Watch Me (Phoenix #1) - Stacey Kennedy Page 0,1
The view was all too familiar. The black dress she’d worn with the strappy sandals. The lace bra.
Every footstep walking by her sounded like thunder to her ears. Every laugh or word spoken was too loud. Her focus narrowed on the rip of her dress, her bare breasts, her legs spread wide, and her vagina on display for all to see. But worse than the image was the message: A pretty piece from NYU. We destroyed her. Who wants her next?
Zoey’s hand trembled as the phone slipped from her hand. She looked into Ava’s and Julie’s slack expressions and wet, dull eyes before she heard the laughter and the voices. The fingers pointed her way. Some snickers and slurs. Slut. Whore. She recoiled, feeling each blow.
“Hey, sexy,” a deep voice suddenly said from her right. A handsome face filled her vision, cold arrogance gleaming in steely brown eyes. “Busy tonight?”
Zoey’s stomach roiled, and she fought against the chill stealing all the heat in her soul. She got up to run, to hide, to escape. But her legs gave out, the world disappearing around her as she threw up on his shoes.
Chapter 1
One year later…
The streets of midtown Manhattan were foggy from the rain earlier in the day. Rhys Harrington breathed in the heavy night air as he strode up the stone steps of the ultra-exclusive, upscale sex club, Phoenix, shortly after nine o’clock. In the 1920s, the historic building located on 5th Avenue was a gentleman’s cigar club. When Rhys bought the property and business ten years ago, he’d done so with another thought in mind. This corner piece of New York City, where anyone who stepped inside the doors left different than they came in, now housed fantasies and sexual delights.
Rhys wrapped his hand around the smooth golden handle and opened the heavy wooden door, entering the classy cigar lounge. Round tables were full of customers, enjoying a drink of fine bourbon and a cigar. Three bartenders dressed in tuxes served up drinks while waitresses and waiters tended to the customers at the tables. Rhys continued on, heading through the door at the back that led to his large office. His huge cherry-wood desk sat in the center, surrounded by bookcases and art he’d collected over the years. He moved to one of the bookcases, took off a book, and lifted the wood there. After he pressed his finger against the fingerprint reader, the bookcase began moving, revealing the hidden stairwell behind. He traveled down the staircase, surrounded by stone walls, as the cabinet sealed shut behind him.
When he reached the bottom, he opened another door, immediately greeting his longtime security detail. “Andre, how are things?”
Former military, Andre stood at the door, alert and ready. He smiled in greeting, warming his typically hard green eyes. He didn’t hold a weapon; Andre was the weapon. Any threat walking through the door would regret their choices. “Can’t complain, boss,” Andre replied with a thick Texan accent.
“Then, it’s a good night, indeed.” Rhys headed past him, but stopped before he walked through the next door. “Let me know if any trouble comes up tonight.”
“You know it,” Andre said, inclining his head.
Every person on Rhys’s payroll also got playtime at Phoenix. It kept his employees loyal, like family. They fought to protect this club and its members as much as Rhys did, and that kept everyone safe. When he entered the main area of Phoenix, he felt eyes turn to him, the pulsating energy in the room washing over him. The seating section had brown leather couches set around square coffee tables. The gas fireplace cast a romantic glow on the place, and the large, dim chandeliers over each table added to the warmth of the space. The women wore fine lingerie; the men were shirtless, wearing only black slacks. He recognized every face, even behind the masquerade masks. As the owner of Phoenix, he personally met everyone who applied for membership. Even the members who required anonymity and wore full-face masks, Rhys knew well. He knew every secret of every person in his club, and with that trust, he offered sexual freedom at a steep price. The level of security needed to keep an identity hidden determined the cost of the membership. With the tunnels from Prohibition beneath the building, members could enter from various locations across the city. The men and women working at the club were all retired military who understood the value of secrecy and honor.
Phoenix lived in a