Page 32 of Promiscuous Lies

“You know nothing raunchy would get approved,” she reminds me.

“Yes, no nakedness, but I was thinking more along the lines of no faces, just their bodies and lingerie or some sexy clothes. And it’ll promote the new lingerie line at Honey as well. It’ll be to tease until they access the portfolio to buy. A lot of our customers are into feet and other kinks.”

She laughs because it’s the truth. We’ve had many strange requests during private dances. Honestly, I don’t mind being paid for a man to massage my feet. Some of the girls have even considered going onto an app for it, but because of the contract Dutton has the women sign, they can’t join any other site where they sell their bodies or anything of the sort—this way, they can do it safely.

Paula scratches her chin, thinking about it.

“Most of our audience is men anyway,” I remind her. “So we have to do something that appeals to them. Our current posts don’t do anything for them; they’re text posts and boring pictures.”

“I get it, I do.” She nods her head. “And usually, I would say run this by Mr. Taylor, but I think you’re onto something, so organize what you can, and we’ll present it to him when he’s in next. And I have the credit card to pay for it.” We smile at one another mischievously.

I walk into the office she said I can use when I’m here. I’m mostly allowed to work from home, but I’ll have to come in forsome things. The only other office is Dutton’s, and I don’t plan to use the boss’s, although I’ve heard he has better cell reception.

I’m not sure how to take him.

Or even what he wants from me.

He eats me out—which he gets an A+ in—basically fires me from my other job and puts me in a new position, then demands I go on a date with him and instead shows up at my door with food when I say no. And now I haven’t seen him for two weeks.

Which doesn’t bother me all that much, but the whiplash is a lot.

But it’s expected from a man who is used to the entire world revolving around him.

I hope he leaves me alone so I can do my job.

I’m going to prove to him that although he changed my job role on a whim, I’m the best person for the job, even though I’m equally as fantastic at shaking my ass.

CHAPTER 17

Dutton

I’ve been gone for almost two weeks. It’s the final evening of my trip as I bring a new business venture to a close. After taking my new business partner to the most recent gentlemen’s club I opened, he seems impressed with the opportunity to traffic drugs through it.

In Italy, I work closely within the Monti family’s reach. Although Crue and Eli are stationed in New York, business is booming here from their influence and the work my grandfather put in before them. I make these trips to ensure those we’ve put in place to run the businesses are efficient enough to maintain the family’s reign and keep the profits at an all-time high.

Realistically, I should move here to run things more personally, but I have an attachment to my family in New York, so flying here every so often will have to do.

Paulo, the man who runs everything here for us with an iron fist, stands behind me. Coming in at six foot six, he’s a tattooed Italian demon that everyone fears.

We’re in my office, which is attached to one of my three-story mansions. Although I enjoy conducting most business meetings in my clubs, this is a double-edged deal tonight.

I shake my new business partner’s hand and wait until he leaves before I pour a whiskey for myself and one for Paulo. He never drinks on the job but thanks me for it anyway.

“Are they here?” I ask, a lethal buzz cascading over my skin. One thing we take very seriously is our staff’s safety. The sex industry can be a dangerous place, and although I’m not above certain nefarious dealings, the safety of my staff is absolute. It’s the foundation of everything my father taught me. Having primarily female employees, and with a younger sister, I take all acts of misconduct seriously.

“Yes,” Paulo says as we head to one of my favorite rooms in the house. One of my other security guys opens the door expectantly. I take a sip of the whiskey as he presents the two naked men gagged and tied to chairs. Plastic tarps have been stretched out beneath them. Their eyes go wide as I enter.

“Gentlemen, it would appear we have business to conduct,” I say conversationally as I place my whiskey on the small tray to my left. Beside it are three knives of various sizes. After giving them each a moment of consideration, I choose my favorite.

Paulo places both of his hands behind his back as he stands behind the door, watching with keen interest. The men try to speak through their gags, but I don’t care for their apologies because what they did was inexcusable.

They’re both shaking with fear. One has pissed himself already.

I roll up my sleeves.

I never considered myself an artist, but I never looked back when I discovered the joy and creativity in carving messages into flesh. I was fifteen years old when I carved into the chest of an eighteen-year-old who had tried to usher my sister into his car when she was only fourteen. It was the first hunt Eli and I had done together, right before we were introduced to the twins.

While Eli enjoys outright torture, I prefer a more clinical approach to my art. I leave them with something that will shame them even after they’re dead. Not that anyone ever finds the body afterward.

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