I flip through television stations at my house, staring at the screen, but not really seeing anything. The images on replay in my mind are much more interesting, and concerning at the same time, since they’ve been looping for the past twelve hours since we met. Ariana Carlson, in those shoes with the spiked heels and nothing else. Ariana Carlson, spread eagle on my bed. At least, I think it’s my bed. The only things I can really see are that perfect pink pussy and the finger she’s using to fuck herself for my viewing enjoyment. Oh shit, she just licked it…

My cock twitches, and I adjust myself before letting out a deep sigh. I don’t do the whole fantasizing thing. Lust challenges my ability to think straight. And when I lose focus, people get hurt, and I get arrested. But over the past few hours, I’ve done little else. And with shit coming to a head with my plan, I don’t need the distraction.

The once-steaming mug of coffee in my hand is now barely lukewarm. I gulp it down after having stared at it for what feels like hours, hoping for lucidity over the unwelcome salacious thoughts that are clouding my head.

I slam the mug on the coffee table and push back my hair. My life. I’d done a sufficient amount to fuck it up. I’d tried so many times to turn the other cheek, bury all the bullshit plaguing me, and focus on what really mattered. But I couldn’t…still can’t. Too many wrongs were committed, and there’s a big fucking score to settle. I never walk away, even when I know I should. It’s part of the reason why I’m in this situation to begin with.

I eye my cell phone, recalling the voicemail I’d received the day before. A sharp pang slices away at my chest. It had been a long time since I’d heard that voice. I’m not sure I deserve to hear it again. And then, of course, came the ten missed calls from my ex-wife Kate bitching me out. She wasn’t a fan of my past choices, the ones that landed me in that shithole five years ago.

I have to make the call. I have to make things right. Keeping my distance is necessary, but it’s slowly killing me at the same time. There has to be another way.

A loud knock at the door makes me jump. Coffee sloshes over the sides of the mug. Thank fuck it’s room temperature. I groan, looking down at my wet crotch. Great. The manifestation of my twisted fantasies roars to life. It was bound to happen at some point.

I slowly rise, the pinching sensation in my lower back making me cringe. Combating my age with heavier weights at the gym probably isn’t my smartest move. It’s going to put me in traction.

I pad toward the front door and unlock the deadbolt, flinging it open after seeing my caller through the peephole. Because you always look first. Rule number one.

Rand is about my height and built like a brick shithouse. Together, we’re an intimidating set of dudes. I’ve known him my whole life and trust him with everything. He saunters past me, pausing only to flick a critical eye at the wet spot spreading into the fabric. “Bad time? Watching PornHub again?”

“It’s coffee, dickhead. And I wasn’t expecting company.”

He shakes his head. “Tsk-tsk. Shaky hands, startles easily…not the things you want to be known for in our line of work.”

I punch him in the shoulder and push past him. “Fuck off. You want some coffee? It’s nice and cold.”

“This isn’t a social call. We need to talk, Jeff.”

I grab a mug from the cabinet. “Nothing to discuss. It’s done.”

“Not true.” He waves away the mug and pulls out a highball glass instead. “Where’s the scotch?”

“Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“Are you in a time warp? It’s two o’clock.”

I glance at the clock above the sink. Fuck me, it is. Jesus, I went through the Ariana highlight reel a little longer than planned. “I lost track of time.”

“While you were whacking it.”

“Rand, what the fuck? Why are you making this into a bigger thing than it is?”

“You know why. And you knew I’d have plenty to say about it when you sent me that fucking text about meeting Ollie. You went down a path, on your own, with no regard for anyone else. This is serious shit. Tell me why the fuck you did it.”

“Because nobody knows tech like Ollie.”

“Christ, Jeff. We haven’t even figured out the whole plan yet. You exposed yourself without telling any of us, and now is the time to lay low. People are always watching, and you going to Ollie put us back on the radar. Not to mention the fact that you’re violating parole by even being here in L.A. Any heat on you will come back to bite all of us in the ass. If there is any shot for this to work, we need to be smart about it. If Conlon finds out you’re back, he’s gonna have goons all over you. If that happens, we’re fucked.”

“I know the plan. Everything is in place, Rand. That’s why I went to Ollie. We need to act fast. Conlon is ready to make a move, and we have to be prepared.” I have my reasons, and one thing that pisses me off more than anything is when my actions are called into question. I screwed up once, I’m not about to let it happen again, not when there’s so much at stake.

“You’re not thinking clearly. This elaborate revenge plot of yours is gonna get us all pinched.”

I glare at him. “No fucking way is that gonna happen again.”

“Oh yeah? Then tell me how you’re planning to keep Ollie’s pretty little boss quiet, now that you’ve roped her into this whole mess.”

I let out a deep sigh. I know what he’s thinking, what they’re all thinking. And I don’t care. I’ll fucking do this alone if I have to. “She’s nothing to worry about. Ollie is her right hand. He’ll deliver whatever bullshit excuse he can to make her happy, especially since he’s got a fucking hard-on for her. Ollie will never do anything that’ll put her in harm’s way, but he’s the only one who can get us inside. We talked. It’s all good.”

“You should have talked to us first. Do you realize what’ll happen if there’s a leak? If Conlon hears you’re back in town, this whole thing is fucked. We’re already walking around with targets on the backs of our heads, for Christ’s sake.”

“It wasn’t my best idea, but I needed to get the ball rolling. I had to push Ariana’s panic button so she’d tag him in.” I grit my teeth. That wasn’t the only button I wanted to push. Fuck me sideways, this woman has already gotten too deep into my head, and one delayed reaction on my part will get all of us terminated.

“Do I even want to know the story you tried to sell her?”

“Nah, it’s not important. She reacted the way I’d planned, and he was at her office within minutes. I’m not an idiot. I’d have never gone directly to him.”

“I don’t like this. What about Remo?”

“He’s ready to move when the time comes. I guess you’re either gonna have to trust me or not. Either way, I’m going to bring down that motherfucking sack of shit.”

“How do you know Ollie’s not going to sell us out in the meantime? You have no idea what he’s been doing for the past five years. You could have a bullet between your eyes within hours.”

“Everyone has a price, Rand. We all want to get paid what we’re due. And some people are gonna get paid back in the process.”

* * *

“Scarlet, do you have any idea what I’ve been through today?” It’s been hours, and at least ten voicemails, since Scarlet decided to show up in my office. I’m seething, but trying hard not to flip my fucking lid at my Grammy-winning client.

She twists a blonde ringlet between her fingers, a sheepish look on her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to my party. I guess I…I mean, we…lost track of time. But…it was some celebration.”

I flop into my chair, fold my hands, and say a quick prayer that I won’t leap over the desk and wrap my hands around her pretty little neck. “I don’t give a damn who you suck or fuck, but you are on the verge of legendary stardom here. You just won a Grammy, for chrissakes! How could you be so blasé about what happened last night?”

Scarlet recoils. “Look, I know we wanted to keep the virginity thing going as long as possible, but I don’t understand why you’re so panicked. Taylor would never say anything to the press, or leak a video, or anything like that. He’s got more to lose than I do. All his tweenies would kick him to the curb if they knew he was banging hard and fast every night, after they’ve spent hours drooling at him shaking his hot ass onstage. At least my fan base doesn’t want to screw me.” She peers at her bright blue nails and giggles. “Well, maybe some of them do…”

“Scarlet, I’m not worried about Taylor! This is much worse!”

Her piercing green eyes move away from her nails. “Um…okay, I’m officially lost.”

Ten, nine, eight…

“I’m talking about the others who were at your party!”

“But I wasn’t at my party! Isn’t that why your panties are all twisted? Because I skipped it?”

Seven, six, five…

“No!” I push back my chair and leap to my feet. It’s a good thing she can sing because she has the IQ of dirt. And that’s being generous. Now I feel bad that I’m lumping dirt in with her. “I’m talking about the party you were at! Scarlet! I was approached by some private investigator at the club last night. Evidently you wandered into some kind of sordid porn den, and they sent pictures of you…of you…” I smack my hand against my forehead. “Christ! I can’t even say it without wanting to throw up in my mouth!”

“Whoa. A private investigator?” The sprayed-on tan all but fades from her face. “Came to you about me?”

Four, three, two…

“Yes,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Evidently, he knew you were getting screwed six ways from Sunday, with pictures to prove it. And now my whole IT team is scouring the internet to make sure evidence of what you did doesn’t end up plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s gossip rags!”

Her eyes pool with tears. Big ones. Like, of the crocodile variety. “Shit. Taylor wasn’t with me,” she whispers. “I went there after the show. By myself.”

I sink to my knees next to her. “Scar, why would you do that? Don’t you know how dangerous that can be? What the hell were you thinking?”

She shrugs and swipes at her overly made-up eyes. I hand her a tissue, but it’s pointless. Streaks of black muddy her face, and she’s going to need makeup remover to help her look somewhat human after this ugly cry. “I’d gotten a message during the show from Trey Conlon.”

My chest tightens. Oh, fuck. “The big Hollywood investor?”

She nods. “Yes. He wanted to talk to me about a singing part for an upcoming movie he’s financing.” With a loud sniff, she looks up. “He’s beyond huge, Ari. How could I ignore that opportunity?”

“What did he want from you?”

“Nothing. I mean, he made a move and things went a little further than I’d wanted, but it’s not like there was an orgy or anything.”

“Were you or were you not alone?”

“We were totally alone in a bedroom, away from everything.” Her cheeks redden. “His wife wasn’t around.”

“Well, someone was there, Scarlet. And someone saw what you two were doing and took pictures. And video that is supposedly minutes away from being streamed all over the internet.”

“Oh my God, Taylor can’t find out,” she whimpers. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was drunk, and Trey kept telling me how beautiful I was, how talented…argh! How could I have been so stupid? If anything leaks, my life is over!”

Yeah, mine, too…

My temples throb. I want to scream right now. What the fuck did I get myself involved with this time? That sneaky sonofabitch. How did I miss this? How the hell did Ollie miss this?

“Ari,” Scarlet furrows her brow. “Why was this investigator involved? Since when is there a law against sex parties? This is L.A.”

I open my mouth and snap it shut almost as quickly. I replay the scenario in my mind. Scarlet wandered into the lion’s den under the premise that she’d be made a huge star. She rode Trey Conlon like a jockey, and he promised to crown her queen of La La Land. Nobody else was around. She left of her own free will, with nothing more than the promise of a meeting that’ll probably never be scheduled because that’s how these douchebags operate. He wanted a shiny, new pussy, preferably one with star power, and the bastard got one under the guise that he’d make her an even bigger star.

My heart thuds in my chest. “Scarlet, are you sure it was just you and Conlon last night in that room? Nobody else?”

“No!” The tears start again. “Ari, please tell me you’ll make sure those pictures get destroyed. They’ll be the end of me. Please!”

Bile rises in my throat. If there are even real pictures to destroy. I knew that investigator was full of shit. Goddammit! He’s going to fuck up all of the work we’ve done unless I do something fast.

I need to find Ollie.