The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Angel Blake lay tangled in her sheets, sleeping. Her lithe, thin body wrapped up, ebbing and flowing with the cloth, covering some of her while showing other parts; a thigh, part of her side, an arm, a pale shoulder, her hands. She was sleeping in one of Brianna’s shirts, too big for her but sexy in the way it hung down on her body. She liked that. And the fact that it was Brianna’s, that it was the same shirt that touched Brianna’s body, her skin, marked her as Brianna’s. She liked that a lot.

She lay with a soft smile on her very young looking, pretty face, subsumed in the goose feather pillow she loved. Her dark lashes resting on her alabaster skin, black lines accentuated on a white background. Her short, spiky hair was matted down and crazy around with sleep. She dreamed of Brianna, as she often did.

Suddenly it felt like an earthquake was rocking the bed, her body being riven and shaken with violent force. Her blue eyes popped open.

But it was no monster or predator or boogie man who destroyed her sleep reveries, but her girlfriend. Her eyes gained focus slowly, the cobwebs draining away to reveal another vision, a real one: Brianna Brandt, the love of her life, covered with blood on her face, hands and body.

“Pack up your things, now!” Brianna said in voice Angel had never heard before. It was pure fear. “We have to get the fuck out of here.”

The red BMW sports coupe tooled down the highway, putting Miami behind, heading west, but always at or under the speed limit. Too many idiots got pulled over for speeding when they could least afford it. You read about them all the time, car pulled over for speeding, ten kilos of coke or massive bricks of weed found in the trunk; another fool in a hurry to get to jail because of a lead foot and a weak brain.

Brianna wasn’t carrying loads of drugs in the car; she was many things, but no fool. She was leaving behind a big, fat mess along with her and Angel’s jobs, the nightclubs, her college classes, the beaches, too many fun times to count and the gold coast.

And she was not sure what the fallout of her night would be, if any. But if things broke wrong, there could be some bad shit and she was not one to take many chances. Life had cured her of that weakness long ago the hard way.

It was four in the morning and the car moved on the near empty highway, Brianna Brandt, Angel Blake and the few others who had their own particular reasons for spending sleeping hours driving to or away from something.

Angel rested her head on Brianna’s tanned, muscular arm. Brianna had on one of her comfortable workout shirts with the sleeves cut off. Angel nuzzled her cheek against Brianna’s bicep, which was flexed from holding the steering wheel. She could feel the heat pouring out of Brianna’s hard arm and soft skin, like a furnace from her so very healthy body. She rubbed her nose in Brianna’s skin, breathing deep to take in the scent, it made her a little dizzy.

She moved her hand along Brianna’s arm, feeling that smooth skin, every sexy contour and groove her lovers muscles made as she drove. Angel moved her head up near Brianna’s exposed, round shoulder where the tribal tattoo was inked just beneath it running around her so sexy arm. Angel thought it looked like a possessive lover laying claim to Brianna’s flesh and it always turned her on to see it. She kissed the tattoo then licked it.

This finally got a response from Brianna who had been mostly silent for the two hours they had driven. She turned her face to Angel and gave a small version of that crooked, so hot smile that always made Angel’s heart catch in her throat, even now, two years after they had become girlfriends.

Angel stared up at Brianna, mesmerized by her full lips, long, silky brown hair, the most luminescent green eyes-as though lightening were captured in them-she had ever seen, the upturned nose. She loved how the lights from the infrequent oncoming cars cast a glow on Brianna, highlighting some features then casting angles of darkness on them as the car started to slide past. Angel knew she would happily drive with Brianna forever, just like this, if her girlfriend wanted.

Brianna gently took her strong arm off the wheel and put it around Angel’s neck, pulling her closer. Angel could feel her body heat rise and she wiggled in, trying to get even closer. She rested her head on Brianna’s C cup breast, the breast she had licked, touched and sucked so many times.

She knew better than anyone just how proudly they jutted out to be capped by small lovely nipples. And she knew their taste. Despite the fact that many had seen those breasts, marveled at them along with rest of her girlfriends’ body, Angel knew they and Brianna’s body were hers and hers alone to play with. Brianna showed them for a reason, but she shared with no one. Angel had exclusive rights, forever.

She also knew the day was fast approaching when only she would see those breasts and that made her so very glad, not just for herself, but for her lover too. She knew the toll the showing was taking, Brianna told her and she could see it in her face, hear it in her voice every once in a while, when they talked and shared intimate thoughts as only lovers do.

Brianna began to softly stroke Angel’s short hair, so lovingly, so carefully. Angel could feel herself getting wet. She couldn’t help it and she loved how her body responded to Brianna’s touch, her closeness.

“Are you OK, baby? I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Angel shook her head. “I’m fine. I just thought you were hurt, all that blood. I couldn’t take it. If anything happened to you I would lose it. It would kill me.”

Brianna gave Angel that crooked smile, Angel’s heart caught. “Like I said, it wasn’t mine. It was that pigs.”

“I can’t believe you took that chance. Anything could have happened to you. You could be dead. You said you would never do that. You promised. You never lie to me.”

Brianna looked back to the road. “I know. I’m so sorry. He offered ten thousand dollars for one dance alone at a hotel. He had tipped me over two grand already just for the dances on stage. He said just a dance. He had a wife and kids; he showed me their pictures with him in it. I thought I was careful.”

“What happened?” asked Angel.

“I started dancing. He watched. Then he got up and tried to dance with me, touch me. I told him no, settle down, do what we agreed, just watch.” Brianna closed her eyes for a second and her voice caught.

Angel knew she was fighting to not relive the moment too clearly; to hold back the tears she knew would eventually come. To be strong for her, like she had been the moment they had first met when Angel was down to nothing, hitch hiking at the side of the road.

When Brianna tamped down the emotion, she continued. “He didn’t. He put his arm around me. Pulled me close. I pushed him back.” Brianna sniffed once. “He called me a no good whore. He said I was nothing but a slut and he would prove it. He was so fucking crazy, just livid; his spit flew on me as he screamed. Then he punched me.”

Angel reached out and touched the side of Brianna’s face that was turning black and blue. She thought it made her look like a noble warrior. Then she kissed it.

She knew several things. Brianna had been hit much harder when she was just a teenager, not the 21 year old she was now; over and over by her father. She also knew she had been hit even harder, sparring in the gym earning her black belt so that no one would ever do to her again what her father had. She knew the man, no the Pig, had made a mistake of monumental proportions hitting Brianna. She was fuck proof.

She didn’t have to ask Brianna what happened after; she knew. The scrapes on her knuckles told just a small part of what had happened to the Pig. Angel knew what shape the Pig was in. The possibilities were endless. Was his face broke, his arm, a leg, ribs, his nose, how many teeth were missing? Were his balls kicked up into his intestines? Brianna had the strength and ability to wipe a man out, almost any man. Angel had seen her do it twice, in circumstances that left no alternative, to protect both of them. The speed, strength and skill of Brianna’s attack was scary and beautiful.

The last thing Angel knew was Brianna hated every second of what she had been forced to do. She knew firsthand what it was like to be terrorized, to be hurt so fucking hard and she hated to inflict pain on anything. She wouldn’t even kill a bug, but instead would catch any in the house and gently throw it out the window. It was so cute, so endearing, something that made Angel love her all the more.

Brianna stood in the sickly, depressing glare of the dim gas station bathroom. Angel was sleeping in the car. She had gotten the key from the young late night attendant accompanied by a long, hard once over look. She was used to that. She was so glad he didn’t try to come on to her. She felt so damn tired. She wondered if this was what fifty or sixty or seventy felt like. She supposed she might find out one day in the future.

She opened her purse and put some makeup over her bruise, then took out a small oval mirror and laid it on the sink. She took out a small vial of coke and knocked a bit on the mirror.

Brianna didn’t do the drug a lot, just once in awhile when a night at the club got to her, when her muscles ached, when she was tired from five sets at three in the morning and her period was killing her and the last thing she could imagine doing was showing her body yet again to all those leering, cheering men who viewed her as nothing but a piece of meat born for their pleasure. Once in a while she just couldn’t take it a second longer and she would need something to get her through until she could escape out the door back to the real world and her sweet Angel.

Brianna snorted two bumps through a dollar bill and wiped her nose. She felt the numbing rush of energy fire up her brain. It was seven in the morning and she planned to drive for another good four hours away from Miami before she felt she could come to safe harbor at a hotel. She had to take care of Angel; she knew how helpless she would be without her. She had made a dumb mistake tonight. It was unlike her. She wondered how and why she had fallen into such a rare lack of judgment. She knew she couldn’t afford any more.

A BRIEF RESPITE.

Angel Blake and Brianna Brandt lay together in the dark. They had rented a room, paid in cash, at the back of the small hotel, their car out of sight of the highway.

The tension of events and the endless ride was finally falling off the girls like autumn leaves from a large tree. Their breathing was soft, slow and synchronized as they held each other, the intimate touch of their bodies soothing them as nothing else could.

“Hey you,” said Angel.

Brianna looked at Angel. “Hey you there,” she replied.

It was a greeting they used often, the first words they had ever said to each other.

“I fucked up,” sighed Brianna. Angel ran her hand through Brianna’s long brown hair. She loved its’ silky length, how it felt, how it flowed and bounced, how it shined in the sun. Brianna knew Angel loved it long so she always wore it so. “You had to protect yourself, fuck the shit head.” replied Angel.

“I know. But I was so dumb to go with him. But the money he offered. It was so much, it would have taken us so far.” Angel listened; she also knew the ten thousand would have let Brianna take lots of time off from dancing in the club. Time that would have been a godsend for her and for Angel. She knew why Brianna had taken the chance.

“I know why you did it. Sometimes you have to take chances in life. Hell, look at us.” Brianna smiled at this. The first smile Angel had seen since her lover had shaken her awake. “Think of it this way, cuz of what you did to that pig might not do it again to some other girl.”

Brianna could read Angels words between the smallest lines. She knew what she wasn’t saying out loud: Some other girl, a helpless girl, a girl who can’t do what you can, a girl like me.

“Yeah, maybe. I just hate having to leave. Things were going pretty well for us. But we had to. That guy was rich, powerful. I know he can’t tell the cops. But he could have come for me. Or sent people. Dude was so crazy, capable of anything.”

Again Angel knew what her lover meant. Brianna is fearless. She would hurt them if they came. She was worried about what they may do to me if they found out what I am to Brianna. That’s why she made us run.

Angel knew what was coming. She knew her girlfriend so well. Her father had taught her the physical and physiological terror of pain, of taking a beating, unable to do a thing about it. Her father had shaped that part of Brianna just as Angel’s step father had taught her a different kind of terror and shaped part of who she was. It was those different yet so similar experiences when both were teenagers that helped forge the molten steel that was part of the unbreakable bond between them.

Angel heard the first sniffle. When Brianna spoke, softly, her voice quivered. “There was so much blood. I broke his bones. I could hear them snap. I didn’t want to. I had no choice. I didn’t want to….”

Angel pulled her close, held her tight. “I know. It wasn’t your fault. I want you to cry. Cry as hard as you can.” Brianna buried her had in Angel’s neck and the tears poured out with long, anguished sobs. Her strong body reduced to helplessness shaking with emotion. Angel ran her hand over Brianna’s arms, her back, her side, with comforting, soothing touches. Angel was so glad she could help take some of this horrible burden from her girlfriend unto herself.

THE BUSINESSMAN.

Robert Maxin’s High Lights Club was going full force, grinding to an exorable hypnotic rhythm of sound, noise, action, music and most importantly money that seemed to be borne from some evil, dark machine, like an Alice in Chains song that was devouring the minds and souls of those captured by its rhythm blocking everything else out.

And that’s why everyone came to Maxin’s High Lights Club, to block out the mundane world; to become part of a fantasy, a dark, seductive fantasy; a fantasy of food, drugs, booze, prefect flesh, wanton desire and money. For Maxin, especially money.

High Lights was one of the premier strip clubs in LA. One of them, and that was what grated on him. He wanted it to be the best, the top, the king, but so far he couldn’t get it past the other elite competition. Yes, rock stars came, athletes and movie stars flocked his private rooms, but they also went to other clubs.

But Maxin had something the owners of the other clubs didn’t, a leech attached on his clubs back that sucked and siphoned money off every month that left him far short of what the other owners made. And this did more than grate on Maxin, it was killing him.

The girls danced on the the main and five subsidiary stages, wriggling and twisting to the hypnotic bass loaded beats. Many others gave private lap dances in private rooms. For the high rollers, the famous, the social elite, a walk upstairs to the guarded second floor offered much more intimate and close encounters of the flesh kind.

Maxin’s office was on the third floor, the only room on that floor. He watched all aspects of his club on multiple cameras, even the things on the second floor that were supposed to be private.

Robert was a man who loved control, because the more you have control over things, the less you can meet with some nasty life changing surprise, the less you looked foolish to others. Losing control looking foolish was his biggest nightmare. This philosophy had served him well his whole life, through high school, college and now as a flesh and fantasy baron in the City of Angels.

He reclined in his massive plush chair behind an old oak desk. In his early forties he was still lean and somewhat handsome in a angular sort of way. Nothing special in town so full of crazy pretty like LA, but he didn’t have to avoid mirrors.

He sipped on his Johnny Walker as he gazed at the various monitors stream live from every room of the club. His desk phone rang, he hit speaker. “Yep.” It was Franko Little, his main guard, bouncer and confidant. Little had been with him at High Lights since the start. He was the only man Robert trusted with secrets, well, some of them anyway.

He found the name amusing because Little was huge, a six foot four wall of muscle and menace; a very loyal, well paid wall. Little was also the connection to the connection that kept a very high grade of coke coming to the club for the many dancers who imbibed as well as the special clientele. Why should he lose out on the money when his girls or top clients wanted to get high? And when his girls bought from him, he was getting the money he paid them to dance back right back in his pocket. It was a great capitalist circle. No lose. It was control. And the more they wanted, the more they eventually needed he was happy to help them out.

Franko’s voice came though. “Sarkosian is here. He wants to talk to you.”

Maxin sighed. Suddenly the Johnny Walker was giving him heartburn. “Send him up.”

“You maybe want me there too, boss?”

“Nah, nothing happening between us that I need you to finish, not tonight anyway.”

Maxin hung up.

THE PREDATOR’S FACTOTUM.

When Robert looked up, Sarkosian was sitting in the small, uncomfortable chair opposite Maxin’s huge desk. How did Sarkosian come in, walk over and sit down without making a noise? wondered Robert.

He tried to dismiss the thought and take control of the meeting. Since his desk and chair were on a lift on the floor he was always higher than anyone who found themselves in the visitor’s chair. This was of course, on purpose. When you visited Robert Maxin, you knew the pecking order. The visitors chair was uncomfortable on purpose. It was all designed to give him a psychological and physical advantage.

But in this case, the physical disparity in height meant nothing. Neither did Sarkosian’s benign, gentle appearance. His small frame, no more than 150 pounds clad in a expensive black leather jacket. His large, rheumy, gentle looking brown eyes, his black hair brilliantine combed backwards. Nor the soft spoken sing song voice with its captivating cadence that made it strangely exotic and beautiful.

The only tell on Sarkosian was a scar on his left cheek. Maxin had no doubt it came from violence that was the true coin of exchange in the world the little man thrived in.

Sarkosian was the factotum of Marius Sullas, a real gangster, drugs, murder, car thefts, robberies, protection rackets, numbers, the real deal; who was not feared only by those not smart enough to understand his power. And Maxin was plenty smart enough to understand the difference between what he was, a small time drug dealer and purveyor of high grade pussy and what Sullas was.

Maxin found the name Marius Sullas reminded him of a Roman Emperor and he knew that in his sphere of influence, his arcane circles, that was exactly what Marius was.

And he knew what Sarkosian was. He had the reputation of being a virtuoso with the knife. A cold blooded killer who was so good you didn’t even feel the blade until you were walking out that last door on earth.

And he was something else, something even more amazing in Maxin’s reckoning. Sarkosian would come into his club and sit there, all night, for ten or fifteen nights a month and figure out how much Maxin owed Sullas for that month. What he still couldn’t fathom was that Sarkosian would always be within ten percent of the monthly gross. Always. The man had to be an observational and mathematical genius. He could even figure out the money changing hands upstairs on the private floor just by who was going up there. Every time he saw Sarkosian, every time he thought of Sullas, he felt a loss of control.

Sarkosian smiled at Robert. He looked like an old friend delighted to be there.

“Roberto, you’re looking good. The club is rocking, the girls are rolling. So pretty. And that new girl Lisa, wow, she’s a winner, on the main floor already. See those all those dogs baying at her, just tossing up the rain. Just gotta make you smile, eh?”

Robert shook his head. Sarkosian always called him Roberto, like they really were friends. He hated that. And it made him feel like some fucking Hispanic emigrant, some wetback.

And Lisa? Lisa had only started seven days ago. She was gorgeous and knew how to shake it. She was bringing in big money. The thing was he had not seen Sarkosian in the club since Lisa started. How did he know? He seemed to know everything.

Was he coming in with a disguise on every fucking night? Or sending in some henchmen?

Was Little really as loyal as Robert thought, could he be feeding him information? Was his offer to come up to this meeting just his disguise to fool Robert about where his real loyalties were?

Were some of the strippers giving Sarkosian info, the other bouncers, the bar maids? Were they all working against him?

Sarkosian had a way of getting into his head, making him feel paranoid, making him feel like he had no control. He thought about how easy it would be to pull the colt 45 from his desk and blow this malignant little monsters head off. But of course that would sign his own death warrant.

Robert’s stomach gurgled. His rational side told him to calm down, to keep control. Sarkosian got where he was in Sullas’ organization not just because he was good with a knife but because he could get into people’s heads, the little man knew this was half the battle won, and Robert knew it too.

“Yeah, things are OK. Lisa is doing well. I hope she stays a while,” Robert said with a smile and easy voice.

“She will Roberto. You have the magic touch. All things are golden here. It’s just gonna get better and the sky is not big enough to hold you back. It’s just like that sign behind you. You know it my man, you know the way. That’s why you put that sign up. You always did, that’s why you went to Marius to open this place. Never doubt yourself Roberto. Never ever doubt. Man I love that sign. You crack me up Roberto.”

Robert glanced back that sign hanging behind his desk. The words said, ‘The beautiful take from the weak and the smart take from the beautiful.’

Of course it was a play on the saying the strong take from the weak and the smart take from the strong. And almost every moment he felt like the smart, him, taking from the beautiful who took from the weak.

The problem was, with Sarskosian here, he didn’t feel like he was the smart one, he felt like the weak. Suddenly he felt certain Sarkosian was making fun of him, knowing how weak Robert was and using his own words to twist a metaphysical knife in his guts, no blood spilled but just as facile with this knife as his steel one.

Robert suddenly hated that sign. He wanted to smash it on Sarkosian’s head.

“Anyway Roberto, I know you are way more busy than I can imagine so let’s conclude business and I’ll be on my way. Marius says you owe 65k this month.” Sarkosian held out his small, innocent looking hand and gave a very friendly smile. The message was crystal clear: Get up from behind that big high chair and desk, like the weak subject you are, come to me, the real power and give Caesar what is his due.

Robert drummed his fingers on the desk. He looked at the hand, still suspended in air at the end of the outstretched arm, like it would stay there forever, demanding money, his money. And too late, much too late, Robert knew the truth, that outstretched arm, that hand would always be there, demanding more till the day he dropped dead. He drummed his fingers some more. Both men looked at each other. Robert made a decision.

“I don’t have anything to give you, Sarkosian.”

Sarkosian stared at Robert, his hand still out for over a minute, still smiling. Robert knew exactly what he was doing. Giving Robert a chance, pretending not to hear what both men knew was said, a last chance to get smart and do what both knew had to happen. The quiet, strange gesture was more terrifying than any other reaction could be. Robert really could sense just how odd and dangerous Sarskosian was.

At this singular moment in time, holding that smile, holding his hand out, perfectly still, for so long, without moving a muscle, he didn’t seem to even be human but something totally inhuman hidden in human skin. He seemed dead, like some revenant, an animated corpse. The hair on Robert’s neck stood up and sweat started to flow from his chest and under his arms.

Finally Sarkosian spoke. “What did you say, Roberto?”

Robert held up his hands. “Look, I just need to talk to Marius. We need to discuss some business before I pay. I have things on my mind that only he can help me with.”

Sarkosian immediately got up still holding his arm and hand out. Robert wondered if he would drive home like that. “I understand. You need some guidance. Maybe something is worrying you. Marius will help you for sure. Just like always. You know how smart he is. Have no fears Roberto.”

Sarkosian walked closer, the hand still out, asking mutely for money, unmoving. It was so creepy and eerie Maxin had to force himself to not jump out of his chair and step back. The thought of Sarkosian wanting to hurt him suddenly seemed a thing out of some horrific nightmare. Robert could feel the psychotic, malevolent power just pouring out of the small man and he knew in that moment Little could have done nothing to protect him.

Maxin forced himself to keep his eyes on Sarkosians. When he spoke he could not believe how calm he sounded. “Great, thanks for understanding.”

Sarkosian’s hand was just a foot from Robert’s face. “I’ll call Marius as soon as I leave. He will expect you within the hour I’m very sure on that. I would advise you to bring the 65 large. You know, Marius likes to help good friends. Same time next month, Roberto.”

With that Sarkosian dropped his hand and slipped out the door as quietly as he came in, like he had never been there at all. Robert’s play to get control of the situation ended up a big fat, fucking embarrassing bust. He will expect you in an hour. Bring the 65 large. The only thing he had accomplished was he had to go like a beggar to Marius’ house. All he had left was to try showing some balls and using this meeting to end this shit.

“Fuck!” yelled Robert as he threw his whiskey glass against the wall with all his might. Instead of shattering it just bounced off the wall and rolled impotently on the floor in little circles.

Maxin stared at the glass then started to laugh. What else was there to do?

INSIDE THE PREDATORS JAWS.

Robert was sitting in a chair in Marius Sullas’ living room. Marius stood next to him handing him a glass of Johnny Walker, straight, just as he liked it. No doubt Sarkosian had seen him drinking at his club and even told his master this bit of information. He imagined Sarkosian’s head with a file called The Clift Notes of Robert Maxin’s Life in it.

Now he was facing the man who somehow controlled that loathsome creature and felt comfortable in his presence. Robert took the drink from Sullas’ huge, scarred hands which totally engulfed the glass. Marius walked to a chair across from him and sat down.

Marius was in his mid forties. His Roman nose was curved, forced to the side by more than one break. His jaw line was strong and cheek bones prominent. He had full even lips. His thick black eyebrows were shredded and split. He had a gold stud in his nose. He had a death head skull tattooed on his neck. His jet black hair was tied back in bun. The whole effect combined to give him a noble, beautiful look.

Robert always made it a point to wear top of the line suits but Marius’ made his look like an ash cloth sack. His suit was cut to his physique like second skin. Like he was poured into it. Robert had never seen a man wear a suit so well. Or perhaps the suit wear him. It made him want to ask Marius where he got it. But he knew he couldn’t. It would make him look weak, stupid. Both facts, that Marius’ suit was such higher quality and that he wouldn’t ask annoyed him.

A pit bull came over and jumped in his lap. Marius began petting it and it growled, softly, deeply with pleasure. Then the dog turned to Robert and stared at him.

Robert couldn’t make out the real look of the dog because the lighting was so dim, almost dark but he could make out the darkened outline of its muscular body. The lack of light seemed to make the dog look bigger than it he thought it should be. It seemed to puff up and grow with every passing second.

Marius pointed to the suitcase Robert had brought. “That for me?” he asked as though he didn’t have the slightest idea.

“It’s what I owe.”

Marius chuckled. It was a deep sound. “Sarkosian told me you would bring it. He always knows. Great guy. You like him? He likes you. Talks about you all the time.”

“I love him. Nothing like having a walking corpse watching over you.”

Marius stopped petting the dog and cocked his head. “I won’t tell him you said that. I was serious. You understand?”

“And I was joking. Yeah, he’s great. We’re pals, like he says.”

“A joke. Yeah, I can how that was funny,” Marius said without the hint of a smile. “He’s worried about you. He says you are upset. He said he could sense it. He always knows. So what’s up?”

Suddenly a light came on in the kitchen behind Marius. Robert could see a gorgeous, naked red head there. She stood, staring at Robert with a totally vacuous face. This girl was as hot as any who danced in his club. What really stood her apart was her face. She looked like she could be anywhere from fourteen to seventeen. She stood, just looking at him, not even blinking, just like the dog. Then she turned, opened the refrigerator, removed a carton of orange juice and took several large gulps from it. She put it back in and walked off.

Was this Sullas’ girlfriend? How old was she? Did he have a thing for girls who looked that young?

“You were saying,” prodded Marius even though Robert had said nothing as he had watched the girl.

Robert suddenly felt sick. He considered himself smart and fairly tough but Marius and Sarkosian seemed like all knowing evil things out of some Greek mythology. Why were the lights so low? That girl, did Marius tell her to do that to distract him, break his game? Why did she stare at him like that?

And the shadow dog, why wouldn’t it stop looking at him? Both these men seemed able to throw Robert off and bury him in dark, morose thoughts with every move, gesture and word like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Marius, when I came to you for the loan..”

“Yeah, the five hundred K no bank would give you. The money I had the faith to loan, you understand?” Marius started scratching the staring dogs head again.

“Yeah, I do. And I appreciated it and always will. You got me my start when no one believed in me.”

“I was happy to do it.”

They sat there for a while saying nothing. Just the sound of Marius scratching the dogs head, the dogs eyes, pinned on Robert, shining in the little available light.

Robert took a deep breath. “Marius, I paid back that loan two years ago. And the two hundred grand interest. And there is more than 65 large in this case. It’s 100 K.”

“Why would you do that? I only want 65.”

“Marius, I’m never going to really own that club, get what my hard work has earned while I keep paying you. I’ve paid our agreed debt. Way more than paid. That extra money is my thank you for what you did. To let you know I appreciate it. But I’m here to ask you, let this finally end. Let us be square.”

“Robert, what do you think I do for a living?”

Maxin didn’t know how to answer this. He sensed the question was loaded and dangerous.

“Let me rephrase. What do you hear I do? Tell me what you hear about me?”

“Well, you know. Um, what people say. That you’re a….racketeer. I mean that’s just kind of what I hear. But I don’t know. How could I?”

Marius nodded, the shadows cutting into his face with the movement. “No,” he said so softly Robert could barely hear him. “What is a racketeer? Some genteel criminal? Some wall street swindler? A man who runs union kickbacks? Robert, tell me, do you know what Blood Sport is?”

“No.”

“When I was young I used to street fight for money. Not bragging but I was good. Never lost. I made a lot of money doing that. That’s how I got my start. I loved it, giving the pain, taking it. It was Blood Sport. Getting hurt and hurting others real bad. So bad maybe they were never the same, you understand? The best game you can play. It made me who I am. No, if I was a criminal, I wouldn’t be a racketeer like that fuck Bernie Madoff. I would be a gangster, like Al Capone or Pablo Escobar, I would play it down and dirty, only Blood Sport. You understand?”

“Yeah,” said Robert who understood completely.

“How do you think I earn my money?”

Robert looked down at his drink. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

Marius chuckled again. “I’m just a businessman. I’m partners with people all over the valley and into the city. Parking garages, laundromats, bars, drug stores, grocery stores, car dealerships and such.” Robert could see Marius smile. “And one strip club. I became partners in all these places because I loaned smart, sharp men like you money to get going. You understand?”

“I see,” said Maxin.

“Now these rumors out on the streets, they don’t bother me. Who knows how they start? But the thing is I don’t mind. Because they help me, they make people take me seriously.”

“I see how that could help,” said Maxin, feeling his testicles shriveling up. Why had he even thought this could work? How could he have?

“See,” continued Marius, “when I loan money, the principle and interest is just so these smart men like you can get going. But it’s not just a loan. It’s my entre too. Once I’m in, I’m in for good. Why as a businessman would I walk away from being partners with other smart businessmen like you? Didn’t you understand that common sense philosophy when I made you that loan? When only I believed in you? And you see I always give back to all my partners. With me there, no one will ever fuck with you. No one will rob you and get away with it. No other strip club will open near yours. No one will buy you out. All you have to do is run the business, no worries. And if you have some problem, any problem, you come to me and I handle it. That’s what you get with me as an eternal partner.”

Robert closed his eyes. He couldn’t stand seeing that dog’s stare any longer. He shook his head. “No, I guess I didn’t really understand all the implications.”

“No harm in that Robert. Maybe I didn’t spell it clearly at the time. I apologize. But you understand now?”

Robert felt like a grade school kid being led around a Socratic argument by a master professor in class. Yes I see now. Yes I understand….finally, belatedly. I have no control at all. I’m your lap dog as much as that pit bull. “I completely understand now.”

Marius nodded. “Good, then all’s well right?”

Robert smiled a fake, pasty smile. “Everything is fine now. I want you as my partner as long as we both are alive.”

“Great,” replied Marius. He pointed to the floor with a single finger and the dog jumped off. It immediately turned to Maxin and continued to stare up at him with those dark implacable eyes. “I’m expecting company soon so I must ask you to leave. Just leave the case where it is I’ll take care of it. Please don’t take offense.”

Robert looked at his watch, it was four thirty AM. What kind of company was coming? Was Sarkosian lurking outside, so silent, so deadly, so alien, just waiting to come in? Was he to kill Robert if he had not brought the money? Or just hurt him, say cut off a hand or testicle, take out an eye as a preemptive lesson? Or were other members of Marius’ gang coming? Was the young, beautiful, strange, staring red head some burnt sacrifice planned for this late night? Robert didn’t want to know any of the possible answers. He just wanted to get the fuck out and never come back.

“I don’t Marius; I appreciate the time you gave me.”

Robert started walking out towards the door when Marius called to him. He turned.

Marius’ face was stone cold. “Robert. I always want my friends to be happy. Sometimes they say they are but are not. If you feel our agreement is causing you problems I can help another way perhaps.”

“What do you mean?”

“An offer. I will give you a fair price for High Lights.”

Robert held his hands up. “No! No. I love that club. Everything is fine. I’m not lying.”

Marius watched him closely then gave him a small smile. “You could still be the manager….if you wish it. Under a man I would put in. Who knows the club better than you? It would just take away all the other headaches. It may be best for you. No rush. Today is the 21st. In five months I will ask again. Then you can answer. You will have some time to think on it.”

Robert didn’t need five months to think it over. He didn’t need one minute. This was no offer, it was a sugar coated takeover. “No” would not be an acceptable answer. He had to kill Marius and Sarkosian or he would always be sitting forever in Marius lap having his head scratched by those large powerful hands, he would never have control of his club, his life. He couldn’t fathom how he would do it but he knew for sure when the opportunity presented itself he would. It would be Blood Sport.

Robert walked out of the house that night minus not only the 65k he had to pay but the 35k he stupidly thought would buy his freedom. But he wasn’t dwelling about it like he knew he would have before. His mind was already focused on what he had to do. And he had five months to find a way.