Deadly Embrace by Jackie Collins (ebook reader for manga TXT) 📕

van’s on its way,’ she said, keeping her voice strong and steady.

‘You’d better be right.’

‘I am,’ she answered confidently.

‘What shit you write anyway?’ he said, leaning across the bar and helping himself to a pack of Lucky Strikes.

‘I write for a magazine,’ she said.

‘What kinda crap magazine?’ he asked suspiciously, rubbing his ear, which she noticed had three studs in it. Cancel out any kind of neo-Nazi group–these kids were operating on their own time, which made this situation all the more alarming.

‘Manhattan Style,’ she said, looking him right in the eye. ‘Can I get a cigarette?’

‘You got big balls, lady,’ he said, but he handed her a cigarette.

She felt that was a step forward. ‘You should tell me your story,’ she said, appealing to his ego. ‘If I were to write about you, people will be interested to hear why you do this.’

‘It’s pretty simple,’ he said, tossing her a packet of book matches. ‘I wanna get the shit I see on TV–the fuckin’ car, the Rolex, the house, an’ the fuckin’ vacation in Hawaii.’

She studied his face, long, thin, and pale, with pointed features. ‘Are you American?’

‘What the fuck you askin’? ’Course I am.’

‘Where are your parents from?’

‘You a shrink too, like I seen on The Sopranos?’

Hmm…so he lived in a house or apartment that had cable. Probably with his parents, who had no clue what he did when they weren’t watching.

‘My guess is your parents are Russian or Polish,’ she said, lighting her cigarette even though she’d given up smoking.

‘Russian, bitch. That make you happy?’

‘Why ya talkin’ t’this ho?’ the second gunman said, coming over again. ‘This ho is tryin’ t’suck you in so’s you’ll let ’em all go.’

‘You think that’s what she’s doin’?’

‘Yeah,’ said gunman number two. He had mean eyes, and the tattoo of a black snake half-way up the side of his neck.

All the better to identify you, Madison thought. That’s if we ever escape from this nightmare.

‘Get over there with your old man,’ the ringleader growled, snatching the cigarette from her hand. ‘How come you married a black dude anyway?’

‘This is America,’ she said. ‘In America there’s a freedom you don’t have in your mother country.’

‘Don’t gimme that mother-country shit,’ he said, getting agitated. ‘I’m an American, came here when I was five.’

‘Which means you’re Russian by birth.’

‘I’m no fuckin’ Russian,’ he yelled, flushed with anger. ‘I got nothin’ t’do with that Bolshie shit my mom carries on about. I’m an American, and this, lady, is the American way. If you ain’t got it–take it. Fuckin’ works for me.’

Finally she was getting through.

Jenna did not know which would be the most effective ploy to soften Vincent up. Should she cry and sob? Beg forgiveness? Or should she be cold and nasty?

Since he wasn’t talking to her anyway, it didn’t matter.

They stood side by side in the elevator, travelling up to their penthouse apartment. They lived at the top of the hotel in an apartment she hated. When she’d married Vincent she’d imagined they would live in a magnificent house in a guarded and gated community like Jolie and Nando. But no, they had to live at the top of the hotel, where he could keep an eye on her at all times.

What had she done that was so terrible? She’d sat in a Jacuzzi with a movie star. Other people would think that was a sensational coup!

She wished she could’ve had her picture taken with Andy Dale. If Vincent wasn’t such a pain in the neck, she could have got out her disposable camera and asked him to take few shots.

She couldn’t wait to call her girlfriends and tell them that she’d spent half the night in a Jacuzzi with Andy Dale–star of all their favourite movies. They’d be sick with jealousy.

Damn Vincent. He’d spoiled it. He always spoiled everything.

They entered their apartment in silence.

‘Vincent…’ she began, determined to have her say.

‘I don’t want to talk to you tonight,’ he said, dismissing her coldly. ‘Go to bed. We’ll speak tomorrow.’

‘You’re not my daddy,’ she said heatedly. ‘Sometimes you talk to me as if you are.’

‘Act like a child and get treated like one,’ he said. ‘How would you react if you found me in a Jacuzzi with Cameron Diaz or Catherine Zeta Jones?’

‘You don’t even know them,’ she said scornfully.

‘I could arrange to meet them tomorrow. Then how would you feel?’

‘You’re just jealous,’ she said, pouting.

‘It’s not a question of my being jealous, Jenna. It’s a question of respect. This is my hotel, and when people see my wife acting the way you did tonight, it’s not proper behaviour.’

‘You’re so old-fashioned,’ she said, continuing to pout. ‘Anyone else would be thrilled to have a movie star in their hotel. And I’m sure they’d be even more thrilled if their wife entertained them.’

‘And I suppose your idea of entertaining includes screwing the jerk?’

‘Vincent! You are so crude! I was not screwing anyone.’

‘You were sitting in a Jacuzzi with your tits out. That’s not crude?’

‘I’d look pretty foolish sitting in a Jacuzzi with my clothes on, wouldn’t I?’ she retaliated. ‘And, anyway, in the South of France everyone goes topless. They’re not ashamed of their bodies.’

‘I hate to remind you, Jenna, but we are not in the South of France.’

‘Well, when we were there on our honeymoon,’ she said sulkily, ‘all the girls were topless. You didn’t seem to have any objections then.’

This conversation was getting him nowhere. Right now he wanted her out of his sight, he couldn’t stand to look at her. He should’ve listened to his mother and married a smart woman, not this dim-witted bimbo. ‘I told you,’ he said, ‘I do not wish to talk about it tonight. Go to bed.’

She flounced into the bedroom.

He walked over to the window and gazed out at the sea of lights. Here he was, in a penthouse at the top of his hotel, and instead of enjoying everything he’d achieved, he was seething with anger.

It was Nando’s fault. Nando encouraged movie people to