Wicked Wives. Anna-Lou Weatherley

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      CHAPTER 16

      Tom watched as Candy threw herself around the dance floor like an epileptic on acid.

      ‘Come on!’ she beckoned to him above the deafening sound of Lady Gaga’s Born This Way. ‘What’s wrong with you? You’ve just won ten million bucks! If I were you, buddy, I’d be on the tables doing the frickin’ can-can.’ Tom raised a distracted smile. Truth was, Candy Wilson was beginning to grate on his nerves; it was coming up for three a.m. and, flying off her tits on coke, she was showing no sign of calling it a night.

      Deep down Tom knew he should really get the fuck out of Vegas, pronto. Access to this amount of ready cash was way too much of a temptation for the likes of him. It was like putting a dope addict in a field full of poppies.

      Agitated, he pulled at the collar of his bespoke white shirt. It was hot inside The Paradise Club, The Player’s resident hot spot which attracted the young, beautiful and rich from far and wide. He delicately sipped at a chilled glass of Cristal champagne from the magnum he’d bought earlier and took a pinch of coke from his snuff box in a bid to distract himself from the pull of the casino tables downstairs. Surely a little flutter on the roulette or the craps wouldn’t do any harm, the small voice inside his head whispered, besides, it would give him a breather from the coked-up Candy. He’d quite happily bung her a thousand bucks and her flight home if it meant getting shot of her. However, Tom had promised the girl a shopping spree with a champagne and lobster lunch thrown in and he was pretty sure hell would freeze over before she allowed him to renege on his word.

      ‘I’m going down to the casino for a bit,’ he shouted in Candy’s ear above the melodic voices of Pitbull and Ne-Yo. ‘You stay here, have some fun. Do some more coke.’ He handed her a fat bunch of hundred dollar bills and watched as her eyes lit up like diamonds. ‘I’ll meet you back at the suite – no rush, baby,’ he adding disingenuously, pressing his lips against hers and sliding his long tongue deep into her glossy, willing mouth.

      ‘Mmm,’ she made an appreciative noise as she merged back into the dancing throng. ‘I’ll be waiting for you,’ she cooed, lowering her eyes seductively.

      *

      Throwing back a tumbler full of bourbon, Tom swallowed hard. He’d only been at the craps tables for an hour and was already $750,000 down. He was thoroughly pissed at himself.

      ‘Another bourbon, sir?’ the overly made-up waitress in the tiny dress enquired as she hovered over him.

      ‘Make it a double, sugar,’ he winked. Tom ran his fingers through his dark hair, fighting back his agitation. This was just a little blip on what had otherwise been a momentous occasion and he wasn’t about to let it unduly concern him.

      ‘I hear you’ve had a pretty good night tonight, my friend,’ Tom looked up to be greeted by Marvin Katz’s familiar grinning mug, ‘congratulations.’

      Tom clapped Marvin’s shoulder with a victorious smile that made him look even more handsome than he was.

      ‘What can I say, Marv?’ he said with a hefty dose of false modesty, ‘you know how it goes; you win some you lose some.’

      Marvin took a seat next to Tom at the craps table and the waitress reappeared with a bottle of Maker’s Mark and two fresh crystal tumblers.

      ‘Cheers,’ the men knocked glasses, ice chinking.

      ‘Indeed,’ Marvin replied, careful to conceal his emotions. That Tom had just won big irked him, just as it did whenever anyone won big in his casino. The trick now was to make sure he stuck around and shared it all back out to the house again.

      ‘I’ve organised it for you to keep the Penthouse Suite for a further couple of days, Tom. Give you and that little piece you brought along time to get to know each other better.’ He gave a good-natured laugh that was as flimsy and transparent as a cellophane wrapper.

      Tom took pleasure in the knowledge that Marvin Katz was seriously pissed; pissed that he’d won big and pissed that he had a pretty, insatiable twenty-something on his arm who would quite happily suck his dick all night long without breaking a sweat.

      ‘And how’s your wife these days, Marv?’ Tom carefully enquired, wondering how Marvin would react if he knew that Tom had once given his wife, Elaine Katz, a mercy fuck in the back of her Mercedes a decade earlier. Not that he’d been given much choice in the matter. She’d practically lampooned herself on his dick, almost chewing half his ear off in the process.

      ‘Can’t complain,’ Marvin replied tightly, grimacing as he swallowed back the bourbon.

      ‘Send her my regards, won’t you?’ Tom said. ‘Is she still driving a Mercedes these days?’

      Marvin glanced at him, thinking it a strange question. How did Black know what car his wife drove?

      ‘Yes,’ he nodded, suspiciously, ‘E-class cabriolet. She upgraded to a new model some years ago – never looked back.’

      ‘Bet you wish you could say the same thing, eh Marv?’ Tom clapped him on the back again. Marvin Katz detected the lightest smirk upon Black’s face and felt an urgent need to wipe it off.