Benito understood his weaknesses.
As you’d get nowhere if you did not learn from your mistakes, you’d get nothing if you did not understand your weaknesses.
He could not do any of what Tallulah did.
But he could fake it.
His phone in his breast pocket vibrated and he took it out.
He engaged it and studied the text.
He smiled.
Common enemies made good friends.
Harrietta.
The woman was even more stupid than her daughter.
How she could think he could stomach the sight of her after what Camilla had done to him, Benito honestly could not fathom.
But she did.
And since she did, it served his purpose.
He’d gotten played by her daughter and played by Arthur, which was humiliating, but a fact was a fact.
He had underestimated them.
Fortunately, they’d done the same thing.
Now it was his turn to play.
And if Chaos would just understand that common enemies made good friends, all the playing he was enjoying with Harrietta, and through her Arthur, they could enjoy too.
Benito had pushed at Chaos. He’d been ambitious. He’d wanted it all. All of Denver. All in his control.
Which meant he had to convince Chaos to give up their patch.
Really, was it too much to ask? They were a motorcycle club. They wouldn’t allow whores and dope on their little island?
It was absurd.
Apparently, they wouldn’t.
But Arthur had assured him they’d back down. Arthur told him, to protect his brothers, to protect their families, Kane Allen would retreat.
And to offer further assurances, he’d shown Benito where the bones lay.
Those bones. Bones Chaos had buried.
Very important bones.
Bones no one was meant to find.
Kane Allen did not retreat.
Benito had learned after the fact that Arthur Lannigan did not know dick about what made Kane Allen.
Benito had learned after the fact, Kane Allen would never retreat.
When she had Benito’s operations under her control, Camilla had retreated from Chaos.
Since Lannigan was pulling her strings, that said a lot about what he actually did know about Kane Allen and the Chaos MC.
Yes.
Humiliating.
When he got control back, Benito left it that way.
It was too exhausting and really, just not worth it.
Further, if this new enterprise continued to be as promising as Tallulah was making it, Benito would consider a new future.
He saw that future and it was very bright.
They could go to conferences.
She could give workshops.
His actors could sit at tables and sign autographs and pose for pictures.
Put her in a glamorous dress and have her on his arm as they went to the AVN Awards.
Class that fucker up.
But to do that, he’d have to leave the dope and whores behind.
They’d served him well.
So well, with the porn monies continuing to come in, he could live the life he’d grown accustomed to even retiring that day.
And this would mean he’d not have to take another meet with a cartel (all of whom were lunatics and so paranoid it was ludicrous), deal with another gang or MC or whatever societal detritus that had firepower and vehicles to handle transport or listen to the whining of another dealer or pimp.
He was tired of it all.
But he could retire and keep making money.
With Tallulah.
And when he had her, she’d come home from the set and he’d force her to her knees and make her suck his cock.
Yes.
That future was bright.
Then he’d make her sleep naked, probably tied to his bed so he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to her.
In the morning, he’d let her get up and make him more money.
Oh yes.
He liked that vision of his future.
Sadly, he might have to show her his respect.
Pay attention to her.
Pretend he was listening.
Act like he cared about what she said.
But when he had her, he’d bring her to heel.
And he’d own her.
Without answering Harrietta, Benito slid his phone back in his pocket and watched Tallulah gesturing to the actors, both fully clothed for some reason, and it appeared whatever they were going to be doing, it would happen against a wall.
Wall sex.
Gash probably liked it.
And the man would no doubt at some point be on his knees.
Yes, gash probably liked that.
Benito fought curling his lip, and to do this, he took in Tallulah’s set.
She had very high budgets for her films (for pornography).
She still brought them in under (another reason he respected her).
Even so, she had an eye.
Or her set designer did.
But she’d hired the set designer, so Benito gave her credit.
It looked like an attractive apartment, one you’d see in a real movie.
He was impressed.
Benito lost interest in the sycophantic attention of actors to their director and considered what was next for Arthur Lannigan.
Murder had no statute of limitations.
And Arthur was lazy. He hadn’t worked in years and his money was running out.
So he got greedy, and he was a user, and he used what he had to try to take what was not his.
But the dumb motherfucker . . .
Good God.
It defied belief.
The man had left the bones.
Now Benito had the bones and he could do what he wanted with them.
He could lay out Chaos.
Or he could lay out Arthur.
He was leaning toward Arthur.
Chaos hadn’t sent gash to cut his femoral, and she’d also cut some tendons while she was at it, leaving him with a slight limp he’d have the rest of his life.
Except for dragging that junkie off his set, in truth, Chaos had done nothing to him.
So he was feeling beneficent toward the MC.
On this thought, Tallulah turned from her actors and caught sight of him at the back.
Not missing a step, she lifted her chin to him.
She was not afraid of him.
Everyone feared him.
She did not.
He liked that.
Respected it.
Admired it.
He wanted to own it.
In the end, he might not bring her to heel.
It might be interesting to have his equal at his side.
Or at least treat her like that for a time.
He wondered what she’d do if it was Benito who was tied up.
On that thought, intriguingly, he felt his cock start to get hard and watched her hips in her jeans as she moved back to her director’s chair.
She sat and called, “Ready when you are. Give the sign.”
The actors were up against the wall, the woman with her back to it, the man facing her, one hand against the wall over her head.
Benito fought rolling his eyes.
They were chatting like colleagues, eye contact, deference.
Jesus, they were porn stars.
Not even porn stars.
Tallulah had wanted virtual unknowns.
So he’d allowed her to cast virtual unknowns.
Clean ones.
No dope.
She’d drawn the line there.
In fact, the entire set was clean—cast, crew, space. It was a no-drug zone.
He had no idea why, but he didn’t care.
He gave her what she wanted.
The actress nodded to Tallulah.
“Sharon,” Tallulah said loudly, and a heavy-set woman who needed a sty
list for hair and wardrobe jumped in front of the couple, holding a sign with writing on it and spoke.
“The Reason You’re the One, scene eleven, take one,” she yelled.
Scene eleven.
For fuck’s sake.
He’d seen a lot of porn.
He hadn’t watched any that had eleven scenes.
Sharon jumped out of the way.
“Ready?” Tallulah called.
She got nods.
“Roll,” Tallulah said.
Cameramen . . .
Strike that.
One cameraman and two camerawomen came alert.
“Action,” Tallulah ordered.
They said a lot of words, and to get them like Tallulah wanted them, did five takes before the man finally dropped to his knees and ate the bitch out.
It did nothing for Benito.
Watching Tallulah alternately watch them and the monitors at the side of her chair got Benito hard.
He enjoyed the ache of his erection.
He’d take care of it that night. He had a redhead with blue eyes, a whore, who looked just enough like Tallulah he could pretend.
It was nearly time to get her out to dinner.
Not now.
He had a feeling he needed a reason and the wrap of their fifth film would serve that purpose.
He liked the idea of becoming a bona fide Porn King.
And he knew who would be his queen.
Rebel
“Rebel.”
“Hank, I was blindsided.”
He sighed in my ear.
“I mean, you know what I’m doing. And women are dying?” I asked.
“Okay, listen to me, Rebel.”
Uh-oh.
He had that tone I knew he didn’t use on his wife because I’d run into Roxie one day at the station and no way would he use that tone on his wife.
A tone he sometimes used on me.
Like I was his baby sister who needed her big brother to teach her an important life lesson.
“I do not want you in that mess. Eddie does not want you in that mess. Jimmy does not want you in that mess. We want you nowhere near that mess. You aren’t getting dick. We told you Valenzuela is not sloppy like that. He’s not gonna give you dick. So you need to pull out of that mess. And heads up, Rebel, a big part of why we want you out of that mess is because women are dying.”
“And maybe you could have shared that with me?”
“How freaked are you right now?” he asked.
“Pretty freaking freaked,” I answered.
“And you think Valenzuela won’t smell that?”
I shut up.
“You said he comes to the set often,” Hank noted.
He was coming more often than he used to.
That I didn’t find fun.
Though it was useful since I was there to take his ass down.
“Yes,” I confirmed to Hank.
“We do not want you there. We really don’t want you there, freaked, Valenzuela gets a whiff of that, digs deeper into you, and we covered you. But this isn’t exactly a CIA operation. DPD doesn’t have the resources to create a false identity that would sustain a deep dive. So workin’ on you to pull out while keeping you safe while you’re in by keepin’ shit from you that would freak you out and get you made was the way we decided to go. And if you don’t like it, Rebel, I’m not gonna apologize. I’m just gonna hope Chaos’s way of dealing with things got in your head and you’re rethinking this death wish you got goin’ on.”
“It’s not a death wish, Hank,” I snapped.
“It isn’t?”
Oh boy.
Trusty sweetheart with the warm whisky eyes was losing patience.
Eddie, that had happened about eight months ago (approximately point one two five seconds after I got wind through the grapevine that a new, more tasteful line of pornography was getting heavy funding and they were looking for a driving creative force to lead the way, I got my idea and shared with them my Plan o’ Vengeance).
Hank tried to work with me at the same time he tried to talk me out of it (with that latter having more of his efforts).
Now he wasn’t feeling the love.
“Hank—”
“Valenzuela doesn’t break necks, Rebel. He slits throats. Until my dying day, I’ll have flashbacks of Diane. It comes with the territory. How you gonna feel when I add flashbacks of you lying in your own blood? Oh wait. You’re not gonna feel shit. ’Cause you’ll be dead.”
Yikes.
“Get . . . out,” he clipped.
I thought of Hank.
I liked Hank. He was a good guy.
I thought of Eddie.
He was a little more abrasive, but it was because he wanted me safe.
So I liked Eddie. Because he was a good guy.
I thought of Rush Allen.
I stopped thinking of Rush Allen.
“I’ll consider it.”
“Thank fuck,” Hank muttered.
“I know you want me out, but it isn’t cool you gave what you guys gave to Rush Allen, Hank,” I shared.
“We didn’t give dick to Rush or Chaos. But whoever got the idea to land Chaos on your ass, I find out, I’m buying them a beer.”
With that, he hung up on me.
Oh yeah, sweetheart Hank was over it.
Shit.
It was the day after my hijacking.
Benito had come to the set.
I’d had that fun chat with Hank.
And now I was in my house, trying to chill out, my life was a mess . . .
And all I could think of was that I wished I’d met the man with the great hair and the crystal-blue eyes under different circumstances.
I went to my room, changed out of my jeans, shirt and boots into a jean skirt and a comfy top, and I wrapped a funky silk scarf around the top of my hair because I was going to go over to Essence’s.
Essence practically demanded you go funky in some way.
And she could chill anyone out.
I was about to head out when my phone rang.
I snatched it from where I’d tossed it on my bed, smiled, sat my ass on the end of my bed and took the call.
“Yo, D,” I said to my brother.
“Yo, sis. How’s it hanging?”
It was hanging low and saggy.
“Awesome as ever,” I lied.
“Cool, listen, Mol made her decision and . . . no bridesmaids. She doesn’t want anyone on the hook for a dress.”
That was Molly.
She wouldn’t put anyone on the hook for anything.
“If she wants attendants, it’d be my honor and I don’t mind buying a dress,” I told him.
I did, but my brother didn’t need to know that.
And I only did because money was running low.
The good money that was.
The porn money was not.
But I wasn’t buying a dress to stand up with my soon-to-be sister-in-law at her commitment ceremony in a dress bought with porn money.
If Molly changed her mind, maybe I could sell plasma.
“Rebel, baby doll, I think she just wants something simple,” D told me.
“I dig it, D. Whatever Molly wants.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, happiness in his tone.
He’d kill and die to give Molly what she wanted.
I closed my eyes.
I liked that.
I liked that he was looking forward to this. Free. Nothing holding him down.
Just love and joy and a good time to be had by all as we celebrated all the beauty they’d found.
Finally.
“So what’s goin’ down with you?”
I opened my eyes at Diesel’s question.
And thought again about Rush Allen.
Women were dying.
And I couldn’t bring Diane back.
Hank was now pissed (or more pissed).
And I’d met a guy I was attracted to, who I couldn’t go for because I was underc
over and because he was very against me being undercover.
Not to mention, during our interview, he had not asked me out.
Bluh.
Oh!
And my brother had no idea this was all happening, and the longer it lasted, the more it felt like a lie, and not just me keeping something from him that would worry him.
“Not much,” I answered.
Yup.
A lie.
“Work good?”
“I’m keeping busy.”
“You should be in LA, not Denver.”
“Kevin Smith filmed Clerks in New Jersey.”
“Please do not aspire to Clerks,” he begged.
I grinned. “It’s funny.”
“Please do not aspire to Clerks,” my brother repeated.
“Okay, Blood Simple was filmed with cobbled-together funding in Austin and Hutto, Texas. Have you ever heard of Hutto, Texas?”
“Better,” Diesel grunted.
I kept grinning.
“You good?” he asked.
I felt my brows knit.
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I’d already answered that.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“You good, Rebel?” he asked.
Oh shit.
“Yeah, D,” I again answered.
He fell silent.
Okay, okay, okay.
My big brother was reading the sitch all the way from another state.
He put it out there.
Or part of it.
“Mom and Dad and Gunner leaving you alone?”
“Yeah, D,” I repeated, this time softly, but did not share this was because I’d blocked them.
And deleted all their email, unread.
And blocked that.
Oh . . .
And threw away the letter Mom sent, unopened.
“You do not have to take their shit for me.”
“I’m not,” I assured.
At least that wasn’t a lie.
Not really.
“You should come down,” he said.
I should.
And stay.
Far, far away from all this insanity.
But then who would give treats to Essence’s cats?
And how would I possibly run into Rush Allen again in Phoenix?
Right.
Reminder.
Not thinking about Rush Allen.
“I am. For the ceremony,” I reminded my brother.
“Earlier.”
“I got work.”
“Yeah?”
Ugh.
“Yeah.”
“You got a guy?”
He sounded like that hurt to say.
“Dude, I heard Maddox going at you and Molly. Do not sound like you’re about to hurl at the thought your sister might be getting some.”
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