The large room was furnished with a mustard-colored couch and chrome tables. The back wall was all glass from floor to ceiling, offering a gorgeous view of Manhattan, the city lights glowing as bright as ever. To the right of that glass was a door leading to his rooftop patio, the original reason he’d bought the property. Ten years ago, there were tiny trees and plants there. Now his pool, hot tub, and sitting area could beat any park in New York City.
When he reached for beers in the fridge, there was a knock on the door. It opened a moment later, and his good friend, Kieran Black, a firefighter with the New York City Fire Department, entered. He had dirty-blond hair and strong green eyes that were both trusting and warm. His lean body came from hours of training for the Ironman Triathlon. Kieran took one look at Rhys’ face and asked, “Who do I need to kill?”
Beers in hand, Rhys shut the fridge and snorted. “You’re too good to kill anyone for me.”
Beside Kieran, Hunt Walker, a homicide detective for the New York Police Department, grinned sheepishly. “But I’m not. How do you want them dead, slow with a knife or fast with a gun?” His light-brown eyes held a slightly harder edge, like he’d seen things that would break most people. His tall and muscular physique intimated grown men. His messy golden-brown hair gave the appearance that he was easy-going, and typically, he was.
Kieran and Hunt were lifelong friends. Rhys had met them through his sexual interludes at private parties during college, as with Archer, and the friendship stuck. Brothers, not by blood but something deeper. A tight connection that remained important in Rhys’ life. And along with Archer, both men often partook in the shows at Phoenix.
“While I thank you for the offer to kill someone for me,” Rhys muttered. “It’s not necessary. We had a situation tonight at the show.”
Of course, Hunt missed nothing. As he took a seat at the poker table set up in Rhys’ living room, he asked, “Archer missed something in vetting that virgin?”
Rhys placed the beers in the cup holders. “That’s what I’m waiting to find out.”
Kieran dropped down into his usual spot across from Rhys. “That’s unlike Archer to miss anything. What happened?”
Rhys took his seat and cracked open his beer. “This woman, Zoey, took off her mask and showed her face to two members, who left the moment they saw her.”
At that, Hunt straightened in his seat. “She identified herself on purpose?”
Rhys acknowledged that frustrating realization with a heavy nod. “I’ve got Archer looking into her and what fucking game she was playing.”
“Damn,” Kieran breathed. “I pity her, then.”
Before Rhys could reply, another knock came at the door. Archer strode in, his jaw set. “Sorry I’m late,” he said by way of greeting.
Every Friday night was poker night. The game had been long-standing, with luck usually landing on Kieran’s side, who now said to Archer, “For your tardiness, you’re throwing an extra hundred into the pot.”
As cool as always, Archer grabbed his beer, cracked it open, and took a long gulp. “Rhys can toss that cash in. He’s the one making me hunt down information from a year ago.”
No secrets were held between Rhys and his chosen family. They were his sounding board, his confidants in his world of so many secrets, the only people Rhys trusted. He shuffled the deck of cards and nodded Archer on. “Let’s hear what you found.”
“As you know, the woman is Zoey Parker,” Archer reported, taking his seat at the table. “In college, she got drunk at a party, and two frat fools took a picture of her naked. I got hold of it.” The long pause that followed said enough about what type of photograph it was, but Archer added anyway, “It’s explicit.”
Rhys didn’t like where this was going. “All right, go on.”
Archer set his beer back in the cup holder on the poker table. “From what I discovered, rumors about her being a slut, a whore, trash—any name you can think of—spread like wildfire throughout the campus. She was bullied for the final two months of school, and it was bad. Most of the things in that file came from old social media posts.”
Hunt asked, “Which is why you didn’t find this out during vetting?”
Archer’s jaw muscles clenched twice. Then he nodded. “This situation is unusual. Her profile is gone now, so her name wasn’t linked to the social media post, which is why it didn’t show up in my background check. Zoey never reported the incident to the NYPD or the college police, so there’s no paperwork on her assault.”
“Wonder why that is,” Kieran murmured.
Rhys wondered that himself. He began handing out the cards. “What was she in school for?”
“Biological science. She got that degree. But it looks like she had originally planned to attend vet school at Colorado State University. She was accepted but turned it down. Now she works at a veterinary clinic as a groomer in Brooklyn.”
When Rhys finished dealing, he lifted his cards and began putting them in order. “Any information come up about her mental health?”
Archer organized his cards then set them down. “She went to therapy for six months—that’s all I could find without going any deeper. To get the actual records, it would cost you some cash.” Archer had a couple of hackers in his pocket. “But she’s not on any medication or had any arrests. From the way it looks, she lives a very quiet life with a couple roommates.” Another long stretch of silence settled in as Archer’s lips thinned. “Something came up that you’re not going to like.”
Rhys arched an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“The two men who took the photograph are Phoenix members.”
“Oh, shit,” Kieran drawled.
Hunt snorted a laugh. “Not for long.”
That explained why the men had run out. “Who were they?” Rhys had been too enthralled by Zoey to notice anything but the back of their heads as they were leaving.
“Scott Ross and Jake Grant.”
Both were hotshots on Wall Street.
At Rhys’ frown, Archer asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“Dig deeper.”
“Into Zoey?”
Rhys shook his head. Anything else he learned, he wanted to come from her mouth. “Into Scott and Jake. Get me a solid file on them and what happened that night.”
Archer lifted his eyebrows. “And Zoey?”
“Let me think on her.” He never reacted quickly, not with anyone who walked through Phoenix’s doors. He had a responsibility to those who trusted him to fulfill their fantasies and to keep them safe while doing so. With Zoey, the situation was different. He felt responsible for her. But he needed to think over his reaction to her. She’d gotten what she wanted and likely wasn’t a threat to his members. He should leave it at that and walk away. But why didn’t he want to?
He grabbed a hundred dollars’ worth of poker chips and tossed them Archer’s way. “For now, prepare to get your asses handed to you.”
“Keep dreaming, Harrington,” Hunt drawled as laughter blew apart the tension.
When Zoey made it home after sneaking out of Phoenix, her hands were still shaking. Standing outside the black-painted front door of her loft, she looked at the cashier’s check again: Zoey Parker. $100,000.00 signed by Rhys Harrington. She folded the paper, shoved it back into her purse, and shut her eyes. She’d never seen that much money before and never imagined earning money from selling her virginity. But after all she’d been through, there was no guilt, no shame, only freedom from her pain. With the money from the show, she could put a down payment on a house back home, where homes were a fraction of the price in Brooklyn. The plan was to turn the main floor of the house into a grooming shop. Sure, that dream was a long cry from becoming a veterinary, but she’d grown to love her job and being around animals. And the truth was, she missed home. It took everything she had to graduate undergrad. The last two months of school had been long and torturous. She still wasn’t sure what it said about her that she hadn’t told her parents the truth about why she gave up her dream of vet school. That being burned-out wasn’t the reason at all. She also hadn’t admitted that she avoided going home the last year because she couldn’t face them, not with the complete failure her life had become. Both her parents were doctors. Mom, a family doctor. Dad, a vascular surgeon. While they offered support, she could hear the disappointment in their voices. She couldn’t bear to see it on their face too.