Page 14 of Twisted Lies 4
Sinthia
SEVEN YEARS LATER…PRESENTDAY
I lovedsummer nights in Manhattan. Sultriness lingered in the air as New Yorkers hustled to their Friday night of fun.But damn, it is hot.Now I was cursing my decision to walk instead of catching a cab to the club.
I pulled my auburn hair away from my neck. Every muscle in my body was fatigued from working all day on my new fashion collection. My body begged for me to slow down, but my mind raced a mile a minute with lists of things I hadn’t completed.
Maybe I bit off more than I can chew. Just the thought made me queasy.
This collection would make me or break me. It was a scary reality, but it was my reality.
When Lily Sanchez, an energetic buyer from a Fifth Avenue luxury goods department store, had walked into my friend Francisco “Cisco” Rodriguez’s upscale boutique and fallen instantly in love with my couture clothing that he sold in his store, she’d changed my life forever. Just like that, at twenty-six years old, I’d moved from fledgling darling of the fashion world to having several luxury goods buyers clamoring to carry my edgy Sin Michaels women’s wear line in their stores.
Expanding from selling in posh boutiques, including Tabitha’s and Cisco’s, to going full throttle in department stores was a scary proposition. Frankly, I was comfortable with selling my clothing in small venues and making a name for myself with my signature street-smart style.
But Lily was right. Beingcomfortablewasn’t enough anymore. It was time for me to expand, and I was ready—well, almost ready. I needed financing to help me manufacture my new line, or my dream would die. I was slowly digging myself out of a ton of debt, so no bank would ever give me a loan. So I had been floored and excited when Tabitha called me. She’d been practically giddy that one of her business connections would provide financing in exchange for a small percentage of my future profits. The ink hadn’t even dried on the business contract when two million dollars was deposited into my business account with the promise of another million in six months.
Can I really make my new line a reality?
I took a deep, cleansing breath, refusing to go down the destructive path of self-doubt. This was a very exciting time in my life. I should be jumping up and down at the lucky turn of events that had changed my life for the better. But instead, I was focused on all the things that could turn it to dust.
I was finally standing outside the nondescript warehouse. It was a tricky place to find on a little street with minimal signage.
Shit, if it weren’t for the big, beefy man positioned in front of the entrance, I would have bypassed it completely.
With interest, I watched as a couple practically pawed at each other while strolling up to the bouncer, who promptly turned them away. Frowning, I strutted up to the burly guy blocking the club’s entrance.
“Sin Michaels,” I said while simultaneously handing him my ID.
He scanned my ID through a device attached to his tablet. He smiled as his eyes focused on my ample breasts.
I snapped my fingers. “Hey! Up here.”
He leered in a simply icky way that said he didn’t give a shit before glancing down at his tablet. “The rest of your party isn’t here yet, but you can go in.” He gestured toward my wrist and then placed a black-and-gold wristband around it.
I arched a brow.
He winked. “It lets the guests know you’re not interested in playing. As hot as you are, sweetness, you’re going to need it just to keep them off you.” He stepped aside. “Welcome to the McKay Club.”
I snorted. He’d saidthe McKay Clublike it was a religious shrine. Everyone knew about the McKay Club. It was part of a chain of private clubs owned by the wealthy New York City recluse and business mogul, Core McKay. According to insiders, all his clubs were invite-only playgrounds for the elite, rich, and kinky to indulge in discreet liaisons, allowing all their freaky fantasies to come true.
Why the fuck would anyone want to have a business meeting in a fetish club?
The rhythm of the music slammed into my body like a sledgehammer as I stepped over the threshold. Each thump felt like a nail sinking into my head, awakening the migraine I was fighting to suppress. All I wanted to do was go home, put on my comfy yoga pants, and pass out from sheer exhaustion.
Scanning the dark corners of the room, I noticed McKay’s looked more like a lavish penthouse than a club. The decor was strangely sensual and intimate, with Asian motifs, bamboo screens, and paintings dotting the walls throughout.
My gaze wandered to the bouncer standing guard before an entrance draped with expensive-looking fabric. He stepped aside, giving way to the men and women flashing their ink-black wristbands. It was probably a room where all the off-the-wall sexual debauchery happened. I was so not interested in going inside.
I sighed, deliberately walking up to the bouncer blocking the entrance. He pointed to my wristband. “Sorry. This area is invite only.”
I scoffed. “I don’t—”
My tirade was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. Annoyed, I looked over my shoulder, almost biting my tongue when I locked eyes with a gorgeous man staring at me with more than a little interest.
“Are you going in?” he asked in a smooth, baritone voice.
“What?” I croaked before clearing my throat. “No. I’m not.”
