Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(38)
“I already paid!”
“You can afford it.” He winked at the woman. “You’ll share that, right?”
She slipped away from Grant and, eyes pretending interest, smiled at Ross. “Of course, baby. We work together and share everything.”
Instead of that enticing him, as she’d no doubt planned, Ross felt pity. No woman that young should ever be that desperate. It wasn’t like Grant, at almost fifty, carrying thirty extra pounds and blessed with a loose jaw, had anything to draw a lady other than his political power and bank account.
But then, for some women, that was more than enough.
He briefly wondered what Grant had planned for the evening. A threesome with guests watching? Sick prick. Maybe that’s how he kept his stature, by lording it over the underlings.
He had plenty of vile friends who encouraged and enjoyed his activities. Some more than others—which is how he’d first gotten involved with Grant.
Ross took the woman’s arm—as much to keep her from getting too close as to get her out of the room. Glittered lotion covered her skin, and now his palm. The sickening scents of cheap perfume and cheaper alcohol assaulted his nostrils. Her friend, looking more than a little baked, followed along in a stumble.
Fake bodies and paid-for compliance had never been his thing.
His appetites led more toward real women, with soft natural curves stacked around strength of character and a confident attitude. Yeah, that’s how he thought of Sahara Silver. Loads of attitude, haughty independence, an angel’s face and a sinner’s body.
Perfection, that’s what she was. Bending her to his will would be the sweetest satisfaction. He’d accomplish it gently, but firmly. And she’d end up loving it.
After minimal insistence, he got the ladies out the door, then turned with a smirk. “Damn, Grant, you’re the embodiment of irony.” As the DA, he was supposed to clean up shit like this, not contribute to it.
“It was a private moment,” Grant growled.
“With two suck-ups and lackluster protection as your audience? Twisted.” How such a high-profile social climber managed to skirt the inevitable scandal amazed Ross. “Wasn’t it you who hired me to get rid of your niece’s boy toy? Is she still mourning his early demise?”
“Shut up,” Grant hissed, his gaze frantically searching every corner of the dim—and empty—room. “There are cameras everywhere.”
Ross laughed aloud. “So having a couple of teenagers grind on you is okay, but no mention of your business?”
Grant half came out of his seat before thinking better of it and sinking back to the chair. “What do you want, Ross?”
He approached the table, pulled out a chair and sat to skewer Grant with his gaze. “You owe me, Douglas. I’m here to collect.”
Color washed out of the older man’s face. Voice lowered to a strained whisper, he asked, “What do you mean? I paid you.”
“To do various jobs, yes. But not to lie for you.” As a special job for Grant, he’d run off a whiny little shithead who, according to Grant, was “using his niece to try to blackmail his way into a fortune.” Ross suspected the young man had to go for a very different reason.
When it came to Grant’s niece, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. They were both sexual deviants.
Grant assumed he’d killed the punk. Ross preferred to make him disappear a different way—by scaring him out of town and making it clear he might not survive if he ever came back. Contact with the niece was strictly forbidden.
The nitwit had understood and vanished without a trace.
Shortly after Ross had accomplished his mission, they’d discovered that an undercover cop had been investigating the shithead for some serious drug peddling.
Overall, it seemed that Ross had done the punk a favor.
Fresh alarm filled Grant’s bugging eyes. “The truth would have destroyed us both!”
Again, Ross shrugged. “I could have protected myself without covering for you.” Especially given he hadn’t murdered anyone. “Hell, I probably would’ve gotten a grand plea bargain.”
“That,” Grant warned, “would be more difficult than you think.”
No, Ross knew it’d be near impossible to sink Douglas Grant, given all his old-family connections, which was why he’d gone along with the dual alibi that saved Grant’s ass and in the process, gave him useful leverage. “I went the extra mile for you, Douglas, and now I need you to do the same.”
Grant looked like a cornered rat.
“Stop sweating. All I need is for you to throw a ritzy party, invite a certain special lady and include me on your guest list.”
“You can’t kill a woman at my house.”
That assumption annoyed him. “I’m not going to kill her, damn it. I just want some time with her.” Time to win her over without her feeling threatened.
Skeptical, Grant asked, “Who is she?”
“Sahara Silver.”
“From Body Armor?” Grant shook his head. “She wouldn’t attend. Doesn’t like me, you know.”
“I heard she actively dislikes you.” Didn’t surprise Ross. He knew Grant operated more as an inside man for the wealthy than a defender of justice. His Sahara wasn’t like that. No, she’d go to war to protect an innocent. He admired that about her. Hell, he admired everything about her. “You’ll have to pitch it as a way to patch up the conflicts.”