The Billionaire's Bet

After Zeek came on Scarlett's face, Mojo retreated into the next room and waited, remaining within eyesight at all times. A part of him wanted to hurry back to their own room in their own hotel so he could drop the overbearing pressure of the load in his balls, but another part of him wanted the show to continue, wanted them to recharge and go for round two. When Zeek returned to the bed after pulling on his jeans, hovering on all fours over Scarlett, now sprawled and recouping on the bed, Mojo thought he really would get another show.

And he did.

Scarlett offered a worn smile and a weak laugh. "Guessing you've already heard, but it bears repeating that you have a huge fucking dick." She laughed again as Zeek reached into his front pocket, opposite the one with the money clip. "I'm not a shallow girl, but there has to be a Mrs. Zeek in your life, if only because of what's between your legs."

Zeek's face went vacant, and Scarlett was afraid she had offended him with the "Mrs." comment. But it wasn't that. There was a dreadful look of determination in the piercing blue of his eyes, which now looked as cold and unfriendly as steel. It was as if someone had flipped a switch at the base of his brain. Scarlett heard a soft click as Zeek unfolded the blade of the pocketknife with his thumb. She thought he was reaching to touch her face when he drew the blade across her throat. The skin separated first, then blood surfaced and began to spurt.

Scarlett's expanded eyes went glossy, her gaze drifted down until they were fixed on Zeek's chest. Her world went black before she even knew what happened, her last feeling not of pleasure, but a mixture of shock and terror.

Mojo saw Zeek reach into his pocket. Was he going to give her more money? Except wasn't the clip in the other pocket? And then Scarlett's legs started moving in a jerky fashion, kicking, like someone was running an electric current through her body. Jesus, was he choking her? Mojo hurried for the bedroom. He almost called out, but because he couldn't yet see from his vantage point, he did not. But when he made the bedroom in a few long strides and approached the side of the bed, he saw the blood, and then he did call out. He screamed.

Mojo had wondered if he could take Zeek in a physical altercation. He now knew he couldn't—couldn't even come close. Prone on the floor next to the bed, feeling his warm blood flowing from gashes on his face and several puncture wounds indiscriminately inflicted over his body, he knew Scarlett was dead, and that he would soon be dead, too.

"Part of the bet was that you don't object to anything that happens tonight, asshole," Zeek said. He was moving around the bedroom, but Mojo couldn't even lift his head to see. "I could have killed you both back in Salt Lake, you know. But I hadn't been to Vegas in a couple years. I could have killed you both when I got you up here, could have bet just the money to begin with. Just the money would have been enough to bring you both, but I wanted to fuck your wife. She really was something. She looks even better in person."

Mojo was slipping into darkness. He doubted he would last long enough to hear Zeek's explanation. Even the words he heard now sounded thick and distorted, as if he were slipping underwater.

"I like younger women. I was very close to a younger woman not long ago. Her name was Molly. She disappeared though, close to a year now—disappeared, or so everyone else thinks. Thing is, she called me on the night she vanished and told me she was leaving her car at a tavern and crashing at your place because she was too drunk to drive. She mentioned your wife many times. I guess they were good friends. Molly never talked about me to her friends, though, because I was married at the time. I know how that sounds, but I loved her, more than anything. It's just that I stood to lose so much from my marriage...but when Molly was gone, everything turned to shit anyway."

He turned his head and spit forcefully at the bed. "Anyway I was out of town on business that night, so I was grateful Molly wasn't drinking and driving. I was actually grateful of your slut wife for looking after her." Zeek kicked Mojo as hard as he could in the ribs, but Mojo was dead.

Zeek continued to pace through Mojo's blood and talk. "I guess nobody saw her leave the bar with your whore, though I find that hard to believe, a piece of ass like that going out any door unnoticed. And I could have told the police, but I trust my money to buy the truth before I trust an inept police department. So I took it upon myself to hire a private investigator. I wanted him to go through your house, find out what you did to her no matter how many trips it took. He didn't feel comfortable breaking and entering at first mention, so I offered him more and got what I wanted. But really, all he had to do was look at your computer. I guess that's really the only place you need to look for anyone's secrets."

Zeek bent down and pulled Mojo's head up by the hair and cut his throat, just for good measure.

If it had been recorded, Mojo's favorite video would have been the one capturing Zeek fucking his wife. Since that video was never filmed, the distinction belonged to the video with Scarlett's friend, Molly. There was hopeful excitement in Scarlett's voice on the night she called Mojo and told him they were on their way to the house, and that Molly had agreed to put on a show with her for the soon to be birthday boy. He knew he would want to relive whatever was in store for that night, so Mojo strategically placed a camera in the entertainment center in the living room. He just needed to make sure all the action stayed in that room.

Scarlett lapped at Molly's clit. She tasted sweet enough, even after a full day—only a hint of the hours passed. Molly bucked and squirmed as she cried out, tugging at her friend's wavy red hair. As Scarlett licked and sucked, she wondered if this would change how she and Molly interacted from this point forward. They had never gone at each other, though it was always obvious to the trained ear that they were both game. Many women make allusions during conversation with other women, but the subtle hints go unnoticed because they are followed up with laughter—because laughter proves that it's all harmless, all in good fun. Innocent.

Mojo got up and moved behind the couch. He stared down at Molly, watching her chest heave, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, and it somehow reminded him of gills on a fish.

Scarlett looked up at Mojo, her chin wet and shiny with secretion. She rubbed Molly's clit frantically with her thumb. "There she goes!" And Molly squirted then, her orgasm rendering her motionless, breathless, frozen in her euphoria. And then she was breathless because Mojo inexplicably had both hands tight around her neck. The pressure made Molly's eyes feel like they were going to pop out of her skull. She thrashed about and managed a few grunts, but she couldn't struggle away from the strong hands crushing her throat, or the hands that were pinning her arms down.

Mojo looked to the hidden camera as he squeezed the last bit of life out of his wife's friend. Scarlett regarded him with some distain afterwards, but she had jumped in to assist him when Molly began flailing. Mojo assured her that it wasn't planned, that it had been just a weird spur of the moment thing.

In his suite, Zeek sat in a room with his laptop open and glowing in front of him. In another room, there were two bodies in the very early stages of decomposition. He signed in to his account on OurMojo.com. The latest video was of the couple fucking in a hotel room. Zeek watched it, going hard only a few seconds in. He waved his right index finger under his nose, savoring Scarlett's scent. He wished that scent would never wear off. He got up and headed for the bedroom. Conventional rules probably would have suggested against his intentions.

But Zeek was a man who had always gone against conventional rules.