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PROLOGUE - MARCUS
Is it better to be loved or feared? It’s a question powerful people have been asking themselves for centuries. When I was a business man, I thought people feared me, but I didn’t know what fear was, not really.
Six months ago I was in this club getting a blow job from a little blond bartender while I drank my scotch in the stockroom after closing a $75 million dollar takeover. That seemed like a lifetime ago. I'm technically a criminal now, but why I wasn't considered a criminal then is beyond me.
Today I was in the same stockroom taking a case of scotch from them for my personal stash, while a fat sweaty Italian thug beat the shit out of the owner. Paulie's ham-sized fists were raining down on the poor guy, as he was crying and shrieking, “I'll pay, I'll pay.”
“That's what this case of scotch is for, this is you paying,” I told him as I set it on the bar with a thud that sounded a lot like how Paulie's fists on his body sounded. “You're going to order 10 more cases of this 15 year old scotch for next month, and we'll give you a list of what else we want you to order.”
“How am I going to pay you if I gotta pay for all this booze too?” He asked. The balls on this guy, to question me when Paulie was still standing over him, a dog on my leash.
The man ran this club for years and he doesn't seem to understand business. His other problem was gambling, and hookers and cocaine, but the gambling was what he owed us money for. “I don't give a shit if you pay for the booze or not. You've been running this club for what 10 years? I bet you have about a million dollars worth of credit with your suppliers before they stop delivering to you and want your bills paid. Lucky for you, you only owe us $100,000, but at 2 points per week, the longer it takes you to pay, the more it adds up. Next week you'll owe $102,000. I'm trying to keep your costs down here. This case is 12 bottles of scotch, at $300 a bottle, so retail it’s $3,600. But you pay what, half that? And sell it for three times that. So it costs you $1,800, but to show you what a nice guy I am, I'll round up and call it 2 grand. So you're good for this week.”
“But if I don't pay the distributors I'll lose my club, if you take my booze then I can't sell it and pay my bills for the club.”
“So you water your drinks down a little bit more- and don't tell me you don't do it, I've seen your bartenders pour them- and you buy the cheap bottom shelf booze and fill the nice bottles with that – which I also know you do anyways- that's not my problem pal. If you lose the club, you'll be ok. That's what bankruptcy is for. This is America remember, if you don't like it you can always make more money.”
The door opened and sunlight streamed into the dark club as a little blond in a baseball cap came in and didn't even notice us until she was standing in front of me. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I recognized her before she understood what was going on.
Those lovely lips.
“Hello lovely,” I said to her as she froze, looked at her boss bloody and beaten on the floor.
She looked at me and didn't recognize me. But really, how could she? Six months ago I was someone else. I was almost hurt for a moment, but the look on her face was almost better than how her eyes looked up at me while she sucked my cock.
Her eyes were filled with fear.
I kept her eyes locked to mine. It’s important to look someone in the eyes, to not be the first to look away, to hold them to you. If you keep their eyes, you have them. I had her.
Her pupils widened and her whole face tensed up and froze. Goose bumps broke out all at once, the little hairs on her arms and neck stood up.
Fear was sexy.
Just as sexy as money.
“This doesn't concern you sweetheart,” I told her as she stood there, not moving, almost trembling as I walked towards her. “Why don't you come back in an hour? I'm sure your boss here will still pay you for it.” I turned back to him, a bloody heap on the floor. “Isn't that right? She's on the clock right now?”
“Yeah, it's ok Susie, come back in an hour.”
Susie. I’m not sure I got her name last time. I know she didn’t get mine, not my real one, anyhow.
I turned back to her, her eyes locked in mine again. “See, he's fine, and you get paid for not working. Now don't do anything stupid like call the police Susie Q.” I lifted my hand to her breast and snapped her name tag, she gave a brief start, but was frozen, scared shitless. I unclipped the tag, and let my hand graze the side of her breast again, “You just turn your pretty little ass around and walk out and when you come back it'll be like nothing happened. You understand?” I smiled at her.
She stood there frozen for another moment, quivering in fear. I thought I saw a spark of recognition in her face, but she turned around and walked out the door, quickly, wiggling her little ass.
Definitely better to be feared.