The morning sun over the Hollywood Hills was too bright, too clinical. It exposed the cracks in the world Dave had stolen. He was sitting in the massive, marble-tiled kitchen of his mansion, a personal doctor stitching up the jagged gash on his shoulder. Dave didn't flinch. The physical pain was a grounding wire compared to the electrical storm in his head.
"You're lucky, Mr. Brown," the doctor murmured, snipping the last thread. "Another inch and you'd have lost mobility in this arm. No dancing for a week."
"I'll dance when I'm dead," Dave rasped, mirroring the cocky defiance he'd seen in Chris's old music videos.
As the doctor packed up, Hood walked in, trailed by a man in a sharp, grey suit who didn't look like security. He looked like the law.
"Chris, meet Detective Vance," Hood said, his voice low. "LAPD Major Crimes. He's the one who made the black SUV and the 'incident' in the alleyway vanish from the morning police reports."
Vance didn't offer a handshake. He just looked at Dave with a mixture of boredom and calculation. "The Lamborghini is officially 'stolen.' The security footage from that block has been corrupted by an 'electrical surge.' And Silas? Silas doesn't exist anymore. But we have a problem, Chris."
"What problem?" Dave asked, wincing as he pulled a fresh silk shirt over his bandages.
"Silas worked for Lorenzo Rossi," Vance said, leaning against the kitchen island. "Rossi isn't just a record executive. He's the bridge between the cartels and the West Coast music industry. He used the real... I mean, he used you to move high-grade product in your tour trucks. Now that his cleaner is gone, Rossi is coming for the source. He's already called your manager. He wants a 'sit-down' dinner tonight to discuss the future of your partnership."
Dave felt the familiar cold sweat of David Burd prickling his neck. "A sit-down? Like the Mob? I'm a rapper, not Michael Corleone."
"Tonight, you're both," Vance said, his eyes narrowing. "We want Rossi. We've been trying to pin him for years, but he's too insulated. We need someone on the inside to trigger a confession or a hand-off. You host the dinner. You wear a wire. We stay in the surveillance van outside. You get us Rossi, and your 'legal troubles'—including the shooting last night—stay buried forever."
Dave looked at Hood. Hood gave a slow, somber nod. There was no choice.The mansion was transformed by 8:00 PM. The long mahogany dining table was set for three: Dave, Rossi, and Rossi's "associate." But Dave had added his own flair. He knew Rossi would expect the "King" to be distracted, arrogant, and surrounded by beauty.
Dave called in Mya, the most ambitious and "professional" of the girls from the five-sum. He told her the truth—partially. He told her a dangerous man was coming to extort him, and he needed her to be the ultimate distraction.
"You want me to keep his eyes off the paperwork?" Mya asked, wearing a dress that was essentially two pieces of black dental floss and a prayer.
"I want you to make him forget he has a brain," Dave said.
Lorenzo Rossi arrived with the confidence of a man who owned the air he breathed. He sat across from Dave, his eyes cold and calculating.
"You're late with the payments, Chris," Rossi said, swirling a glass of vintage Petrus. "Silas is missing. People are talking. I don't like talk."
We move fifty kilos in the lighting rigs for the Vegas show. You take ten percent. We stay friends."
"I want fifteen," Dave countered, his heart hammering. "And I want it in offshore accounts, not cash."
Rossi chuckled. "Aggressive. I like it."
As the tension peaked, Mya made her move. She didn't just serve wine; she leaned over Rossi, her breasts grazing his shoulder, her hand lingering on his neck. "The business sounds so boring, Lorenzo," she whispered, her voice like velvet. "Chris told me you were a man of... refined tastes."
Rossi's eyes drifted from Dave to Mya's cleavage. The shark was momentarily mesmerized by the siren.
"Who is this?" Rossi asked.
"This is Mya," Dave said, catching Mya's eye. He gave her the subtle nod. "She's my favorite. But for a partner like you? I'm willing to share."
Rossi looked at Mya, then back at Dave. The greed for money was momentarily eclipsed by a much older kind of hunger. "A very... generous offer, Chris."
Rossi didn't even finish his steak. Mya led him to the guest wing, his hand firmly on her waist.Inside the suite, Mya went to work. She didn't just seduce Rossi; she dismantled him. She pushed him onto the oversized plush bed, her hands moving with a practiced, predatory grace. She stripped him down, her tongue tracing a path of fire from his chest to his thighs.
"You're a powerful man, Lorenzo," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr as she took him into her mouth.
She was relentless. She used her throat with a rhythmic, deep-suction technique that had Rossi gasping, his hands clutching the silk sheets. She didn't give him a moment to breathe. When he tried to pull her up, she flipped him over, mounting him and riding him with a violent, athletic intensity.
The sex was raw and unfiltered. Mya was a blur of motion, her breasts swinging in his face, her internal muscles clenching around him like a vice. She moved from position to position—doggy style, then pinning his arms back as she hammered her hips against him. Rossi was sixty years old, and Mya was pushing him like he was a twenty-year-old athlete.
"God... yes... Mya!" Rossi roared, his face turning a deep shade of purple as he struggled to keep up with her pace.
She bent over, letting him take her from behind, her moans filling the room as she guided him to his limit. Every time he neared a climax, she would slow down just enough to tease him, before ramping the speed back up to a punishing level. By the time they hit the hour mark, Rossi was a sweating, trembling mess, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Finally, Mya straddled his chest, leaning down to whisper in his ear as she worked him with her hands and her body in a synchronized frenzy. Rossi finally broke, his body stiffening as he let out a guttural, exhausted groan, unloading everything he had left into her.
Rossi lay there, his eyes half-closed, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. He was physically spent, his muscles feeling like lead.
"I'll... I'll get us some drinks, Lorenzo," Mya whispered, kissing his sweaty forehead. "You stay right there. Don't move."
"Don't... go... far," Rossi managed to wheeze, his arm falling limply off the side of the bed.
Mya stood up, slipped on her robe, and walked toward the door. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she looked at the hidden camera and gave a sharp, two-finger salute.
"GO! GO! GO!" Vance's voice crackled over the comms.
The bedroom door was kicked off its hinges with a deafening BANG. Flashbangs detonated, filling the room with white light.
"LAPD! DON'T MOVE! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!"
Rossi tried to scramble up, but his legs gave out. He was too exhausted, his nervous system fried from the marathon session Mya had just put him through. He fell back onto the pillows, naked and shivering, as three SWAT officers tackled him into the mattress.
"Lorenzo Rossi, you're under arrest for racketeering, conspiracy to distribute, and about six other things I'm going to enjoy reading to you," Vance said, stepping into the room and looking down at the broken boss.
Dave stood in the doorway, watching as they zip-tied the man who had been a shadow over his new life. Rossi looked at Dave, his eyes filled with a hazy, confused rage.
"You... you set me up..." Rossi coughed.
"I told you, Lorenzo," Dave said, adjusted his silk robe and leaning against the doorframe. "I'm streamlining the business. And you're an overhead cost I can no longer afford."
Mya walked up to Dave, leaning her head on his uninjured shoulder. "He's a sleeper, Chris. I don't think he'll be waking up for a long, long time."
Dave looked at Vance. "We're square now? The shooting, the car... it's all gone?"
Vance nodded, holding up a digital drive containing Rossi's recorded confession and the transaction data. "The record is clean, Breezy. Just try to keep the bodies to a minimum for the rest of the week."
As they dragged Rossi out, Dave felt a massive weight lift off his chest. Silas was gone. Rossi was in a cage. For the first time since the accident, Dave Burd felt like he actually owned the throne he was sitting on.