Page 10 of Torrid Passion
You just said so yourself, bitch. Your husband pays for your lifestyle and he whores you out to younger men. He owns you.
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With that, I block her number.
I should’ve known better. It was way too easy.
I drop my phone on the counter and shake my head in disbelief.
Time to go.
I stand up to leave, but recognize a familiar face walking towards me.
“Mr. Berkshire,” a tall and always elegantly dressed man says.
“Hey, Larkin,” I say shaking the hand he extends.
“How are you?”
“Good. Busy. But that’s hardly a complaint.”
“So you’re keeping out of trouble?”
“Barely,” I say. “How are things with you?”
“It’s very simple, Mr. Berkshire. I sell fantasies to the elite. The richer… the better… the kinkier. In other words. business is booming.”
“One thing is certain, you always over deliver.”
“A man can only try,” he says with a slight head bow.
Don’t be fooled by his modesty. Larkin is astute, shrewd and canny. He’s also richer than God.
Larkin Gallagher owns Quintus Hotel, which includes four top rated restaurants and two award-winning bars. It’s also home to a private members’ club for women and one for men where big names in the entertainment business strike lucrative deals. All legit fronts. Then there’s what happens behind the Quintus. I won’t even mention a word about his businesses in Las Vegas, New York, throughout Europe and the Caribbean islands. He’s not only impressive on paper, but even the way he looks screams, ‘don’t fuck with me’. Larkin isn’t quite as tall as me, but close, which means he stands out… even without the pair of bodyguards constantly shadowing him. The man is darkly menacing—from his piercing amber eyes—that never miss a thing—to the colorful ink on his body, to his sharp mind.
“If you’re hanging out at the champagne bar, I assume your partner in crime is nowhere to be found,” he notes.
“Can’t pass anything by you, Mr. Gallagher,” I smile. “Rod is on business in Miami. I’m holding the fort for the next week.”
Roderick Wolfe is my business partner. Just like me, he’s a regular here.
“What about your boys?”
“Beckett, Jace and Jagger have their own plans for tonight. I’m here alone like a big boy,” I laugh.
In a previous life, I was a roadie for the chart-topping rock band Random Misconception. Rod was the drummer. My cousin Jace Halsey was the guitarist. Holt Christensen was the bassist. They were also back-up singers. Holt’s younger brother Beckett was on guitar and he was also the lead singer. My older cousin Jagger Halsey wrote some of Random Misconception’s record-breaking songs. Holt is in London, but the rest of us guys hang out together all the time.
“I see,” Larkin nods. “Are you Blade or Lochlan tonight?”
“Plain old Lochlan.”
“You won’t stop by Dark Compulsion?”
“No. I’ll keep it low key tonight.”
Dark Compulsion is a members’ only private adult club, complete with playrooms and overnight suites. Since privacy is essential, each member receives a randomly selected name. It’s all computerized. Mine is Blade.
“You’re a choirboy tonight,” he mocks.
