Page 30 of Jacking Jill

Romeo nodded, glanced at his big gold Rolex watch, then leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. “Someone from IMG called me a few weeks ago. Sounded like a woman, but the voice was disguised, run through one of those AI-type modifiers.”

Kay frowned, said nothing, waited for Romeo to continue.

Romeo took a breath, blinked twice, rubbed the back of his neck.

Then he told Kay everything.

Everything he knew about Northrup Capital and their scheme to exploit congressional loopholes and use DC lobbyists and divert “foreign aid” money to tiny “nations” started by rogue groups like the Zetas in South America and the Urzis in the former Soviet Union outlands and the Kendos in the war-torn parts of West Africa and similar groups in the Middle East and Asia.

Kay listened like the trained lawyer she was, but her face paled to ash-white as Romeo explained how the mystery woman from IMG had said that if Senator Marcus Robinson won the Presidential Election in eleven months—which was looking very likely—those lobbyist-enabled loopholes would close up, the money being siphoned to the Zeta Nation would dry up, and the junk bonds that had been paying off big for IMG investors would be worth exactly zero.

Unless the Zetas got another source of big money.

Like direct access to the lucrative United States drug market via the sea, so they wouldn’t have to pay a hefty percentage to the Mexican Cartels who controlled the land-border crossings.

Direct access to America via the Philadelphia-area seaports.

Where Romeo Carmine had serious sway with the dockworkers and customs unions.

“So I win double if this works,” Romeo said, his excitement building at the prospect of expanding his empire, getting back into the great game, entering a new fight, a struggle that would re-awaken the instinct to claim and conquer, to possess and own, that primal masculine drive hardwired into any man who still had his balls. “I become a major player in the east-coast drug business. And my IMG investments keep paying off big because now the Zetas will have a fresh source of cash to pay their bondholders. The Urzis and the Kendos and the rest of those groups might still get wiped out financially once Senator Robinson wins the White House, but the Zetas are by far the biggest player in IMG’s investment portfolio, and this deal will ensure their survival.” He shrugged his heavily muscled shoulders, relaxed his face into his warmest, most convincing smile. “Look, these drugs are going to make their way onto American streets one way or the other. Bypassing the Mexican and Colombian Cartels will actually reduce the total amount of violence involved in the trade.” He shrugged again. “And you win too, Kay. If you want out, then after this I will let you go. I will consider your debt paid, Kay. You have my word.”

Kay was quiet for a long time. Romeo knew the wheels were turning behind those sapphire-blue eyes, but he couldn’t tell which way they were spinning. Still, if he knew one thing about Kay, it was that she thought in terms of incentives.

Because she understood the dark truth about human morality.

That it didn’t exist.

Morality was just a mirage that hid the chilling truth:

That every human heart carried within it the darkest potential of all humanity.

The only difference between the serial killer and the serial charity-donor is the particular circumstances of their lives, which side of the street fate found them, which side of the tracks destiny deposited them.

There was no changing human nature.

Sex and violence were the furnaces in which the human spirit had been forged through millions of years of brutal evolution.

Those fires burned brighter in some, darker in others, simmered low in most, raged wild in the chosen few.

But they still burned in every heart, in every man, every woman, every child.

And incentives were the fuel to those twin fires.

Give a man the right incentives, and you can make the whole thing explode into a geyser of sex, a volcano of violence.

“Senator Robinson,” Kay said thoughtfully after a long silence. “There was an explosion outside his townhome a couple of months ago. Robinson and his family were away on the campaign trail, so it probably wasn’t an assassination attempt—or at most it was a warning.”

Romeo frowned. He remembered reading about it. “It wasn’t a bomb, though, was it? Reports said it was a gas-line leak that caught a spark and exploded beneath a parked car.”

“Oh, come on.” Kay rolled her eyes. “That report had cover-up written all over it, Romeo. The whole scene was closed off to the media within minutes. No reports about who was at the scene, but witnesses said there were definitely ambulances, which means somebody was hurt, maybe even killed. All social-media posts and photos were scrubbed from the internet within hours.”

Romeo sighed. “All right, so maybe it was a bomb and not a gas leak. So what? Marcus Robinson is a high-profile Senator on his way to becoming President. He’s a black man, and like it or not, there are still some racist fuckholes in America who don’t want to see another black couple in the White House. So maybe the FBI and the Secret Service covered up the explosion while they’re hunting down the bastards who did it. How is that relevant to us, Kay? What’s your point?”

“Incentives, Romeo.” Kay smiled tightly. “Kyle and Kenneth Northrup very much had the incentive to want Marcus Robinson dead. But then, lo and behold, they end up dead on the good ship Rivington. Maybe they were taken out before they could take the Senator out?”

“By whom, Kay?” Romeo rubbed his eyes. “What are you saying? That the FBI or Secret Service is secretly murdering American citizens to clear Marcus Robinson’s path to the White House?”

“I doubt it’s the FBI or the Secret Service.” Kay narrowed her eyes. “But it’s very much the kind of thing the CIA might do. And Jack Wagner is very much the kind of man the CIA might recruit to a dark operations off-the-books team.”

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