Chapter 8 #2
“There is a way around it all.”
Samson and I exchange a look. “We’re listening.”
“It’s very simple and really is the best way . . . sell Club Wicked to me.”
“No fuckin’ way,” Samson barks.
“Hear me out.” Graham raises his palms. “By owning the building and the club, I absorb the lease and all the costs of running a building of this size. Plus the headaches of the day-to-day workings of such a huge space.”
“Forget it,” Samson says.
“Not happening,” I add, then cut my glance to Jax, who is uncharacteristically quiet. He’s usually the one I have to rein in, but he hasn’t uttered a word one way or the other.
“If you think of this rationally instead of emotionally, you’ll see that—”
“That we’re being fucked.” Samson pushes off the couch. “There’s no fuckin’ way we’re selling Wicked to you or anybody else.”
Graham calmly turns to me. “I’m sure you’re able to see the importance—”
“Quit with the fuckin’ bullshit,” Samson bellows. “You set this up from the beginning. You—"
I raise my hand, and Samson swallows his words.
“I have one question. Was this your plan all along?” I ask. “Was our last meeting just a way to reel us in and then—”
“I had bids on a few investments in Vegas, but I had no way of knowing which ones would come through.” Pierce shrugs.
“You have to admit you have a prime piece of real estate here on the corner of Flamingo and Las Vegas Blvd. And since your front door is on Flamingo, the taxes and rental space is much lower, while benefitting from the traffic the Strip generates.”
“And if we refuse to sell?” I pin him with a look that demands an answer.
“That would be very unwise from a business point of view.”
“How so?” I know what the fucker is gonna say, but I want to hear him say it out loud.
“You’d have an increase in rent, plus my fee as a promoter.”
“An if we decide not to use you as a promoter?” Samson asks.
“If you look at the last page of the proposal again, you’ll see the figures.”
I flip to the last page, and Samson leans in over my shoulder.
“Fuck!” Samson straightens. “If we don’t use your company, you jack up our rent four times.”
“Don’t misunderstand, I still want the both of you running it. I want you to be the faces, but . . .”
“You’ll get the higher percentage and voting rights as owner.”
“I’m afraid so.” The slimy bastard actually sounded sorry.
“Think of it this way, gentlemen, you’ll not only have more time for your families, but you’ll have fewer headaches and benefit from my good name and reputation. Bigger budgets for advertising, my relationship with the media, and my A-list clientele.”
Samson throws his large body onto the couch. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”
“Maybe it could work,” Jax offers, finally breaking his silence.
I shoot him a look that says Are you fuckin’ kidding me?
“It will work.” Graham leans in. “We need each other. I need your know-how with handling people who patronize Wicked, and you need the perks I’m offering.” He squares his shoulders. “I’m the partner you need, plus it lessens the burden on you.”
“And if we don’t?” Samson asks.
“I don’t like to think of that consequence, but I would have no choice but to terminate your lease at the first of the year.”
This is no coincidence. This fucker knew our lease was up January first. Probably had this in the works for a few months just waiting long enough to pressure us into a decision.
“I’m sure you know finding another spot like this in Vegas is next to impossible. I’m guessing the only reason you got it in the first place was because of your Brooklyn connections.”
“That’s a fuckin’ lie.” Samson pounces, and I jump between them with my eyes on Pierce. “Whatever we got in Vegas, we got on our own.”
“Settle the fuck down.” I plant my hand on Samson’s chest.
Graham’s eyes grow wide. Another second and he would’ve been eating Samson’s fist.
Graham draws in a breath. “The only thing left to do is sign the contract.”
I glare at Graham. “We have until January first, correct?”
“Yes, but it would be much better for all parties involved to get all this business out of the way before the upcoming holiday.”
“What do you mean, all parties involved?”
“I also had a meeting with Cheryl Benson over at Selective Services. I’d like to acquire her business in my portfolio also, but she seemed a bit reluctant.”
“Cheryl has nothing to do with our business with Wicked.”
“Yes and no.”
A cold chill slithers down my spine. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Owning Wicked and having her account would go hand in hand, but I sensed her slight reluctance to go with Pierce Productions.”
“Cheryl makes her own decisions when it comes to her business.”
“I’m sure, but after we discussed how her business runs, it occurred to me that there are so many loopholes.”
“Loopholes?” Where the hell is this fucker headed?
“A girl giving false identification, then being caught underage with an older man. Or a girl caught offering drugs to a client. There are just so many variables and situations that can go wrong in a business like hers.”
“That would never happen because everyone who works for Selective is thoroughly vetted.” My fists ball at my side, taking everything in me not to use them.
“Then there’s her past.” Graham shrugs. “An unsolved murder and the rumors of her mob boss father covering it up. Gossip like that could drastically hurt a business such as hers, not to mention your past in Brooklyn.”
“Are you trying to fuckin’ blackmail us?” Samson growls.
“Blackmail is such a strong word, but I’m sure I’d have no trouble convincing her clients to go elsewhere after I enlighten them about her past. Namely, manslaughter. It would be so unfortunate for her and her little girl to have all that nastiness come out right before Christmas.”
He stands, and I lunge, pushing my palms against Graham’s shoulders until his back hits the wall. “You leave Cheryl out of any business you and I do, understand?”
“You know better than to do anything to me here.” Graham glares back at me. “So take your hands off me.”
I fist his perfectly tailored shirt and slam his back against the wall. His eyes bug out, and I sneer, “You do anything to my family, and I’ll fuckin’ put you in the ground.”
Samson flanks me. “Fuck with us, and you’re over.”
“Over? What could that possibly mean?”
I slam him against the wall one more time, then step back. “Fuck around and find out.”
“Mmmm, I wondered how long it would take the Brooklyn thug to surface.” He shifts his shoulders and smooths the front of his shirt.
“Your threats are meaningless because, in this arena, my connections outweigh yours.” Graham sidesteps around me.
“And no one is going to take the side of two convicted felons over an upstanding businessman with political clout.”
“Get the fuck outta here,” Samson bellows.
“I’ll expect to hear from you by Christmas Eve, or your lease will be rescinded.”