Chapter Twenty-One
Lyra
“Ugh, finally,” Anna says when we reach the head of the line.
She’s wearing a gorgeous gold minidress and matching heels; her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she put on smokey eyeshadow that accentuates her already stunning beauty.
“God, I hate waiting with the rest of the pedestrians.”
We pay the fee to enter the ritzy club. Inside, the space is filled with smoked glass, brass trim, and velvet ropes that move like a tide.
The ground floor is mostly for spectacle.
A long black marble bar throws honeyed light over cut crystal, sitting across from a DJ booth perched above a dance floor that pulses like a heartbeat, with strobes casting silver through the crowd.
Bottles flare, ice cracks, and the bass pounds in time with my heartbeat.
The ceiling is low enough to trap body heat but high enough to move light, with a second-floor mezzanine for voyeurs.
Bartenders work diligently, their movements like lightning as they pour, mix, and serve.
Anna and I weave our way through the throng and find a staircase leading up, passing the mezzanine before continuing to the third floor.
Here, noise becomes manageable and the atmosphere shifts from hectic to something more reminiscent of a speakeasy.
The floor is a ringed lounge with velvet banquettes, bottle service, and an array of alcoves sporting cushioned couches and comfortable arm chairs.
Sound is dampened, and the windows frame a view of the hustle and bustle of late night NYC.
“In other news, Sarah’s been swarming me with a ton of busywork,” Anna tells me as we look for a free couch or booth. “I think she might hate me.”
“She might hate me right now, as well,” I respond.
Anna’s eyes narrow. “Since when? She adores you. She keeps promoting you, so obviously, you’re her favorite.” There’s no bitterness or resentment behind her words—she’s simply stating what she sees as facts.
“I pushed back when she put me on the Killian King profile,” I reply. “I don’t have the time for it—or I didn’t. You’re probably getting some of the leftover busywork that would’ve otherwise fallen on my plate.” We find a booth to claim, and both sink into a buttery leather sofa.
“Well, I can’t be mad at you, so I’ll just be mad at Sarah,” Anna chirps.
The music is quieter up here; we still have to raise our voices to be heard, but we don’t have to scream or shout, which is a welcome change.
“Why can’t you be mad at me?” I ask, amused.
“Because you’re my best friend. Best friends can’t stay mad at each other.”
“I think there are many people who would beg to differ.”
“Those people aren’t us.” Anna flashes me a brilliant, beaming smile that would make legions of men fall to their knees. Several males in our vicinity turn to openly ogle her, and I can’t blame them. I’m straight, and I sometimes can’t help but ogle her.
Under her dazzling looks lies an ocean’s worth of wit, intelligence, and sharpness. Most men make the mistake of deeming her a dumb blonde, and Anna’s managed to get some brilliant traction in the industry because of that.
While she’s not as senior as I am, Annalise is in the promotional cue for the next opening in Senior Staff Writers. When the time comes, I intend to push the hell out of her.
“So, how are things going with Killian?” Anna asks me.
My skin flashes cold at the very mention of his name. I want to snap at her to not talk about him, but that would deepen her already-present suspicion.
“Fine so far,” I say with a shrug. “He’s just another spoiled billionaire playboy.”
Anna arches an eyebrow. “Is he? Most billionaires are born wealthy. King was born with nothing. He stands out from the pack because of that.”
“He also fits into the pack by being an asshole.” I really want to steer the topic away from Killian. He already consumes my thoughts even when we’re apart; I don’t want him to consume all of my conversations, as well. “How’s your boyfriend?”
Ana pauses to think. “Oh, Joel? I got rid of him last month. His oral game was shit.”
Killian’s oral game is on another level. My nails dig into my knees, just below the hem of my dark blue velvet dress. I need to stop thinking about him, but it’s hard to do so when he does his best to invade every corner of my life.
I can’t even sleep on my bed anymore after what happened there; I’ve been camping out on my couch like a guest. Once Killian releases me, I’ll probably need to go apartment hunting. There’s too much bad energy in my place.
“Have you moved onto greener pastures yet?” I manage to choke out.
Anna smiles. “Of course not. Why do you think I broke out this dress, and insisted we come here? Plenty of finance bros in a joint like this.”
“Plenty of other people, as well,” I point out, sweeping a gaze around the room.
There are groups of men and women sitting in booths or at bar tables together.
In the back left corner, a group of men all wearing suits catch my eye.
At first glance, they look like typical finance bros enjoying some weekend fun, but a double take shows that one of the men has a gun holster peeking out beneath his suit jacket.
And the one next to him is staring in our direction.
No, not our direction; Anna’s direction.
His dark eyes are fixed right on my friend, glittering with intentions that raise the hairs on the back of my neck.
Protectiveness for my closest friend crawls up my throat.
I don’t like the way the man is staring at her.
I shift closer to her protectively, and pointedly look away from that table.
“I think I’m getting eye-fucked,” Anna announces.
“By at least twelve people,” I agree.
“No, seriously. That guy in the back? Dark as night blue eyes and a jawline sharp enough to cut? He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive.”
My recent experience with powerful men is enough to make me want to caution Anna. I follow her gaze, seeing that she’s staring at the man who I caught staring at her—and he’s still watching her. I don’t think he’s blinked a single time.
A brunette wearing barely a scrap of fabric waltzes over to him and takes a seat on his lap; he pushes her off without looking away from Anna. She falls on the floor, startled, then shouts something at him and scurries away.
“Probably not the kind of man you want to get involved with,” I point out.
“Get involved with? Absolutely not. Have a dirty fuck with? Absolutely yes.” Anna manages to peel her eyes away from the man and refocuses her attention on me. “Have you been getting any action lately?”
I nearly choke on air. “Only from my vibrators,” I croak, which is a lie.
I haven’t touched any of my toys since Killian came into my life—my desire to get off has all but evaporated, but that never seems to bother him.
He makes me come whether or not I want to.
He does whatever he wants to me, and it kills me to know that there’s no way I can openly get him back for it.
“Be careful with those things,” Anna says. “I read an article that says they can ruin you for all men. Except for the men smart enough to incorporate them into sex.”
The very thought of Killian discovering my vibrators is enough to make me shudder. It’d open up a whole new channel of torture for him.
“Weren’t you the one to write that article in college?” I ask, trying desperately to stop thinking about Killian.
Anna laughs. “Of course I was.”
A shadow falls over our table, and a chill runs up my spine.
I glance up, nearly cringing back when I see one of the guys from the table in the back standing in front of us.
The guy who I spotted carrying a gun. His suit’s buttoned now, hiding his holster, and although the fit appears tailored, I can’t spot any outline of a gun.
“Mr. Black would like to invite you to join him for a drink,” he says, glancing between me and Anna. His eyes linger on me for a few beats too long, making me squirm in my seat. Do I know him?
No, that’s a face I would remember.
“Sorry, but this is a girl’s night,” Anna chirps. “Thanks for the invite, though. Is your boss the one who’s been eye-fucking me nonstop for twenty minutes?”
The man doesn’t flinch. “Yes. I think he’d prefer to actually be fucking you.”
Anna yawns. “Well, I’m not interested in getting my ass up from this booth, so if he wants some, he better make his way over here.”
The man pauses, gazing at Anna for several beats. Finally, he reaches into his jacket. I gasp and stiffen, lips parting in preparation to scream, but he doesn’t withdraw a gun—only a business card. He notices my reaction, though, brows furrowing as he glances at me.
He hands Anna the business card. “That’s Mr. Black’s number. Call him.”
Anna snorts. “He won’t cross a room to hit on me himself, yet he expects me to call him? Adorable. Thanks for the card, Mr. Mobster. I think I’ll wipe my ass with it.”
The man—Mr. Mobster?—turns around and leaves.
I frown at Anna. “Mr. Mobster? The fuck?”
She shrugs. “He’s carrying, and he’s sitting with a bunch of shady dudes. If he’s not in the mob, then I’m not a natural blonde.” She leans back in her seat, eye-fucking session already forgotten. “Now, what does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”
I make it home late but not too late, stumbling into my apartment with an hour to spare before my scheduled phone call with Killian’s source. I’ll be taking it from the encrypted burner Tommy gave me, and I intend to squeeze my source for all his worth… without scaring him away.
First, I set up camp on my living room couch, pull out my encrypted laptop, and get back to the investigative work I paused for my night out with Anna.
I navigate to the SEC’s database, and look up Killian’s company, Helixon Biopharma.
A list of quarterly and revenue reports from the last several years come up; I pause before clicking download on them, hesitating.