The Guilty - Jason Pinter [2]
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Jason Pinter
mount an army of backers to buy what was widely considered a sinkhole. Through his A-list Rolodex, Kensbrook
turned a pile of rubble into Gotham's hottest nightspot since
the heyday of Limelight. Its clout had grown to the point
where New York Magazine had referred to it as "The Oprah
Winfrey of music promotion." If you had to jump on one
couch to get maximum exposure, the Kitten Club was the
place to jump.
Shawn was decked out in a wool Versace suit that ran
$2,200 and burned off a thousand calories a night. Shawn
had purposefully bought it a size too small, the fabric stretching over his taut frame. Athena knew the only thing he
worked harder at than promoting his club was promoting his
body. Unlike most in the entertainment field, Kensbrook accomplished it solely through weightlifting, protein bars and
the best personal trainers money could buy. Bastard didn't
even drink.
Shawn pecked Athena on the cheek and ushered her
through the crowd to the DJ booth in the back. She shook
hands with a guy Shawn introduced as DJ Stix, a lightskinned black man wearing sunglasses rimmed with
diamonds. No doubt they were real. Kensbrook would want
his employees to dazzle in every way, no matter the price.
Athena's manager, a twitchy man named Eddie, would be
standing by in case she got the crazy urge to sing without
proper electronic vocal support. Athena had an army of producers who made sure she sounded perfect in the studio.
Live, anything could happen.
After the current song ended, Stix turned down the music
and Kensbrook picked up the house microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, kittens, cats and lions of all ages,"
he said. "It is my pleasure to introduce you to the Queen of
The Guilty
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all Media, her royal highness herself, the woman whose debut
album drops this Tuesday, give it up, show your love, for the
beautiful Athena Paradis!"
The crowd roared as Athena waved, blowing imaginary
kisses, flaunting her body and striking glamorous pose after
pose. She was a god among mortals. She knew it, they knew
it, and they all loved it.
Suddenly a deep, throbbing bass began to reverberate
through the club. Squeals of joy leapt from the lips of heavybreathing men and women. Then, after a dozen bass thumps,
the synthesizer kicked in, and the club came alive.
The sweaty bodies congealed into a solid mass as the
expertly arranged rhythm sent ripples through them, electricity making every person sway, every person bounce, every
one of them belonging to her.
Sweat coated Athena's upper lip. She licked it, shuddered
at the sensation, and knew the night would be a memorable
one. The blue Missoni dress clung to her body, the fabric
matted on her curves like tissue paper. The dress had been airmailed by Ottavio Missoni himself, specifically for Athena to
wear tonight.
She could feel DJ Stix's eyes drinking her in. He didn't
even pretend to look away. Even Shawn Kensbrook couldn't
help but steal an eyeful as she danced and spun to the beat.
Athena looked at them with a seductive grin, then raised the
volume a few notches, the bass thumping harder.
The music consumed the night. And then Athena jumped
on top of the turntables.
The crowd stopped dancing, stared at her, cheered her on.
She ran her hands over her body, made every one of them feel
like they could be her lover.
Athena owned them. Every single one.
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Jason Pinter
Somebody handed Athena a clear glass. She drank it in two
gulps. Vodka tonic. With a hint of lime. She could feel the
ecstasy tab kicking in. The whole world became a velvet
dream, soft, wet and inviting. She kissed the air, watched as
her lips sent waves of passion through hundreds.
When the song ended, Stix took Athena's hand and
escorted her back to her nine hundred pounds of bodyguard.
The lips pleaded with her to stay, reaching and pawing as she
was led through the crowd.
Shawn Kensbrook ducked through the prying arms.
Athena's lead guard recognized him, parted the way. Shawn
was dripping with sweat. She envied