Palmer Fashion Week Ch 04

Chapter 4 — WEDNESDAY — A problem solved

Nikolay Volkov was awake early. It was a habit he'd never been able to break. The Russian only needed four or five hours sleep to get by, although he'd hardly slept at all last night. His plan was set to go and everything had to fall in place like clockwork.

He'd driven himself to his office, calling Angela on the way. He'd needed some stimulation, and right now his personal secretary was well on her way to providing it. He placed one hand onto the back of her head, tightening it in her jet black hair as she mouth-fucked him. Damn, this woman was good. Every bit as good as any he'd ever had—with just a couple of exceptions.

Jade and Roxie were the crème de la crème.

He'd built his empire from a humble beginning into the multi million pound organisation it was today—remarkable for a business originally founded on prostitution. Since then, although sex remained as the cornerstone to his success, he'd learned that there were more lucrative ways to use his better-known girls.

The party arranged for tomorrow night would see another couple of money-spinning contracts agreed—deals he had been working on for some time—and his supermodels would be used as incentives to finalise each of those complicated business deals.

But there was one important piece of business that needed taking care of before then. Maintaining his grip on Angela's hair, he picked up his phone with his other hand and hit speed dial.

"Sergii," he said, when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. "You received my instructions?"

"I did."

"Everything is clear?"

"It is."

Volkov nodded contentedly to himself and reached across Angela's bobbing head. Dammit, if she kept sucking him like that, he'd cum soon. And he hadn't fucked her yet. He opened the small silver box, wetting his finger with his tongue before scooping up the white powder. He rubbed it across his lips before dragging his secretary's head upwards and smiling encouragingly into her fevered eyes.

"Open up," he softly told her, nudging her lips with the side of his finger.

As her mouth obediently widened, he scooped up another finger-full of the white powder and rubbed it across her gums. It mixed with the saliva hanging from her hungry lips. Like the sexy bitch she was, she eagerly sucked on his finger like she had just done on his cock.

One day, he'd fully initiate her into the delights of cocaine, but maybe not yet. One step at a time. Besides, he had something more important on his mind right now. The recent interests he'd established in Columbia had added narcotics into his business mix—and soon he would have the Middle East market, too.

That's why it was so important to erase Tony Yamamura's threat.

"Vladimir Kazakov could be dangerous," he said, back into the phone.

"You have nothing to worry about," the voice replied. "The plan is foolproof. Kazakov kills Yamamura. I kill Kazakov, and plant the evidence. I won't fail you."

Volkov nodded contentedly as he ended the call. Sergii hadn't let him down yet He never would.

With a throaty growl, he turned his attention back to his secretary. Angela was deep-throating him now and the bitch had him on the verge of blowing. Gripping her hair more tightly, he slowly tugged her head upwards so that he could look her directly in the eyes.

"Time to fuck," he simply said.

*

Jenn Finney checked the time on the illuminated bedside clock. Was it really that early? She hadn't slept at all, had she? Well, yes, she must have dozed off a few times. Her vivid dreams were testament to that. Dreams that had taken her to places she shouldn't have gone...

Part of her was embarrassed over what had happened during the shoot yesterday. She'd never even thought about being with another woman before, let alone kissed one. But then, Michelle Park had been persuasive. Very persuasive.

Remarkably, the heated session had worked to her advantage. Her cover had held up and she'd successfully negotiated the photo shoot. Who would have thought that possible? The question was where she went from here, and the answer made her shiver with anticipation.

What better way to move forward than to use her connection with Michelle Park?

Sandra Wilson had told her to get close to Nikky Volkov's operation, see how it fitted together. Now that she was accepted as the new girl on the modelling scene, who better than the Korean American model to give her the inside track on the way things worked? She'd won season two of Supermodel, after all. She was one of Volkov's top models.

Okay, Jenn would have to be careful not to compromise herself. She was a cop, after all. Michelle was clearly bisexual and seemed attracted to her. What would happen if she wanted to take things further? But then, every girl had flirted with guys from time to time and kept them at arm's length, so why not with a woman? Nothing was going to happen between them and if she gained the information she wanted, the end justified the means, right?

Her heart beat faster as her imagination began to take hold. There wasn't any denying that the kiss between them had been hot. What would it feel like to make love to another woman? She'd always wondered. With a teasing slowness, she fed her right down between her partly-open thighs and began to stroke herself...

*

Tony Yamamura was brought out of his sleep by the lustful noises coming from the two hot and very naked women next to him. It felt like Michelle and Bree had been making love all night, in between their bouts with him.

It was morning now and they were still going at one another?

He wasn't sure whether their desire was driven by pure sexual attraction or the need to establish control. Michelle could be abrasive at times. Whenever she perceived another woman as a threat, she turned into a sexual dervish that devoured everything infront of her. And yet so far, Bree Jensen had proven every bit her sexual equal.

Pushing up on the bed, his eyes remained glued to the unfolding action beside him as he began to jerk his cock. Michelle was straddling the blonde now, holding her straight leg up across her shoulder as she rubbed their cunts together. Both women were grunting, panting and he felt like he was both watching and starring in his own porn movie.

It was just a shame that Jennifer Finney wasn't in the bed with them. Michelle had taken great delight in describing the way her teasing had led to their heated make-out session in the studio. That told him everything he needed to know about the brunette. He'd soon have her working for him—after he fucked her, of course.

That delight wasn't far away and the mouth-watering thought made his cock grow even harder in his palm. Suddenly, it was all too much. What was he doing watching these two highly-charged women fucking one another when he could join in the action?

Using both hands to push up onto all fours, he quickly moved between them and found Bree's warm lips with his own. But then Michelle was pulling his head away and curling an arm around his neck. She was competitive even over a kiss.

Then all three pairs of lips were finding each other—wet, sticky and hot—exchanging saliva as their three tongues lapped together.

When the women separated and pushed him onto his back, he decided to go with the flow. Why not let them control the action? Bree's hot lips found his again as Michelle climbed across his lap. With a possessive glance towards the blonde porn star beside her, his girlfriend teased him with her tight pussy before settling over his cock. He gasped out loud as she sank down on him.

"Don't forget who'll always be number one," she rasped, glancing at Bree again before turning her attention back to her boyfriend. She licked his chin lewdly as she tightened her internal muscles around him. "Let's show this bitch how a real woman fucks."

Yamamura almost laughed over the absurdity of her constant need to prove herself. But that was Michelle. His girlfriend would never change. And that need also made her the sexiest bitch on God's earth. When she stretched her frame, his half-laugh turned into a throaty growl. Hands clenched behind her head, she held her long black hair high on her scalp—posing for him, posing for Bree Jensen—as her athletic body began to gyrate on his like a stripper.

Fuck! This was going to be a wonderful day...

*

Jack Palmer was sitting with Roxie at a corner table in the hotel's restaurant. They were refueling their batteries with a light breakfast after their early-morning lovemaking session. Even under normal circumstances, they couldn't keep their hands off one another. But they'd both been on heat since their threesome with Jade.

He smiled across the table at his beautiful girlfriend. Even at her most casual, with her black baseball cap pulled down over her long red locks, she couldn't have looked more stunning.

Maybe that was why he'd finally told her about his conversation with Sandra Wilson? Despite his best intentions to keep the discussion to himself, for a while longer at least, she'd known something was on his mind. She always did. When she'd asked, he'd just come out with it.

They'd spent the last hour talking about Wilson's suspicions, turning them inside out in an attempt to make sense of it. There was nothing concrete, but then Palmer hadn't had anything substantial on Dominic DeVere when the London Met had started their investigation into the late businessman. And look how that had turned out...

The look of concern in Roxie's eyes told him that she'd been reliving some of those moments as they'd talked. But even so, her sudden pronouncement took him completely by surprise.

"I'll see out the rest of the week here," she told him, pushing a loose strand of red hair behind her ear and then nodding her head as if reinforcing the conclusion she'd just come to. "Then I'll look for employment elsewhere."

For a brief moment, he just stared into those beautiful green eyes. He hated the modelling world. He wanted to keep her out of Volkov's sphere of control. But ... this was her lifeblood. If she was going to leave it behind there had to be more to the decision than just impulse. He didn't want her to have any subsequent regrets.

"Oh, don't think I'm giving up modelling forever," she chuckled, reading his mind in the way that only she could. "I don't think I could do that, Jack. But maybe I could freelance. There are always lots of possibilities there."

"Why, Roxie?" he simply asked.

She smiled reassuringly at him for a few seconds before answering.

"I've no idea whether Sandra Wilson is right about what Nikky is up to," she softly said, reaching across the table to touch his cheek with the back of her fingers, "but that's irrelevant. A couple of things have happened recently which have made me reconsider what's best..."

Palmer's eyes narrowed as he waited for her to elaborate. She hadn't said anything about any concerns. Was it their encounter with Jade that was making her rethink?

"Such as?" he asked.

Roxie shook her head.

"They're not important, Jack. The thing is, after everything that happened with Dominic DeVere, I should never have signed with an agency again. Any agency. Men like Dominic and Nikky Volkov think they own the women who work for them, and to a large extent that's true. They hold their models careers in their hands, after all. But I never want to be in that position again."

Palmer nodded. He understood. Some of his girlfriend's scars from the DeVere case would never go away. When a server headed across towards them, asking if they wanted another coffee, he shook his head. They were coffee'd out.

"It's decided," Roxie decisively continued, as the server moved onto the next table. "I'll see out this week's contract, Jack, but that's it. I'll tell Nikky of my decision and then make a few phone calls. But I was thinking. After you've made contact with this woman—Jennifer Finney, you said?—why don't I talk to her, too? If she's posing as a model, then maybe I can help her, too?"

"Whoa," he firmly said, pushing back in his chair. He didn't want his girlfriend anywhere near this. "I don't want you involved, Roxie."

"Is that right?" she snapped back, although there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Look, Jack, if you're going to help out Sandra Wilson, then I'm going to help you. Besides, it's no big thing. I'll just see what I can do. Two heads are better than one in this situation, yes?"

She laughed out loud when he pulled a face. They both knew there was no changing her mind once she was set on something.

"Good..." she told him, removing her black baseball cap.

She shook out her red hair. Even the way it bounced around her shoulders was sexy.

"Now, why don't you take me back to our room?" she said, wiggling her eyebrows sexily. "By my reckoning, we have an hour to kill before I need to be out of here. Any ideas?"

*

The expression on Vladimir Kazakov's face had changed to a steely smile of anticipation. He lived for moments like this, especially as the target was Japanese. He fucking hated Asians as much as he hated Arabs. If he had his way, he'd rid the world of every one of them.

Still, after this killing there'd be one less to worry about.

Afterwards, he'd find one of the whores frequenting the hotel and sate his needs before it was time to catch his return flight to the Ukraine.

He hadn't expected Volkov to give in to his demands for more money so easily. That annoyed him. Maybe he should have asked for more? When it came down to it, big-time or not, every single one of the people he'd ever worked for had been scared of Vladimir Kazakov. Why? Because his reputation preceded him, that's why. They all knew what he was capable of. That meant he always had the upper hand.

This contract was clearly important to Volkov, so there had to be a way of squeezing more money out of the deal. He'd done it before, to a couple of minor league Ukrainians who'd thought they were better than him. The bastards had soon found out otherwise.

No-one fucked around with Vladimir Kazakov...

The five-star Jumeirah Zabeel Saray was a luxurious beachside hotel and he'd spent the morning checking it out, working out who did what, where and when. It hadn't been difficult. The people who worked here were so fucking stupid. They were so deferential to guests it almost made him puke.

He'd discovered that Yamamura's room was at the far end of the twentieth floor, conveniently opposite a room that had become vacant that morning. The Gods were smiling on him. He'd waited until one of the hotel staff had entered to clean the vacated room and then followed him inside. It had been like stepping into a luxurious palace. This was how these people lived?

It made him hate them even more.

The hotel cleaner was in the bathroom now, a bullet in his brain. That hadn't been strictly necessary, but why not? It relived some of Kazakov's anger.

His uniform didn't quite fit the Ukrainian assassin, but it would do. Once he'd changed clothes, he'd taken his usual pill. It always raised his senses to the level he needed for moments like this.

It made him feel like a God. He was a fucking God. He was the one who decided who lived and who died.

There were two women with Yamamura in his room. That hadn't been difficult to establish. He'd bribed a chambermaid earlier. Another fucking Arab.

If Yamamura exited with the women, he'd have to take them all out. There was no other choice. Yet in some ways, that would have been more satisfactory. It would prove to Volkov that Vladimir Kazakov was the one who made the decisions here.

So he'd been pissed again when he'd observed the two women leaving together. Especially as the speed was kicking in and his nerve ends were jangling with excitement.

He had surreptitiously watched them make their way along the corridor towards the lift. They were both attractive, even the Asian whore. Maybe he should have walked in on the three of them, blown the Japanese bastard's brains out, and then taken turns fucking her and the blonde before disposing of them in the same way?

It was too late for that now.

All that mattered at this point was to take care of his target and then figure a way to put a squeeze on Volkov.

*

Tony Yamamura glanced at the clock. It was almost midday, not that he really cared. He was exhausted. Even for someone who prided himself on his fitness, he was aching in places he didn't know he had. Had he ever been with two such demanding lovers?

But it wasn't his physical condition that was on his mind right now. It was the telephone conversation he was having with one of his contacts back in England. He'd just taken a shower and had started to shave when the call had come through. He nearly hadn't answered it. And now he was being told things that jeopardized all his plans.

"You've got to be mistaken," he snapped, trying to maintain his cool. "Are you sure?"

"There's no mistake."

Even over the telephone line, the embarrassment was clear in his contact's tone. Yamamura paid his people well for the jobs he asked them to do. How could they have fucked it up at this stage, especially with everything slotting into place. The timing couldn't be any worse.

He wanted to shout down the line, express his anger, but recriminations wouldn't help right now. There'd be plenty of time for those later. Until he sorted out this mess, he needed a clear head.

"Tell me again," he rasped, holding the phone in the crook of his neck as he re-tied the white towel around his slim waist.

"The London Met's Vice team are investigating Nikky Volkov's activities in England," the voice told him. "It's being kept hush-hush for now and—"

"Has my name been mentioned?"

"Not to my knowledge. Currently all they have is their suspicions about Volkov. But who knows what they'll come up with?"

Yamamura pursed his lips. His initial reaction was that the news was disastrous, but he was rapidly rethinking. Perhaps there could be a way of turning this to his advantage?

"And you say they've put someone in undercover?"

"That's right," the voice confirmed. "I don't have a name yet, but all the indications are that it's a woman. I'm working on it."

"Find out," Yamamura said. "Call me back as soon as you do. There's a lot riding on the outcome of this week. I can't afford any slip ups."

"Will do."

He tapped his lips in thought as he ended the call. Despite his request, the answer was staring him in the face.

Jennifer Finney.

It had to be. And if he was right, this could prove a blessing. For as long as she remained unaware she'd been rumbled, he and Michelle could use her position to their advantage. By feeding her incriminating information on Nikky Volkov, he could undermine the Russian. That would leave Yamamura to establish himself in Volkov's place.

What could go wrong?

*

Nikolay Volkov gazed happily around the ostentatious room. It was his second visit to Sheikh Amir bin Khalid's luxurious private residence in successive days. Yesterday had been necessary to rescue the contract he had previously agreed with the Sheikh. Today was the alibi he needed as the contract on Yamamura's head was delivered.

The room was familiar, with its sumptuous, luxurious pillows, sofas and the pool in front of them. But this time there were several pipes, one each for the four occupants. The combined effect of the opium Volkov had already consumed, along with the sitar music that filtered through the arabesque-etched columns and arches above them, added to the decadent feeling pervading the atmosphere.

There were two women in the room with Volkov and the Sheikh. One was blonde and the other was ebony skinned. Both were beautiful. The Russian had fucked Ayesha in this very room yesterday and he was looking forward to a repeat encounter.