Dark Market

Prologue

Prologue

'And now my darlings,' the estate agent turned and spread his arms wide, 'the pièce de résistance.' The easy prey followed him into the room.

Too many bankers and their dull grey suits today, the estate agent thought, not enough billionaire colour. He'd strung these two along with his bitchy queen routine for far too long already. Although he didn't have to act too hard he had to admit.

He watched the couple blink at the blinding summer light blasting in from the two-storey lounge windows behind him. Enough. He wanted their money. He wanted it now.

'Come with me you lovely people,' he strutted between them, placed his hands on their backs, and moved them deeper into the sumptuous space. 'Could this glorious penthouse actually be yours? The views, oh, the views, are all money,' he said. 'Canary Wharf and Greenwich in one direction, and, in the other? A skyline to die for, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, the London Eye, the bridges.'

He pressed a button on a small white box, the shadows moved.

'And there's the remote controlled skylights in every room, of course.'

The ceiling wide array of mechanised blinds slid smoothly back to reveal a glass roof and ever more sky. They stood transfixed.

'You've surpassed yourself,' the woman said. 'How soon—'

The estate agent waved a finger, 'Oh no, my dear, it's not that easy. This is the palace for the kings of the castle. Residents approval only. But as I am the estate agent to the stars, for you, it shouldn't be a problem. You really won't believe who the neighbours are.'

'Oh, Michael,' she said and gripped her partner's arm. 'It's what we've always wanted, isn't it darling?'

The estate agent beamed at them. Skirt on the hook, it was time for the fat-cat in the oh-so-predictable striped shirt and pink tie. He turned his mascaraed eyes towards Michael, 'Come on, stud-muffin,' he gestured his head at the apartment, 'you know you want it.'

Michael rocked on his heels, looked at her for a moment too long. The estate agent saw nothing nice in the man's eyes.

'I want it? Sure Jo, it'll go with our town house, the country house, the yacht, the cars, the vineyard in France—' He shook his head.

'Michael,' she said, a warning edge to her voice. 'That's the business, this, this is our place together. Our palace together.'

'Yes, of course...my love.' He turned his back on her, puffed his chest, and addressed the estate agent. 'It's a cock-swinging joint alright. How much is it going to hurt?'

Without warning she span Michael round and swung an open hand at his face.

She pulled her blow at the very last moment, squeezed his jaw hard and glared into his eyes.

The estate agent realised his mouth was open, closed it, and tried not to grin.

The bitch slaps. And not playfully either. What must their life be like in private? The estate agent's smile disappeared at the sight of Michael's now defeated puppy dog eyes, searching for her approval.

How disgusting.

Time to close the deal.

'Ah, my little passionistas!' he said. 'You really must see the rest of the apartment. Your manhood, Michael, will be so engorged by the time we're finished, there won't be any room to swing it. Pain is, as always, optional.'

Deference over, the estate agent slid his arm though hers and escorted her away from the shirt.

No rings on her paw, he noticed.