The Love of Wicked Men (Season One: Episodes 1-6)

By Brandon Shire

The Love of Wicked Men is an erotic journey into the underbelly of the legal profession, the corporate culture of profit-at-any-cost, and the secret world of industrial espionage.

Six action-packed episodes!

Sid Rivers and Jack Brown are two sides of the same coin. One is a lawyer with his own firm and dreams of money and power; the other is a criminal with a lengthy record and a quest for vengeance. When they meet, sparks fly. But was their meeting an accident? Or, was it planned by the billionaires who want to control their destiny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandon Shire
• Release date: Jun 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310826115

Brandon Shire

Great stories should not depend on gender or sexual preference of a character, but instead upon the strength of the characters and the honesty and urgency of the story.Brandon Shire proves he understands the complexity of writing LGBT fiction from two very different viewpoints – serious and smexy. His serious fiction is written for those who enjoy a book which explores life’s darker elements in a more literary form, while the smexy fiction is for those who enjoy a graphically erotic romance.Regardless of the differentiation above, Brandon writes for people who enjoy being challenged, and for those who strive to understand situations they don’t typically encounter. He pens raw, emotional stories about characters which readers will either love or love to hate.Life and love are pretty damned special, but neither is always perfect. Life can be painful, and real love hard to find. Brandon’s fiction is an exploration of the (sometimes) arduous search for the happiness we all desire.BRANDON SHIRE was chosen as a Top Read in 2011, Best in LGBTQ Fiction for 2011 & 2012, and won a Rainbow Award for Best Gay Contemporary Fiction.

Book preview

Each episode of this book was written and published separately over the course of several months. Readers of those episodes had wide latitude in offering comments and suggestions about where they thought the story should go. The result, which you are about to read, is dedicated to those fans and the beta readers which helped make this extraordinary project a success.

Special thanks go to Lisa, Joleen, Viv, and Anna. I could not have done it without their help.

Episode 1

Chapter 1

Sid Rivers sat in his law office in Huntsville, Alabama listening to his partner, Larry Dunn, bitch about the criminal trial they’d just come in from. Larry was whining like it was a major case that would affect the profits of their firm, and he was starting to piss Sid off. Rivers & Dunn had nothing to do with criminal law. There’s wasn’t enough money in it for Sid to be happy, and certainly not enough aptitude required to keep him interested.

He stabbed you. Larry’s volume was low, but punctuated with anger in Sid’s typically quiet office.

Sid lifted his elbow slightly, tilted his well-muscled arm away from his body and looked down at his bicep. There was a small scar just below the cuff of his tailored short sleeve shirt. It was less than an inch and would easily escape notice if you didn’t know it was there. Certainly no one would see it with his suit coat on.

Sid shook his head, disagreeing. He just nicked me. He could’ve stabbed me if he really wanted to. It was an accident. He turned with the knife in his hand. He was as surprised as I was.

Accident? He was robbing the goddamn store.

And he looked so hot doing it, Sid murmured with a smile. He leaned back in his chair; his hands interlocked behind his head, and blew out a breath full of unadulterated lust, his eyes immediately distant.

Sid didn’t know what happened, not really. He’d stopped to buy a pack of mints and when his eyes connected with Jack Brown, he felt an electric jolt of lust he hadn’t grappled with since college. By the look in Jack’s eyes, Sid thought he’d felt it too. Neither of them had even noticed the small cut on Sid’s arm until his shirt tinged red.

You should’ve seen how his arms bulged while he was waving that knife around…

Larry threw his hands up. It’s not just your fucking funeral, you know? We’re not in college anymore. You’re not the anti-jock all the flaming little queer boys are lusting after. That was twenty years ago.

Sid looked at his law partner for the first time. What’s your problem?

You just committed perjury. That’s my fucking problem, Larry barked across Sid’s desk. "You could be disbarred if anyone ever found out. We could lose everything."

Perjury? Sid rose from his chair and went to the private bar, pouring a glass of cognac. He swirled it in the glass for a moment, watching the liquid move. This was the Assistant DA’s fault, not his. I didn’t pick him out in a lineup. I never identified him except in a verbal description. Sid countered. Patty should’ve asked me to identify him before she put me on the stand. That’s her fault. She didn’t do her follow-up. I can’t help it if she hasn’t learned how to do her job after ten years as ADA.

You lied because you want to fuck him, Larry spat. You’re going to jeopardize everything we’ve built just to get a piece of ass? Do you really think Patty Walker is going to forget that you publicly fucked her over in open court with that bullshit? Monroe is talking about retiring. She could be the DA in five years. How many Bar functions have we gone to and sat beside her? She won’t forget it, I can tell you that.

Irritation crossed Sid’s face. It was convenient for Larry to claim how we built the practice when, in fact, it had been Sid doing the building. Larry took the safe cases – like helping mom-and-pop operations set up limited liability companies, or making sure the local donut shop wasn’t getting screwed over by someone who slipped on spilled jelly. But those clients didn’t pay all the bills. They just kept Rivers and Dunn in good standing with the locals. Sid’s clients were paying the bills and making them rich in the process. Because when one company with a pesky problem called, others followed, and those were exactly the kind of relationships Sid cultivated. He didn’t give a shit about donut shops and LLCs.

I didn’t fuck her, he told Larry. "She fucked herself with an assumption. She’s a better lawyer than that and she should’ve asked before they took it to court. It might have saved her the embarrassment."

It’s called professional courtesy.

"Oh? So between lawyers it’s professional courtesy to lie on the stand, but for everyone else it’s perjury? I didn’t recognize him, not one hundred percent. And there are worse things I could be disbarred for. A lot worse." He met Larry’s eyes over the rim of his glass as he took a swallow. It was a challenge. Not everything Rivers and Dunn worked on was completely legit. They didn’t do anything outright illegal, but some of the stunts they pulled weren’t exactly ethical either. Larry had a bad habit of forgetting that when the checks rolled in.

"You told the judge you didn’t recognize him as the man who stabbed you. You said you were sure it wasn’t him. And those other things…that’s business. Our business and we agreed never to mix business and pleasure."

You’re starting to bore me, Larry. Sid returned to his chair and leaned back again.

Bore you? A flush rose up from Larry’s collar. Yeah, well, don’t let your fucking dick do the thinking. We’ve got too much on the line. You’re not the only one who will go down if you fuck up.

Sid rolled his head on his shoulders, stretching as his eyes roamed the ceiling. Larry had gone to shit since he got married. He used to be fun. He used to like to push the edges of the law, but now his dentist husband kept him hen-pecked and homebound. Sid had vowed long ago that he would never be in a relationship like that.

Not that he’d ever met a man he’d consider for anything other than a quick fuck. But still, if he did come across Mr. Right, he damn sure wouldn’t be kowtowing to him like Larry did with Richard.

He strummed his fingers across his desk as he leveled his eyes at Larry. He needed a challenge, and listening to Larry’s bullshit wasn’t it. Watching Jack Brown rob the convenience store with a knife, now that had been a challenge. Not because Sid had been scared; he hadn’t. Not at all. He could give as well as he got. It was a challenge because he’d wanted to grudge fuck Jack Brown right there on the counter next to the register while the clerk looked on in horror at all their hot, sweaty man sex.

A grin slowly spread across his face. You should’ve seen the smile he threw me when we left the courtroom, Sid said just to agitate Larry further.

Larry’s lips tightened to a white line. He shook his head, got up and blew an exasperated breath as he walked around his chair to the bar. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and came back to sit down across from Sid.

Do you remember what we said when we started this firm? Sid asked, his mind still lingering on the moment he’d met Jack’s eyes.

"Yes. You’re either the neck or the boot. I remember it quite well. We were going to be the guys wearing the boots, Larry answered. What does that have to do with anything?"

I don’t think Jack Brown ever knew there was a neck. He’s always been the boot.

And?

We could use somebody like that.

Larry sputtered, the water dribbling down his chin. No fucking way. He looked down at his shirt and went to the bar to grab a towel. "We’re not putting an ex-con on the payroll. He dabbed at his shirt and met Sid’s eyes with an angry glare. He’ll ruin us."

Sid stood and poured himself another drink. He leaned against the bar. Don’t be so fucking naïve, Larry. I didn’t hear you complaining when you and Richard paid off your mortgage. Save the self-righteous bullshit for your church-going friends. If I can lock down this petroleum deal, we might need someone like him.

Sid knew he had him. The oil account was going to make them multi-millionaires faster than either of them had ever anticipated. If he could land the account.

Larry’s ire waned, and he looked over at Sid as he took another swig from his bottle of water. You really trust this guy? Not the ex-con, I mean your old buddy from D.C.

Yes, Sid answered without reservation. It was a blatant lie. Sid didn’t trust anyone, especially lawyers based in Washington. He’d been forced to resign from a junior position with a prestigious law firm because one of his coworkers in the highly competitive environment had started blackmailing him. He never found out who it was. The only person from the firm who had called and asked why he was resigning was Rick Messier. The call, though supportive, had put Messier at the very top of Sid’s list of suspects. And he didn’t consider Messier a buddy.

But it was Rick Messier who had called last month and said he’d been hearing good things from Sid’s little part of the world and might be able to send something his way. He knew Sid flouted the edges of ethics and Messier’s client didn’t mind that. They needed results. If Sid was interested.

Sid only had to hear the word petroleum and his cautious skepticism evaporated. The oil industry spent billions on lawyers, and when they found a firm who did their bidding with little fuss, they stayed with that firm and made the partners rich. Rivers & Dunn wasn’t poor by any means, but compared to the standards set with petroleum legal money, Sid’s firm was a slum in the absolute shittiest part of the legal world.

When Sid asked why Messier thought to send the business his way, Messier’s answer was simple. It was a local problem. The client wanted a local firm who could get relatively quick results by means which big-name law firms might not condone. The client had done some quiet poking around and found Rivers & Dunn had been building a solid reputation as a regional firm that delivered results. Rick hadn’t realized it was Sid’s firm until they looked closer, but when he found out who was at the helm, he informed the client that Sid Rivers didn’t fuck around. Or so he claimed.

Sid believed about one-tenth of the entire conversation, but he wasn’t willing to let potential millions slip through his fingers because he didn’t trust the bullshit Rick Messier was giving him. He’d listen to what the client had to say before he made any decisions.

But that was a lie too. Short of assassinating the president, Rivers & Dunn would be taking the petroleum contract. And if Sid had to drop every other client to do whatever needed to be done, then he had plans for that too.

And that brought his thoughts back to Jack Brown. Jack had an aura about him that seemed as ruthless as he was muscled, and Sid recognized his potential the second Jack walked into the convenience store.

Jack Brown, Sid said, turning the conversation back to him. I’m not saying we run out and hire him. But we might need someone with his kind of potential somewhere down the road.

Please. Enlighten me, Larry snarled. He didn’t believe a single damned word.

"Jack Brown didn’t rob the store with a knife because he didn’t have a gun. He used a knife because it made things go faster. He didn’t need a weapon. A trait like that isn’t just something we can use; it’s something we’re going to need."

Larry’s lip curled as he tossed the towel down on the bar. And you saw all that in a man you couldn’t identify in court?

Yes, Sid acknowledged before he downed the rest of the cognac. All of that and more.

My answer is still no. Larry scowled and turned, his hands clenching at his sides as he stomped toward the door.

Sid watched him walk from the office, amused at his little outburst. Larry could be such a drama queen at times. And he didn’t seem to realize Sid hadn’t been asking for permission.

Chapter 2

As soon as Sid pulled up in front of the house the next day, he knew this would be an easy sell. It was a typical southern white-trash dumping ground – peeling gray paint, rotten roof, broken upstairs window covered in cardboard, and a cracked, sun-bleached Big Wheels in a dusty, overgrown yard. He rechecked the address against Jack’s court papers to be sure and stepped from the car.

An overweight, unkempt blonde girl with a bad dye job leaned against the inside door jamb and stared out at him through the dirty screen. She looked much too young to be a mother, but the kids he heard screaming in the background made him think otherwise. She pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the sloping porch as he got out of the car, her posture resigned to the confrontation she sensed was coming. Sid immediately noted the rip in the side of her black capris and the baby vomit on the left shoulder of her dingy white shirt.

We don’t have any money, so there’s no use getting out of your car, she said as he approached.

Are you Mrs. Brown?

She scoffed. Hell no. What’s he done now?

Who’s that? Sid asked. She had an uneducated backwoods drawl, which Sid likened to hanging out on the back of too many pickups during school hours. Trash, pure trash.

She studied him carefully, her eyes narrowed, suspicion raising her hackles. "Mister Brown is my brother, Jack. Ain’t anyone else here by that name."

I’m not a cop, Sid offered, trying to reassure her.

Whatever. Her mouth twisted in further disbelief.

You ever see a cop dressed like this? He hadn’t met any civil servants who could afford the suit he had on, much less the car he pulled up in.

She looked him over in silence, seeming to consider it.

I’m interested in offering him a job. He pulled a card out of his coat and handed it to her.

You’re offering Jack a job? Are you for real? she asked, not reaching for the card.

It’s real. I’m a partner in a law firm.

Must be one shady law firm if you wanna hire Jack. He don’t know shit about the law, ‘cept how to break it.

Will you give him the card anyway? Sid asked. I promise. The offer’s legit.

She reached out and slowly slid the card from his fingers, studying it before she looked up at him. He’s still out on a bender, or he might be back in jail. Don’t know. Phone’s off again so he can’t call for bail money, which I don’t have anyway.

Sid nodded. She seemed like she wanted to talk, and he was more than happy to let her. He wanted to know as much as he could about Jack Brown before they met again.

He won his last case because some idiot couldn’t ID him in court. He went out celebrating. That was two days ago. Ain’t seen him since. You may want to check the county lock-up.

I’ll do that. Thanks, Sid answered as he started back to the car. He turned to her, hearing the kids still screaming in the house. Those his kids or yours?

Her face changed immediately as if she was expecting criticism or condemnation. Mine, she snarled. You want to hire them too? Or just me?

He pulled his wallet out from the inside breast pocket of his suit and handed her three crisp hundred dollar bills. Consider that an advance on Jack’s rent money. I’m sure he’s probably past due. Use it for yourself and the kids. You look like you need a break.

She snatched the bills from his hand and her face softened. He thought he saw something behind her eyes, something desperate. Hope.

She held her hand out, almost as an afterthought. I’m Savannah.

He went still and stared at her before quickly regaining his composure. Sid Rivers. It’s on the card, he offered with the brightest forced smile he could offer. He shook her hand and met her eyes, noting how they fell in what he guessed was a demure attempt at seduction.

He snorted to himself and got in the car. That shit wasn’t going to work. And as far as he was concerned, hope was a fool’s game. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago. Now, he only invested in himself.

Chapter 3

Jack’s phone rang. He pulled the binoculars from his face and picked up immediately.

He’s an arrogant fuck.

Jack watched Sid drive off in his one-hundred-eighty-thousand dollar Aston Martin, his smug attitude leaving a nearly visible trail behind the car. I told you he was. He took the bait?

Hook, line, and sinker. Gave me three bills too. Poor little overweight white girl all fluffy-eyed over his rich ass. I wanted to slap him upside the fucking head, she spat as she walked into the house and clicked off the recording of the screaming infants. I can’t wait to pop this asshole.

He’s only a means to an end. Remember that, Jack advised. What else did he say?

He wants to offer you a job?

A job? That was a twist he hadn’t expected. He rubbed his chin as he considered how it could change things. What did you tell him?

Same story. Didn’t know where you were, probably out on a bender…just like we rehearsed.

Jack nodded to himself. Good.

He tripped on the name too. Just like you said.

I thought he would. That’s our leverage right there.

So how long do I have to stay in this dump? she asked. It’s a fucking roach motel.

Depends on how long they take to vet him. As soon as their team comes through, you should be out of there.

That could take weeks, she complained.

It’s the job. Deal with it. He hung up and picked up his binoculars again, laughing from two streets over as she stepped onto the porch and gave him the finger.

He was in an apartment on the third floor of a triplex that had seen better days. It had taken him months to find these two properties, and another two months to get the old tenants out and him in.

Lori, the woman waving the finger at him and posing as his sister, Savannah, was one of the best freelancers he’d ever worked with. She was no dumb blonde. She had a Ph.D. in computer science, a bachelor’s in cryptography and was one of the most feared hackers in the underworld of netizens. Those who underestimate Lori because of her looks usually paid dearly for it.

Pretty-boy Sid had done just that, and if anything pissed Lori off more than misogyny, it was condescension. Now Jack was going to have to keep her in check until they got to the real target, or she’d ruin everything.

A job, he mused aloud as he returned to the kitchen table and grabbed his coffee cup. That could work. Actually, it might work a lot better than his original plan. He’d be right in the middle of things, instead of trying to sneak around and find out what River’s firm was working on.

Jack hadn’t thought it would be so easy to ingratiate himself into Rivers’ life. But Rivers’ hubris was so over the top that the man actually thought he was one of the big players. In reality, Sid Rivers wasn’t even a fucking shadow on the board.

Jack nodded to himself as he sipped his coffee. He was going to capitalize on Sid’s arrogance. Rivers didn’t have a clue who he was dealing with, but Jack was going to educate him. It would be a hard learning experience, no doubt about that. But Rivers had it coming. And the people he worked for… They had a whole lot more coming, and Jack was going to make damned sure they paid. Every. Fucking. One.

Chapter 4

Two days later Sid was on the interstate weaving through Atlanta’s lunch hour traffic. The meeting wasn’t going to take long. He planned to drop the hammer on a plaintiff who had gotten in the way of one of his clients. He could’ve saved himself the trip and sent the opposing counsel all the paperwork electronically, but he enjoyed the kill too much to do that. He liked to watch the opposition squirm.

He used the autodial on his steering wheel and called someone he knew he could count on to be discreet and get the information he needed. Marty?

What do you want, you overpriced homo?

Sid chuckled. Marty Fenwick was the toughest lesbian he’d ever met. She retired from mixed martial arts competitions about seven years ago because she claimed she didn’t like beating up on the Barbie dolls they were putting in the cages nowadays. Sid thought she was just getting too old, but he wouldn’t say that to her face. She’d probably beat his ass. Now she was a private investigator. And a damned good one. She’d come through for him every time he’d used her and never asked questions about what he did with the information she dug up.

You find a woman yet? he asked her as he pushed through the heavy traffic.

Fuck no. You got someone for me?

Nobody could hold a candle to you, Marty.

He heard a breathy grin with her exhale of cigarette smoke. Marty wasn’t cute and never would be. She was plain, solid, tattooed and toting a buzz-cut, which she thought made her look younger than she was. It didn’t. Most people thought she’d be better suited to a battlefield than wrapped up around the dainty lipstick lesbians she lusted after. Whatever, man. What the fuck you want? I’m busy here.

You have a client? Sid asked in surprise. She had her office over on Seventh Street in a dusty hovel on the second floor. Below her was an old, boarded-up butcher shop. Her office perpetually stank of curing meats even though the place had been closed for at least a decade or more. The scarred wooden floor held almost as much dust as the furniture. Sid had dropped in once and couldn’t find a place to sit that wouldn’t have ruined his suit.

Bitch, you think the rent gets paid on this place by your lame ass? Marty asked. "I’ve got plenty of paying clients and no time for someone wasting my time. So speak your piece or fuck off."

Fair enough. Need you to find someone for me.

One of your big lawyer cases? she asked.

No, he answered. This is personal. I need a background check and then I need you to locate him. He could hear her pen skittering across a notepad. She refused most modern technology claiming she didn’t have time to keep up with it. Instead, she had one of those doll-like lesbians do her online research. Sid wasn’t sure if Marty honestly couldn’t figure out the tech, or if she was still trying to get in the hot girl’s pants. He didn’t care either way, as long as she got the job done.

He heard a knock in the background and listened as she scooted her chair across the old worn floorboards and went to the door.

This from you? she asked him without explanation.

Does anyone else send you shit through a private courier? he asked in reply.

No, she retorted. They usually come down here, sit their fat ass down and whine about how their spouse is cheating on them.

He heard her rip the envelope open and slide the file out. You should be a marriage counselor, he told her. They make more money.

Fuck that, she replied, distracted as she looked over what he sent. Can’t stand all their fucking crying. I’d just tell ‘em to leave. Men are shit.

There was a moment of silence. He been in the cage? she asked.

Sid knew she was looking at the mug shot. She ranked every person she saw as to whether they’d be able to survive a cage match or not. Jack Brown definitely looked like he could.

Don’t think so, he answered, but I guess it’s possible. You’ll find out. I want to know everything about him.

You’ve got a full file right here. What do you need me for? She flipped through the few pages he’d put together.

There’s more to him than his rap sheet, and I want to know what it is.

I doubt it, but it’s your dime.

Standard rate? he asked.

It’s gone up, she informed him.

I bet. Send the bill to the firm. There’s a retainer check in the bottom of the envelope. He weaved around some slow grandma in his lane as Marty fished the cardboard envelope out of the trash. How did I miss that? she asked vaguely.

We set? he asked.

This will work. Give me a week or two.

Two weeks? he asked, perturbed. He wanted to know more about Jack now. The only reason he hadn’t checked himself was because he was waiting to hear back from Rick Messier about the initial meeting for the new client. Rick had given him very specific instructions about how the anonymous client wanted things handled. There would be no way for anyone to trace anything back to them, so even the meeting was circumspect. Sid had a few clients like that already, but none at this level of paranoia.

Got some fag beating up on his boyfriend, Marty replied, answering his question. He needs a lesson and I need a week to give it to him.

Sid laughed. Marty had loved the cage, but she loved underdogs more and wouldn’t tolerate someone pounding on a defenseless opponent. Call me if you need bail money.

The offer caught her by surprise, as her silence indicated. You must really want this guy bad.

Like I said, it’s personal.

Like your sister personal or business personal?

Sid’s laughter stopped as his jaw tightened. Marty was the only person who knew about his sister’s case; and only because he’d gotten sloppy drunk one night and asked her to dig into it. After he’d sobered, he called and told her to forget about it.

Marty wasn’t the right investigator for his sister’s case and never would be. He has nothing to do with Savannah.

Just checking, she replied. Two weeks.

Good mood banished, he clicked off and autodialed his office, checking in with his secretary, Cheryl. You called?

He liked Cheryl despite her religion. She was an old Christian woman who frowned whenever Richard showed up at the office and reached for Larry’s hand. Sid would’ve kept her on just for that, but she was efficient, effective and kept her mouth shut. He didn’t give a damn if she approved of his or Larry’s lifestyle, just how she worked.

Yes, Mr. Rivers. Keith has a brief from the Tirella case he’d like your input on. He said he forwarded it to you already but hadn’t heard back yet.

He needs me to hold his hand? Sid asked.

Apparently, Cheryl answered with a snort of suppressed humor in her voice. Mr. Messier called. He’d like to meet you in Mobile. He was very insistent, but I told him…

Clear my schedule, Sid interrupted. Get me a room in a B&B by the water. I’ll return in…two days. This was the call he’d been waiting for. All he’d needed was the location.

Yes, sir.

What else have you got?

She hesitated. Miss Walker called from the DA’s office. She was very unpleasant and wanted me to pass a message on to you.

Sid laughed. I’m sure she did. She’s a sore loser, Cheryl. Don’t worry about her.

Yes, sir.

Anything else?

Mr. Dunn asked me to remind you about his anniversary dinner tomorrow night.

Sid rolled his eyes. Who the fuck asked company over on their anniversary? It was supposed to be a quiet night for the couple, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like Larry and Richard had been married long. And Richard got on his fucking nerves. All southern and so Christian Sid wasn’t sure if he even shit like an ordinary man. Probably had a bidet filled with holy water just to clean his ass. Tell Mr. Dunn I had to go out of town on business and send them something for…whatever anniversary this is. He was sure Richard would be just heartbroken. There was no love lost between them.

Yes, sir. I’ll text the details for your trip.

He loved her efficiency. He’d take her old wrinkled ass over a big-boobed, airhead secretary any day.

He called Keith next to answer his questions on the brief.

Keith Summers had come on board as their eighth junior associate. He was hired specifically to take care of the mundane things Sid didn’t want to deal with – minor court appearances, depositions, and administrative hearings with regulatory agencies that a few of their newer clients required. It was the hack work that their legal assistants couldn’t do. Keith was straight, married, and a little too eager to please in Sid’s mind. But that was just the reason Larry had insisted on him because he brought stability to Sid’s chaos. He hadn’t been Sid’s choice for the position, but he did an adequate enough job that Sid hadn’t found any reason to replace him. Yet.

Sid hung up after finishing with Keith and spent a few more minutes trying to find the offices of Dennis Billow, his opposing counsel. He grumbled and muttered, wondering why the city of Atlanta couldn’t find another name besides Peachtree to plaster on every other road sign – even the damned GPS was confused.

He maneuvered through the one-way streets until he found the right parking garage and gave the attendant a twenty to keep an eye on his car. In Alabama, he’d never needed a guard for his car.

When he got off the elevator, he briefly glanced at the plaque beside the suite of his opposing counsel, Dennis Billow, Esq., and rolled his shoulders. Meetings like this always made his dick hard.

***

Sid smirked when he came into the conference room. They’d set up as if the meeting were a negotiation and they had the upper hand. They didn’t.

The secretary who showed him into the conference room went to a side table and started to bring coffee, but Sid waved her away. This won’t take that long, he said as he sat down and opened his briefcase.

You’re not taking her fucking house, David Clements snarled from the opposite side of the table.

Clements was the litigant in this case and just about everything Sid detested in a man. Sid glanced over at Billow with a single raised eyebrow and watched as Billow put a hand on his client’s forearm to calm him.

Six months ago, a developer had come to Sid asking for a quick way to move an old lady who was in the way of a major high-rise planned on the edge of Atlanta. They claimed they could take the house by eminent domain, but Sid doubted that. They didn’t meet the requirements for the legal definition of public good. But if the old lady cried in the right councilman’s ear, the adverse publicity would halt the project indefinitely, or kill it entirely. The company came to Rivers and Dunn instead. Sid only charged them half of their estimated cost overruns.

Sid set his team on the old lady, found her scumbag son, and dug into him. It wasn’t hard. David Clements owed significant cash to some very unsavory people in Vegas and had no way to pay it back. Sid offered a deal. David would get his mother to sign the house over to him by whatever means it took. Then Sid’s firm would pay the loan sharks and assume the debt to make it look like a long-held legal claim. Not that the details would ever come out in court, but Clements had signed the house to Sid’s firm on the very same day the deal was struck. He never had a chance.

"It’s not her house, Sid advised. It was your house, but you signed it over. Remember? I’m only here today to give you the courtesy of telling you to get the fuck out by the end of the month. That’s exactly two weeks from today."

Sid tossed a copy of the lien and the signed papers to Billow. He watched as Billow looked them over and shook his head.

They own the house. Why didn’t you tell me you signed these? he asked Clements.

They made me sign them, Clements managed, his jaw tight as he continued to glare at Sid. He was a burly redneck with no education and no future. He’d been a pseudo-carpenter once with two kids, a mortgage, and a beautiful wife. The wife dumped him when he couldn’t stop pissing their money away and now he carried a perpetual chip on his shoulder, thinking it was everyone’s fault but his.

Sid steepled his fingers on the conference table. "Made you? Did we make your mother sign the house over to you? Did we make you go sixty thousand dollars in debt?" You’re lucky you’re not dead, Sid thought as he met Clements’ angry eyes.

That house is worth more than sixty grand. You fucking stole it and we’re still going to sue your ass for fraud. And that was the basis of their claim; Sid defrauded the man and his poor mommy out of her house.

Sid sighed and pulled out another folder. Here’s the appraisal done just two months ago. The house was going to be condemned by the city anyway. It wasn’t worth shit. Only the land has value. He pushed the paperwork to the lawyer. Might have been worth something if some lazy asshole took care of it, but that never happened.

This says the property is worth twice the price you paid, Billow said before Clements could start yapping again.

Correct. Sid pulled out a third sheaf of papers. Here’s the other agreement your client signed stating that all excess monies from the sale of said house would return to his mother. He pushed that paperwork across the table. There’s a copy of a certified cashier’s check in the amount of seventy-five thousand dollars made out in her name. It’ll be delivered to her today. Sid stood and closed his briefcase shut with a snap. We’re done here.

Sid looked at Clements. If I were her, I’d toss your ass into the street and go buy myself a nice mobile home in Florida.

I’m gonna fucking kill you, Clements barked as he jumped up.

Sid leaned across the table, unafraid. All you have to do is try. He dismissed Clements’ huffing bravado and glanced at his useless lawyer instead. Have them off the property in two weeks, or I’ll have them arrested for trespass.

He turned and walked from the conference room, quietly closing the door behind him. Clements’ voice exploded behind the closed door and Sid shrugged at the secretary as he walked to the elevator. When the elevator door closed, he smiled.

Chapter 5

Sid was still chuckling when he got back to the car. Now what he needed was a piece of ass. The kill always made him horny. He knew a couple of places in the city for his itch and headed in that direction.

After cruising around for an hour, he spotted a young Latino with an ass to die for. Wrapped in tight, skinny jeans and some kind of halter looking shirt, the kid was walking down the street blabbering on his cell phone, completely oblivious to the erection growing in Sid’s pants.

How much? Sid asked when he pulled over and rolled down the passenger window.

He was even nicer up close – a small nose, broad cheeks, white teeth and beautiful almond colored eyes. Probably contacts, but Sid didn’t plan on staring at him when they fucked. He watched the kid’s gaze slide over the car and could see the dollar signs light up as he leaned on the door.

Two hundred.

Yeah, right, Sid laughed. Twenty.

A hundred.

How old are you, fourteen? Sid knew that wasn’t possible. The locals kept a close eye on who was trolling and watched for kiddy fiddlers. Underage hustlers stayed far from this street, as did the trolls who went looking for them.

That’s probably why you stopped, you fucking pervert. I’m twenty. And now it’s two hundred again.

God, he had a beautiful mouth. Sid wanted to stuff his cock in it right there. If you were worth two hundred, you wouldn’t be walking the street, Sid shot back. Fifty.

Seventy-five.

Sid stared at him for a moment. I can go down the street and get a blowjob for ten.

But you stopped here, he replied and stood upright. Crack-hoes are up the street, he added with a little sashay.

Sid smirked. He liked them smart and smart-mouthed. It got him hard as a rock, but once he’d tamed them, he was off hunting again. He leaned across the seat, caught the kid’s eye and jerked his head for him to get in the car.

Nice car, the kid said as he got in and ran his hand across the leather. Porsche?

Sid’s lip curled slightly. It’s an Aston Martin, twice the price of a Porsche.

The kid slid his eyes over to him. Cause you’re a bigger asshole?

Sid chuckled. This one was going to be fun. Exactly.

The kid pulled out his cell and started tapping on the screen.

You should pay more attention to your tricks, Sid said as he pulled into the traffic. You might get tipped better.

Just my peeps letting me know they got your plate number. He looked over. Lots of assholes in expensive cars think they can do anything they want and get away with it.

Sid liked listening to him, which was unusual when he picked up a hustler. His voice was mellow and smooth, not deep, but not high-pitched like some screaming queen’s either. He couldn’t wait to get the jeans off his hips and slide his hands down those light brown legs. There’s a spliff in the ashtray, Sid said, thrusting his chin down as he took a corner and headed towards Buckhead.

Please. You think I’m that easy to dope?

Sid rolled his eyes, pulled it from the ashtray and put it in his mouth. He searched his pockets for a lighter he knew he didn’t have and looked over at the kid. Got a light?

He wriggled in the seat, pulling out a yellow Bick from pockets so tight they looked painted on. Sid