Page 18 of Vice

“She was positive.”

“So positive she didn’t flinch when I asked her if she were willing to bet her life on it.”

Normally I wouldn’t allow myself to show how pleased I am when I gain a piece of information like this. But Cres and I have a ruse to keep up for the paparazzi no doubt spying on us from across the street, so I let myself grin wickedly in her direction, though it’s not at or for her.

Personally, I couldn’t care less where the fuck another man wants to stick his dick, but there are other people who do. Like the conservative Christian community Travis is part of. Like the constituents of the conservative state he plans to run for senator for one day. Like the allies who back him because of his good Christian values. Because he could have fucked or raped a thousand women out of wedlock, molested and raped children, and any other degenerate thing one can come up with. But Jesus Christ fucking forbid he be gay.

His family would disown him. His political base and community would shun him. His opponents would relish in the exposure of his hypocrisy.

It would ruin him.

Potentially.

But I’m not trying to ruin Travis if I don’t have to. Just blackmail him.

“I need proof.”

“I can help you with that if you can set up the time and place,” Cres says. “He’s not going to go anywhere that my people can get to him and out himself like that. It’s got to be somewhere secure. Somewhere he’ll let his guard down.”

“Honestly, I likely won’t even need your help,” I say as I reach out a hand to her to guide us back into the penthouse.

I make sure to close the curtains on the balcony doors when we’re back inside before grabbing my phone to look through my emails.

“Your plan must be genius if you don’t need me to go find a pretty man to catch Travis’s attention.”

“Ever heard of Maximillian Harp?”

Cress gives me a wry look and says, “I know every player who matters in the trade of sexual decadence.”

“No need for the sass,” I say absently as I check through my email. “Anyway, he sent me a standing invitation to his fine establishment not long after I joined Pray. He sends a personal reminder about it every few months in the hopes that one day I’ll attend.”

“Didn’t think you were into that kind of thing.”

“I’m not.”

Mostly because I’ve never needed to pay a woman to get her to my bed and do whatever the fuck I want her to do. But secondly because I don’t like the socializing that comes with clubs like that. Pretending to like a bunch of powerful men who I hate.

“And you think Travis will be?”

“Discrete club where a closeted gay devout Christian can indulge in his fucking supposed sin? Of course, he will,” I say as I find the invite and dial the number.

Harp immediately answers.

“Well motherfucking pinch me. I must be dreaming. To what do I owe the pleasure of a call from the Adrian Blake.”

I resist the urge to openly scoff.

“Mr. Maximillian Harp,” I say in my most charming tone. “I was thinking I could take you up on your offer. And, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to bring two guests with me.”

---