CHAPTER 29
Nick
“Damn, man, you look like shit.”
Nick smirked. “Nice to see you, too.”
He moved aside, allowing his three friends to step into the luxurious hotel suite he’d called home for the past five months.
The company’s new owners had been generous, offering every benefit to keep him on board, but they had also been stringing him along.
They repeatedly promised him time off soon, but “soon” never came, and five months later, he was more frustrated than ever.
“Nice digs,” Colt said, glancing around and heading straight for the minibar.
“It’s like a fucking sauna out there,” Max grumbled, striding in. “I broke a sweat just walking from the car to the hotel door.”
“I know.” One thing Nick hadn’t gotten used to was Singapore’s heat and humidity. Most of the time, if he wasn’t working and was out and about, it was a three-shower day.
Jordan slapped Nick on the back. “Working like a dog, I take it?”
Nick gave him a wry smile. “You know it’s bad when you dread putting on your uniform in the morning.”
Max shook his head.
“Shit.” Jordan looked concerned. “That bad?”
Nick grimaced. “Worse.”
They’d been working him just short of what was legally allowed, and their promise to hire two pilots to replace the two who had quit remained unfulfilled. So, he was it for every flight, and he was running on fumes. Any more hours, and he would become dangerous.
Jordan eyed him critically. “You’ve lost weight. When do you think you’ll get some help?”
“No idea.” In all honesty, he hadn’t only lost weight, he had lost patience. “Supposedly, they’re conducting interviews.”
“What’s the holdup?”
“I think they’re just fine with me and my FO doing the job.” Not for long, though. He had other plans, and he couldn’t wait to put them into action.
“Bee Cheng Hiang,” Colt read, picking up a red box out of a snack basket on the counter and turning it over. “The fuck is this?”
“Bak kua. Barbecued pork jerky.”
Colt grimaced. “You eat this stuff?”
“You’ll be surprised at what you learn to eat here.”
Colt’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh?”
“Food.” Nick shook his head. “I was talking about food.”
Jordan raised a hand. “I’ll try it.”
“You’ll try anything,” Max scoffed.
Colt tossed Jordan the box of pork.
“Try the salted salmon egg skins,” Nick said. “They’re better.”
Colt held up a small bag of Irvin’s with its distinctive diagonal black stripes. “These?”
“Yeah. Sounds vile, but they’re actually pretty good.”
“Guess your tastes change when you have no choice.” Colt opened the mini fridge. “What are we drinking?”
“Not what’s in there.” He pointed, grinning. “Check that cabinet.”
With a matching grin, Colt pulled the door open to reveal the bottle of Weller C.Y.P.B. Nick had been saving. “Sweet!”
“Glasses in the other one,” Nick said.
With a nod, Colt set about lining up the lowballs and pouring.
Jordan ripped open the bag of Irvin’s and cautiously took a sniff. “So, how are things?”
“Fair to shitty.” Nick accepted the glass of limited-edition wheated bourbon from Colt. He took an appreciative sniff and sipped, savoring the flavors of toffee, nutmeg, and oak.
Jordan took out a chip and turned it, scrutinizing it before popping it in his mouth with a loud crunch. He chewed, tilting his head. “Strange, but not bad.” He swallowed and helped himself to another chip. “Why are you still here if things are shitty?”
“Big bonus on signup that I couldn’t pass up. The contract stated that I had to stay for five months, or I would forfeit the money. Besides, there are only two of us. I didn’t want to leave my FO hanging.”
“Enough about your work life.” Max swirled his bourbon. “How’s the pussy here?”
Jordan snorted. “Well, hello, instant whiplash from that change of topic.”
Max grinned. “Need to steer the conversation toward what’s important.” He fixed Nick with a questioning stare. “Well?”
Nick shrugged.
Max smirked. “You can’t tell me there’s a shortage of decent pussy here.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Now Max’s eyes widened. “You mean you haven’t checked out the clubs?”
“They don’t have those clubs here.”
“Officially, no. But I hear the private events here are more than worth exploring.” He looked at Nick incredulously. “Seriously? You didn’t even try to score an invitation? Not once, out of curiosity?”
Nick shook his head. FaceTime with Jannie and jerking off were his sole releases these days. Not his preferred method, but he had zero interest in pursuing anything else.
Jordan’s face fell. “Why do I feel like nothing’s planned for us tonight?”
Nick finished his drink and set the glass down with a clink. “Because nothing is. Even if I had the time and energy, which I don’t, I’m not interested.”
“Well, we still are,” Colt muttered.
“You can go to Geylang. It’s legally regulated and safe. I guarantee you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
Colt brightened. “You coming with?”
“Nope.”
Jordan crumpled the empty chip bag and threw it into the nearby trash can. “Damn, Kent. You, my good man, are soundly whipped.”
Nick gave him a half-smile. “Unlike you, I’m not into that.”
Jordan ignored his quip. “She’s got you by the dick.”
Nick’s smile widened. And by the heart, and everything else, too—he couldn’t deny it.
“More like she has him in a cock cage.” Colt took a swig of bourbon. “Yeah, look at that shit-eating grin. You’ve got it bad, man.”
“Yup. And I’m putting all three of you on notice right now: I expect you to stand up for me.”
Max’s eyes widened. “Oh, really? When and where?”
“No specifics yet, but it’s definitely happening. Stay tuned.”
“You going to move her out here?” Max asked.
“Hell, no. My days here are numbered. I hope to turn in my resignation very soon.”
Max frowned. “I thought you didn’t want to screw your copilot.”
“He thinks he can convince a friend to take my place. If it works out, I’m out of here.”
“So, what’s your plan after you leave?”
“Funny you should ask—” he picked up the bottle and refilled everyone’s glasses “—because I have a business proposition.”
“Another one?” Max asked.
Nick looked at him over his glass. “Last one went pretty well.”
“Indeed.”
The club’s success and popularity allowed them to split a million dollars equally last month, and Nick wanted to catch them before they invested their share of the distribution in something else.
Nick opened his laptop to the Controller page he had been obsessively watching. Lately, the publication had been flush with planes newly listed for sale. One, in particular, had caught his eye.
Colt gestured with his glass. “That’s a plane.”
“Not just any plane.” Nick clicked to enlarge the main photo. “A 1980 LearJet 35a.”
“You want to buy a plane now? I thought we were opening a second Dark.”
“We can. But you know I got into it to make money to buy an aircraft.”
Jordan snorted. “That wasn’t the only reason.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “As far as I’m concerned, that door is closed.”
“She isn’t into the lifestyle?” Colt asked.
“No.”
“Hmm …” Max took a long sip of his bourbon. “Is this the woman you brought the last time you were there? She got the whole club talking.”
“Oh?” Nick sucked an ice cube into his mouth and chewed it.
“Word had it that she freaked out during Jordan’s knife play demo.”
Nick swallowed the ice water. He had kicked himself repeatedly for throwing Jannie into the deep end like that. “I wouldn’t exactly call leaving early ‘freaking out.’”
Jordan said nothing, just took another swig of Weller. But Nick could tell he disagreed. Leaving during a demo, especially if seated in the front row, just wasn’t done; it was poor etiquette, and Nick knew it. He hadn’t missed the stink eye Jordan had shot his way when he and Jannie stood up.
For a few uncomfortable moments, they all sipped their drinks, saying nothing.
“OK,” Max finally said. “Show us this aircraft you obviously want us to help you buy.”