had taught him well. But that had always been business.

This was personal.

The Pussy Club was in a seedy section of Boston. That didn’t stop the crowds from going there to watch Candy Gayheart strut her stuff. With her enhanced breasts and limber body, she brought in the business. Jack’s Lamborghini sat at the curb, tended by
a young kid like a mother would fawn over a newborn. Jack liked to be noticed. Sometimes that worked against him. Tonight, for instance. Alex saw him at the bar.

“What’ll it be, Mr. Davidson?” the bartender asked.

“I need the best tonight, Joe. Single malt, and make it a double.”

“Same here, Joe,” Alex said.

“Sure thing, Mr. Andros.”

Alex liked the element of surprise, and Jack didn’t hide his when Alex took the adjoining stool.
“Seems like we have the same taste in scotch.”

Jack sneered. He looked rough, eyes glassy. “Women too, I see.” He turned away. “Or do we?”

Alex pursed his lips, thought. “Candy isn’t my type.”

“But Charlotte is?”

“What you did tonight was a serious offense. As a lawyer, I could advise Charlotte to bring charges against you for attempted rape. You’d go to jail for a long time.”

“She didn’t waste any time calling her new boyfriend. But you won’t call the police, will you? Why?
Because I owe your boss too much money. And you won’t get it if I’m in jail.”

“Don’t be too sure.”

Jack scoffed, and Alex felt like wiping that smirk off his face. “I want the photo you showed her. Then I want the rest of them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We can play this game, Jack, but I wouldn’t advise it. Don’t jerk me around. I hate when people do that, because it means they underestimate me.”

Jack gave him a slanted glance. “So you really are more than Carpathian’s mouthpiece. Do you break knees too?”

“Black belt. I’m a little rusty, but I’m sure it’ll all come back to me.”

Jack swallowed hard. His face paled. “What if I said I know what you and your boss have been doing with Mike Branigan?”

The comment stopped Alex. Jack had turned the tables and caught him off guard. “Then I’d say I don’t know what
you’re
talking about.”

“Big land purchases from insider information out of city hall to a few of Max Carpathian’s shell companies. I’m guessing you know all about it. Lots and lots of money involved.”

Alex didn’t like the sound of this. He measured his words. “First, you’d have to prove that, and you can’t. Second, making false accusations could be very dangerous. Of course, I don’t know that for a fact.
I’m
guessing.”

“Sounds like a threat,” Jack said.

“Does it?” Jack looked like someone who regretted saying something he shouldn’t have. But men like Jack Davidson never knew when to shut up or stop gambling or stop abusing women. No matter how deep a hole they dug, they never understood when to stop until someone buried them.

“If anything happens to me, you’d be out a lot of money.”

“Hmm, not really. You should have checked the IOU you signed over to Max more thoroughly. If you default on your payments, or if anything should happen to you, the hotel reverts to Carpathian Enterprises in payment. Max loves the idea of owning the Regent. It’s small, but it’s a great hotel. That’s if you don’t succeed in fucking it up, which, unfortunately, I have every expectation you will. It’s your nature to fuck up things. Your father must be churning in his grave.”

Jack swiveled, nudged his scotch glass, and sloshed his drink on the bar. “That’s impossible. I read that IOU.”

“Read it again,” Alex said. “It’s right there in black and white. What clever attorneys call the small print. Now hand over the photos of Charlotte, and this conversation ends.”

Alex knew that calling in the IOU in a court of law would never happen. He couldn’t use the system to collect on a private gambling contract. That would be like a student calling the police to report his roommate stole his dope. Jack would know that when he sobered up. He also knew that Max had other ways of calling in his debt. Ways Alex didn’t want to mention. Ways he didn’t want to know.

Jack narrowed his eyes at Alex for a good thirty seconds, then pulled the photo out of his pocket and handed it over. His face contorted, and he looked physically ill.

Alex took the photo, glanced at it with disgust. “I want the others.”

“There are no others.”

“Bullshit. I want them, and I’ll get them.”

“What, Andros?” Jack asked. “I’ll be walking down the street one day, oblivious, and I won’t know what hit me? Is that how Max takes care of business?”

“You never know when lightning strikes, but the photos aren’t Max’s business. They’re mine.” Alex picked up his drink and took a long swallow. So did Jack, only he looked like he really needed it.

“I’ll get them to you,” Jack said.

Alex patted Jack’s shoulder. “Tomorrow morning, ten thirty.
The coffee shop at Beacon and Charles.”

“I can’t get them tomorrow. They’re in my safe at the bank.”

“Don’t bullshit me. Your banker would get out of bed in the middle of the night to make you happy. That’s if you have them in your bank’s safe. I’m guessing you don’t. Ten thirty, tomorrow. Be there.”

“But tomorrow’s Sunday. I go to church in the morning. Make it Monday. I’ll have them.”

Alex laughed. “Church? You don’t say. See you in the morning.”

Jack’s face went from sickly pale to
flushed. “That’s not a convenient location for me.”

Leaning closer, Alex spoke in the same controlled, menacing voice as earlier that evening at the museum. “It’s convenient for me.” He started to get up when he had a thought. “These were taken with a thirty-five millimeter?”

Jack nodded reluctantly.

“Then don’t forget the negatives.
And
all
the pictures, Jack. Understand?”

Sweat inched down Jack’s hairline. He avoided looking at Alex. “Yeah, I understand.”

Alex glanced behind Jack and twitched a smile. “Well, look who’s coming to say hello. Your friend from the museum. Bet you have your hands full with her.”

“Hey, Jack,” Candy said. “Long time no see. Like a couple of hours. How’re you doing?”

“Great, Candy,” Jack mumbled. “Just fucking great.”

Candy made no secret of eyeing Alex. She batted her eyes and licked her lips, a female predator targeting her prey. She wore a white satin robe over her costume, and it parted when she thrust out her chest and sidled up next to him.

“Didn’t I see you at the museum the earlier tonight?”

“I was there,” Alex said.

“I thought so. Aren’t you going to introduce me, Jack?”

Jack took a deep breath. “Candy Gayheart, Alex Andros.”

“So you’re Alex Andros,” Candy purred. “I’ve seen you in here, but I didn’t know you were you.”

“You know him?” Jack asked.

“His boss owns the Pussy Club. Isn’t that right, Alex?”

“That’s right,” Alex said. “I guess you didn’t know that, huh, Jack?”

Jack grunted, and Alex enjoyed seeing the grimace on his face.

Candy moved closer. “From what I’ve heard, you’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

She looked him up and down. “Not you.”

Alex could only imagine.

“You going to stay and watch my act?”
Candy asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Alex whispered in Jack’s ear, “I’ll take my drink and watch from where I don’t have to smell you. Enjoy your girlfriend. If you can.” Alex smiled at Candy. “Nice meeting you. Keep bringing in the crowds. Max is pleased. And take care of our friend here. He needs some tender loving care tonight.” Another pat on Jack’s shoulder, and Alex picked up his drink and moved toward the door.

“Nice meeting you, Alex,” Candy said. She pinched Jack’s ass and trotted off. Jack winced. Alex smiled.

Candy hustled onstage and threw chocolate candy kisses into the audience. “Hi ya, sweet thangs,” she chimed over the din. The men answered back with a roaring, “Hi ya, Candy.”

Alex had seen her routine once before, though Max said it changed regularly enough to keep the men coming back for more. Testosterone hung in the air like cooking grease, men whooping and hollering for Candy Gayheart.

She wore a cowboy outfit: hat, chaps, vest, boots, holster, and gun. The rest was creamy, smooth skin. The music started, some country number about a girl and her horse, and Candy pranced around the stage connected to the end of the bar, ass bare and visible, teasing the men in the front row tables. She sashayed onto the bar with a stool and sat in front of Jack. She took off one boot at a time, kicking up her legs to allow a glimpse of what hid behind the chaps. Not everything but enough pussy to make the horny men hornier.

She doffed her hat then threw it into the crowd of now panting men. Her long red hair bounced to her shoulders. She threw her head forward, shaking her tresses into the face of a burly guy sitting at a table with a bunch of drooling men. Tossing it back, she pulled a handful on top of her head and let it go wild as she twisted and turned. Her very substantial chest popped out of her vest, and Burly looked like he wanted to pull her off the stage and fuck her right there.

Candy knew how far to push it. She eased away and pulled out the gun, firing caps into the air. The place went wild. She tossed the gun and unbuckled the belt and holster. It fell to the floor where she kicked it off to the side, all the while shaking and prancing and high-kicking her long, shapely legs. Meanwhile, the music played on, the twangy story of a girl’s love for her horse getting more risqué by the minute. The way Candy gyrated on stage, Alex shuddered to think what would happen if she had a real horse up there with her. The cops would be raiding the place in a Boston minute.

Swirling around to the front, she slipped the vest off one shoulder, exposing one breast with a pop-up sequined spur somehow attached to her nipple. She covered it again, ignoring the chants of “Take it off. Take it all off.” After doing the same thing with the other side of the vest, she teased the vest off completely and twirled those manufactured boobs in two different directions, spurs swirling and shining when catching the light.

Off came the chaps, revealing a sheriff’s tin badge on an elastic G-string covering her hairless mound. She turned so no one could see her front, pulled the badge to one side, then the other, and shook her rump. Candy had a wonderfully muscled body. A stripper would have to stay in shape to pull off this act six nights a week.

She grabbed the pole at the end of the bar and rode it up and down, rubbing her pussy against it, using it to divide her right up the middle. The men in the place cheered her on. She bounced and slithered, pulled the spurs, distending her breasts and twisting them around.
Until she stood right in front of Jack.

“Come on, Jack,” she sang, “I’m deputizing you. Take off my badge.”

Jack looked uncomfortable. From Charlotte’s description of her assault on Jack’s privates, Alex bet his cock and balls were inflamed. He should have gone home and soaked in Epsom salts instead of coming to the Pussy Club for Candy to turn him on by standing over him wiggling her stuff in his face.

The place smelled of sweat and booze and sex, and Alex bet every guy ogling Candy had a brick-hard boner. Men were urging Jack on; others offered Candy their services if Jack couldn’t come through. Candy leaned over and whispered something in Jack’s ear.

“Come on, Jack,” the crowd roared. “Take off her badge. Take it off.”

With the audience cheering him on, Jack reached up and pulled down the elastic string holding the thin gold metal badge over Candy’s pussy. She stepped out of the contraption at the same time she hopped off the bar and onto Jack’s lap. He wailed in pain. Candy’s performance had definitely crossed the line, especially when she removed the spur and guided one of her huge breasts to Jack’s mouth.

“Giddy-up, horsy,” Candy yelled, as she rode him, bouncing on his lap. Her horsy looked like he’d been rode hard and put away drunk. “Giddy-up,” she repeated.

Jack wailed some more, telling her to get off him. He wobbled woozily on his stool.
His eyelids drooped, and he fell to the floor with Candy on top of him, emitting a long, painful groan and holding his dick with both hands to protect her from galloping on top of him.

Alex downed the rest of his drink and left the club. He couldn’t hide the smile on his face as he walked to his car. Once inside, he pulled out the photo of Charlotte. This was nasty stuff. Jack had drugged Charlotte and wrapped her in heavy bondage paraphernalia to take her picture. Who knew how many he took or what he did while she lay helpless and unconscious? Once Alex got the rest of the pictures, he’d give great thought how to bring Jack Davidson to his knees.