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Raizo wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin, his gaze never leaving mine. “It’s not like you to part with your antiquities. You’re quite the collector of the rare and beautiful.”
He’s not wrong there. The women in my employ who see to the needs of The Meridian’s elite clientele are singular in their beauty and grace. Call it prostitution, call it an escort service, call it temporary matchmaking… whatever anyone wants to call it, we’ve turned some rough and desperate people into exceptional fantasy-fulfillers.
But that’s the difference between him and I. My employees are there of their own free will. The women who “work” for him do so without a say in the matter.
“I know when to diversify my assets.” I also know what Raizo is trying to pull from me. “Don’t tell me you doubt the quality of my products.”
Raizo offers another indifferent shrug. “If it’s something you’re willing to part with, I need to know why.”
Fair enough. “You caught me.” I flash him an impish grin. “I want to renovate my kitchen. The extra funds will bankroll these lovely imported tiles I’ve had my eye on.”
Raizo genuinely laughs. “And you mockmefor being ostentatious!” He nods and pulls out his phone from his coat pocket. “Fine, fine. Bring your artifact to the warehouse by Friday for inspection, and then?—”
“I was thinking.” I cut him off before he can finish telling me what to do. “You should host the auction at The Meridian.”
Raizo’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline. “Really?”
“Really. It’s about time we start working together like the friends we are, don’t you think?” We both know that word is very loosely applied to this tense alliance we’re in, but bystanders are listening. “I’ll throw in an open bar just to make your guests more comfortable. Drive the bidding high with some liquid help.”
He leans forward, officially interested. “Exactly what is this…antique… to you?”
I feign confusion. “Nothing. I told you: I just want money.”
“You’re one of the wealthiest men in Las Vegas.”
“When has enough ever been enough for men like us, Raizo? So I want more money. Is that a crime?”
Raizo considers me for a long, tense moment. I know he’s trying to find fault in my reasoning—or, better yet, fault in the woman I’m so casually pawning off to be sold like cattle at one of his skin auctions. His eyes follow my careful movements as I toss back a shot of sake and hiss at the burn.
But he doesn’t find anything, so he nods. “Fair point. Let’s call it a sixty-forty split?—”
“Eighty-twenty.”
He frowns. “Seventy-thirty.”
I pretend to think it over. In reality, I couldn’t care less if he wanted ninety-nine percent of the profits from Clara’s sale. I just want her punished, and I want her off my hands.
The money doesn’t hurt, though. She can’t pay him back the lost time her lies stole from him.
She might as well pay him back lost wages.
“Who’s on the guest list?” I dab a bit of wasabi on my sushi, then add a bit more. I see Raizo watch me with amused interest. I may like my tea sweet, but I’m no weakass when it comes to spicy food. The burn reminds me I’m alive. “Anyone I know?”
“Nice try.” He smirks. If I didn’t know him to be an underhanded overlord of a dangerous criminal syndicate, he’d give the impression of a classic businessman with what women call a “silver fox” appeal. A few streaks of silver glisten in his perfectly styled hair, and the way it keeps falling into his eyes adds to the boyish charm of that knowing smirk. “You know I don’t divulge our guest list.”
I lift a hand in mock surrender. “Of course. I was thinking of inviting Detective Everett, but if he’s already coming…”
Raizo freezes on the spot. It’s almost impossible to see in this dim lighting, but the blood drains from his face.
Interesting.
“Why? He’s no antiquities dealer. And his salary barely affords…”
I catch his drift.Why invite a police detective to a slave auction?Good question.
“Added security.” I take another shot of sake to wash down the wasabi. And to plaster on a far more convincing poker face than his. “It will put your guests at ease knowing there’s enhanced protection in all areas.”
Translation: plainclothes cops at a slave auction are obviously dirty, so there’s no risk of a raid.
