CHAPTER THIRTY
Tyler
As I closed the bedroom door behind us, I held my finger to my lips in a “shh” motion and jerked my head towards the kitchen. Troy nodded his understanding. After spewing his sperm, he was all ears for business.
Troy is my twin, and I understand him. But fuck, that guy can’t concentrate unless he gets sweet pussy to release the tension, getting some good hot spurts in. So our little girl has been getting double-teamed twice a day because goddammit, I need the relief as well.
We’re up shit creek right now, and the stress is killing us. Yep, no other way to say it. What started as a petty break-in has snowballed into something with much deeper implications. Only recently had we discovered the import of the situation.
“Troy, Tyler,” said Rachel. “We need to talk.”
“What is it?” I said casually. Rachel used to work for us as a call girl, but has since transitioned to the management side, helping coordinate the logistics of the escort business.
“I’ve turned,” she said flatly. “I’m a witness for the feds.”
“What?” gasped Troy. Rachel was our most trusted operative, an employee who knew the inner workings of Club Luxe. We’d pulled her off the streets when she was a drug-addled common prostitute, helping her kick her addiction and get her life back together. That she would betray us was a stab in the back, making my stomach heave with physical pain.
But Rachel continued. “I’ve turned in exchange for immunity, and I think you should too.”
This made no sense. The feds were here to put us out of business right? I mean, what else could it be? High-rolling illegal prostitution ring equals obvious target for the feds. This could make or break some asshole prosecutor’s career.
As if reading my mind, Rachel replied. “No, it’s not what you think. Evidently there’s bigger fish to fry. The governor,” she said in a hushed voice, “is the real target.”
Oh shit. Part of the reason Club Luxe does well is because we cater to clients with resources, people for whom money is no object. They pay five to thirty thousand per encounter, and our girls are a hundred percent worth it. But it also means that there are some bold-face names in our computer, in the panic room which was supposedly unbreachable.
“You mean the feds are targeting Governor Haley, right?” I said. We had a couple of politicians on our list, as well as the usual billionaires, minor English nobility, etc. These guys thought nothing of flying a girl out for a weekend, fucking them senseless, and paying double in cash. It was incredible.
But Rachel nodded. “Yeah, it’s Governor Haley. I’m not exactly sure why they’re honing in on him, but it’s some kind of weird political payback. Evidently when he was attorney general, he was the “Sheriff of Wall Street,” making enemies right and left. Now these guys are engineering his fall, and your service is the perfect fodder.”
Oh shit. Yeah, Spence Haley had been using Club Luxe girls for a couple of years. He was voracious, and often a little odd. The girls giggled about his penchant for having sex wearing nothing but black, calf-length socks. Not exactly a turn-on, but hey, rich guys do what they want. Plus, it made for a hilarious code name: “Socks,” as he was listed in our books.
But the governor had probably spent at least eighty thousand on Club Luxe females in the past few years, fucking all sorts of young, delectable girls. Shit, he was definitely all over our records, and it wouldn’t take much for the feds to figure out the “Socks” nickname.
“How did they find out about us?” I asked curiously. Rachel knew a lot for someone who was a federal witness, and I wanted to pump as much out of her as possible.
“Evidently Haley led them to us,” she said slowly. “He tried to wire some money to the club, and the bank reported the suspicious activity to the government. When the feds began investigating, they realized he was paying for prostitutes, and that led them to come sniffing.”
Well, what the fuck. Wasn’t that ironic? Club Luxe had managed to stay under the radar by hiring only the best girls and promising discretion. But sometimes, it’s the clients who are too big to swallow, the ones who are famous and powerful who draw the evil eye.
“Fuck,” swore Troy. “Fucking Spencer Haley. Fuck fuck fuck,” he ground out, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “What do we do now, brother?” he said, turning to me.
I had no idea, but Rachel broke in.
“Turn government witness,” she said. “Do it to save yourselves. You can’t save this business, it’s too late already, but ask for immunity in return for your testimony against the governor. It’s worth it … the U.S. Attorney is a fucking political machine, he wants to crush Haley a lot more than he wants to crush you.”
Again, I was floored by how savvy Rachel was. I mean, you don’t exactly expect former prostitutes to be able to anticipate every twist in a political drama. But hey, she was a street girl once, and those chicks have to have brains to survive.
“Yeah, we’ll think about it,” I ground out. But oddly, my fate didn’t bother me. I didn’t care what happened to me or my brother, or even the business so much. I just wanted to make sure that Krissy and the baby would be okay … and if Troy and I were in jail, that would be impossible.