Bryce woke up feeling like he was about to crown his damn life today. Last night’s chat with Charles Vanderbilt had him buzzing—Mr. Vanderbilt himself confirmed Vigorex would stay the lead “guy drug” on the market for at least eighteen months, pure gold, with no new drugs popping up any sooner.

  With this knowledge, his mood soared higher knowing the Hensley’s Haul deal was this close—swallowing their entire Vigorex stock, just the final price left to haggle. He’d backed them into a corner, that bitch Mar Hensley so desperate now she’d practically shoved her whole inventory into his p, begging for his signature and cash.

  Of course, a meet with Mr. Vanderbilt always ended in their little “games.” Two real big shots like them—wealth and fame dripping off them—had burned through every kind of willing woman till it finally got old. Willing chicks didn’t cut it anymore—they craved fresh thrills, sharper edges.

  This time, Bryce ran the show, flexing that same old trick: charm and cash at Nexis Academy. He’d snagged an eighteen-year-old student—barely legal, all starry-eyed—hooked smooth as hell. She’d even started dreaming she’d be the second wife of Bryce, right after Camil, till he slipped her the same drug he’d used to knock Mar out cold back then. Easy prey.

  In the room he’d set up for himself, Charles, and the girl, shit got hazy—walls thumping with flesh-on-flesh sps, the air thick with grunts and growls. Bryce’s heavy panting mixed with Charles’s low moans—sometimes one gasping solo while the other barked, “Harder, you pussy,” or tossed a smug, “Nice move.” Other times, both heaved together, ragged and raw. Anyone passing by would swear it was two lover boys fucking each other senseless, all sweet and loud.

  Time to seal that deal with that bitch Mar, Bryce thought, firing up his luxe sports car. The engine roared to life, shaking the whole damn block like a beast waking up. He peeled out, mind spinning through recent shit as he drove. Another greedy little bitch popped up—Tammy, that receptionist chick outside Mar’s office. She’d fed him Hensley’s Haul supply tips a few times, letting him snatch their orders and pocket some good cash. But tely, the bitch was clearly broke again, tossing him random crap—trying to scam some more money from him. She kept yapping about Hensley’s Haul pushing a new drug to repce Vigorex—except none of his other sources, not one, backed her up. Procurement? Dead quiet, no buzz about any new buys. If she wasn’t one of Mr. Vanderbilt’s son’s side pieces, he’d have slipped her a pill by now—same shit he used on many girls—then fucked around with her while she was out cold, just to show her who’s the boss.

  Mar’s meet spot today? A hotel room—fuck, talk about a loaded pick. Guess the bitch finally chewed on his old offer: give him a good time, and he’d bump the price for her Vigorex stash a hair. Bryce was a big shot—name and rep that carried weight—so if Mar delivered, he’d keep his word. Anyway, monopolizing Nexis’s Vigorex sales ter would rake in way more than that little uptick. Grinning at the thought, he fished a Vigorex pill from his pocket and popped it down dry—shit, talks wouldn’t st long before the fun kicked in. Better now than swallowing it in front of Mar; that’d look me as hell.

  Not long after swallowing the pill, a slow buzz crept up, and Bryce’s mind stuck on Mar. Knowing she was a lesbian—picturing that sour, pissed-off face she’d make soon—lit him up hard. Good thing I fucked up her retionship with Vivian, that gangster queen, he thought, or I’d never snag this deal. Vivian, though? Total boner-killer for him—too ripped, too menacing. He hated women with that kind of edge, same reason he dodged home. Camil and Vivian both had that vibe—made him feel small, shrunk in their shadow.

  Mid-thought, he rolled into the hotel lot, struts into the lobby, and then—there’s that face he couldn’t shake tely: that fucking reception boy. The dumbass who’d swung at him st time, he didn’t even recognize who the hell Bryce Calhan was. Bryce had been too busy to deal with the prick, but after today’s business? Oh, he’d cook up some payback slow and sweet.

  The reception boy—lounging sck on a sofa—spotted Bryce and unched up like a rocket, scurrying over, all bows and nods. “Mr. Calhan, such an honor to see you here! I’m Ms. Hensley’s assistant, John—here to wait for you. Please, follow me!” His voice dripped with ass-kissing cheer.

  Bryce’s blood boiled just looking at the idiot—smack—a hard sp cracked across John’s face. “You dumb fuck,” he snarled, “st time you hit me twice, and you’ve got the balls to show up today?” John bobbed his head fast, groveling, “Total mix-up, Mr. Calhan! If I’d known you were the Calhan, I’d have chopped my own hands off before touching you!”

  One sp, Calhan, John logged in his head, quiet as hell.

  Bryce’s temper cooled a notch at the sniveling—still, he snorted cold, jabbing a finger at John’s nose, “Once I’m done today, I’ll sort you out, fucker.” John kept his act, just fshed a tight smile and gestured—this way—leading Bryce to Mar’s room.

  On the way, John tiptoed into it, voice low and careful, “Mr. Calhan, I got some Vigorex special for you—need any?” Bryce’s hand flew again—smack—nailing John’s cheek. “You think I need that shit? Keep it for your sorry ass, dipshit.”

  Two sps, Calhan, John tallied silent, his grin holding steady.

  John stuck to his ass-kissing crouch, nodding like a bobblehead at Calhan, then piped up, all cautious, “Mr. Calhan, I reckon Ms. Hensley’s gig’s got no future—any chance, heh, you’re short a guy over there?” He rubbed his spped-up cheek, fshing an awkward grin, pying it sheepish.

  By now, Calhan’s steam had mostly fizzled. Eyeing John, he thought, This punk might make a damn good dog. He waved a hand, all high and mighty, “We’ll see—if you py nice today, maybe it’s not off the table.”

  John lit up, bowing and scraping harder, “Thank you, Mr. Calhan—seriously, thanks for even thinking about giving me a shot!” After a while, they hit the room’s door. It swung open, and there was Mar—face like a sb of ice, wrapped head to toe in some tight, no-skin getup, not a hint of giving it up. She just sat there, dead silent.

  That frosty gre flipped Bryce’s switch—Bitch, all those yers won’t save you; they’re coming off soon, he thought, grinning wide. He waved at her, cocky as hell, tapping his cheek, “Mar, baby, your knight Bryce is here to save you—where’s my sweet little kiss?”

  Sweet little kiss? Look at her face, Calhan—have you ever really talked to a woman at all, you prick? John’s gut churned with cringe and bile.

  But he couldn’t drop the act now—quit, and all his setup would crash. So he spun to Mar, and asked her to get moving, “Ms. Hensley, please—Mr. Calhan’s here already. Just sign the contract with him quick and get started.”

  Upon hearing his words, Mar didn’t say anything. She just shot John a death gre, her face sour with disgust—same as she’d aimed at Bryce. That look only juiced Bryce more—he felt like he’d already broken her, and there was only one st step to cim the prize. The Vigorex was kicking in hard now, his pulse jumping, itching to get this bitch Mar to the next part fast. He didn’t even catch John’s slip—“sign the contract first, then move on.”—a subtle hint to ease him into the trap.

  Mar couldn’t hold it in anymore—her loathing for Bryce hit max, and spilling out sharp, “Don’t think you’ve got me in your fucking hand, Calhan! I fucking lost today—but next time, I’ll fuck you up!”

  John certainly had coached her on that line, id it out clear: both of them had to py weak against Bryce today, but with completely different fvors. John’s “nobody” vibe meant groveling, ass-kissing; Mar’s weakness had to growl tough but also signal surrender—like that “I fucking lost today” bit.

  Before Bryce could snap back, John wheeled on him like a bad pimp, “Mr. Calhan, please don’t mind Ms. Hensley’s attitude. I’ll talk her down, get her to ‘get down to business’ quick. Please have a check at the contract on the table meantime.” Then he hustled over to Mar, pying the peacemaker.

  Bryce shrugged—fair enough—might as well have a peek while he waited for his juicy prize. He looked carefully at the pricing, weighing it hard. It wasn’t steep at all—damn near matched what he knew Hensley’s Haul paid to stock it. They just wanted their cost back, nothing extra. But the catch was, the deal’s size—one lump payment—would bleed BigMart’s cash flow dry, like 80% gone in a snap. Business-wise? Fucking dumb.

  He chewed it over. On one hand, a monopoly this clean didn’t drop often—a fucking goldmine. On the other, the risk at this price was real, but not crazily high—banks would definitely not eat his loans after this; they’d beg him to borrow more once it locked in.

  Meanwhile, on Mar’s side of the room, John’s voice cranked louder, “Ms. Hensley, just do it already. Don’t act like you have a choice—if Mr. Calhan sees you ready for him, he’ll sign that contract in a fsh.”

  Bryce watched, grinning wide—this John betraying Mar to her face, pushing her to bend for him? Fucking fantastic! That power rush hit like a drug, making him feel untouchable, invincible. Hell, he even bought his own hype—I’m so damn slick, this kid’s dying to be my pdog. Still blind to John’s “contract first, then business” line.

  And John’s next line snagged Bryce’s ear, “Ms. Hensley, how about a sip of water? Cool off a bit—I’ll check how Mr. Calhan’s doing with the contract.”

  Water? This kid— Bryce’s mind fshed to his own dirty pybook.

  Sure enough, John turned, shot him an “OK” sign, and grinned—it’s done. Over on her side, Mar was already swaying, hand propping her head, dazed as hell. Didn’t st—seconds ter, she slumped face-first onto the table, out cold. Not a sound anymore, just her breath.

  Bryce’s grin split wider—he was damn near cackling. This John kid? Fucking gold. “You’re a smart kid, huh—real talent,” he said, while waving him off quick. The Vigorex was roaring now, he needed to get started—he yanked his shirt off, buttons popping, ready to dive into his game.

  But John stepped in, voice low and still groveling, “Mr. Calhan, please sign the contract first—then py all you want, as long as you want. I’ll scan it, send it to the company for payment, and no one’ll bug you after that.”

  Bryce’s buzz soured—John’s nagging grated, and the drug hit like a freight train, making him twitchy. “Just fuck off already,” he growled, backhanding John with a sharp smack. He knew this punk wouldn’t quit till it was signed, so he fumbled for a pen, scrawled his name sloppy across the contract, and flung it at John’s face—paper spping skin.

  Third sp, Calhan—and the st one you’ll ever nd, John tallied in his head, cool as ice.

  After the thought, John’s face lit up—finally with a shred of real joy, though his tone still littered with fttery, “Hold on, sir—I’ll scan this contract with my phone and send it off right now.” This was the st step of John's pn: lock in the payment, make Bryce’s company cough up the cash—then it’s done.

  “Fucking scan it outside, dipshit—I need to fuck her, now!” Bryce barked, the Vigorex raging full tilt now. He was antsy as hell, practically cwing at his pants.

  You won’t be so horny soon, Calhan—your blood’s gonna rush to your legs, prepping you to run, John sneered inside, cold as steel. Still, he needed a few more seconds for the payout to clear.

  “Mr. Calhan, uh, I was wondering, uh… when you’re done, could I maybe…” John stammered, shy-like, tossing out his bait.

  Bryce cracked a ugh—his antsy lust morphed into something darker, thicker. This is getting even better. He liked this John kid more every second he heard John talking—hitting all his kinks. Usually it was Charles joining him for this kind of shit, but a “volunteer” stepping up? Fuck yeah. He jabbed a finger at slumped Mar, “No need to wait—jump in now, dumbass. You go first—I’ll watch.”

  John’s stomach twisted—what a sick fuck—but time? Secured. He walked towards Mar slow, and then—ding—her phone chirped from her spot.

  Bryce didn’t catch it, still riding his high, crowing at John, “Look what I have done today, kid. I’ve locked Vigorex’s monopoly, crushed Hensley’s Haul, and now a good fuck’s coming too. Not in your whole fucking life could you achieve something like I do. Without me, a punk like you’d never touch a woman like this—so go hard for me, call it thanks, huh?” He cackled, loud and smug.

  But Mar stirred—pushed up from the table, grabbed her phone, checked it, and nodded at John. He then spun around, face flipped—gone was the goofy mask, now ice-cold, dead serious.

  “Calhan, you make me fucking sick,” he said, no trace of his usual py. “No monopoly today—only you and your company’s getting crushed. But yeah, you’re right about one thing—a good fuck’s coming your way. You’ll still enjoy today, though—I can assure you.”

  With that, John was ready to rip open every st secret move he’d pulled, shredding Bryce from the inside out, till he broke like a pathetic muppet.