Page 13 of Corrupted Union

I wasaware of each agonizing second that ticked by as I sat through my classes the following day. The anticipation was a never-ending electrical current running through my veins. I considered skipping class since my thoughts were too distracted to listen to a lecture, but I refused to give in to the pull. Logic controlled my actions, not my curiosity or libido.

And there was a significant chance Keir didn’t even work until later in the day. I’d looked up the Moxy and discovered it was the sort of establishment that did most of its business at night. A strip club buried in the middle of the Garment District. Not the best place to be at night, but if I went in the late afternoon, I had a decent chance of catching Keir and still getting home before it got too late. I preferred not to be wandering that area well after dark.

I had no idea where else I might find the Irishman, so it would have to do.

I arrived just after four o’clock. The area was relatively quiet at that hour. While the late September sun had already hidden itself behind a wall of city buildings, the bustling chaos of night hadn’t quite kicked into gear.

The painted black exterior of the building boasted no windows, effectively communicating the explicit nature of the club within. However, the paint was kept fresh, and the decently new awning was lit from within by green neon lights. The effect was sharp and even a little enticing.

I’d never been inside a strip club, though I’d looked up the place online to have some idea of what to expect. The images showed leather booths for private pole dances and classy chandeliers lighting rich wood paneling on the walls. It was a mix of between a sports bar and a gentlemen’s club. When I walked inside, I was relieved to see the photos had been an accurate depiction. I didn’t have to frequent strip clubs to know they could be a lot seedier than the Moxy.

Girls danced, even at this early hour, and sensual music pulsed in the air. A dozen patrons were sprinkled throughout the place, along with cocktail servers in skimpy dresses and several intimidating men dressed all in black like the one stationed at the front door. His face was striking, save for the scowl carved into his lips.

“If you’re lookin’ for Jolly, he’s not here,” the man said as though giving me the time of day had physically pained him.

“Jolly? Uh, no. I was looking for Keir.”

The man’s dagger-like stare narrowed as he looked me up and down. “What do you want with him?”

“He came by my place a couple of nights ago asking some questions. I wanted to follow up with him.” Somewhat true yet sufficiently vague to muster scrutiny. Hopefully. I used every ounce of my unearned privilege to sound confident enough to overcome any remaining doubts. It seemed to work.

“How about you give me your number, and I’ll have him call you.” It wasn’t a question.

Before I could decide if it was best to argue or tuck and run, a gorgeous server with blond curls approached.

“Tor, you givin’ this sweet thing a hard time?” She had a Southern drawl that made her instantly likable. I wasn’t sure I understood the effect, but it was the same with puppies. Only sociopaths could look at a puppy and not get a hit of dopamine straight to the bloodstream.

The man she’d called Tor grimaced.

Okaaay. So … sociopath?

Probably.

“Doesn’t involve you, Stormy,” he grumbled.

“I was just here to talk to Keir,” I blurted, hoping Stormy, as he’d called her, might be more helpful.

She flashed a brilliant smile. “Well, that’s easy enough.” She shifted and peered over her shoulder. “He’s right back there.”

“Fuck, Storm. Maybe she didn’t need to know that.” The man groused at her.

Stormy was totally unfazed. She winked at me, then flitted away, giving me the impression these two quipped like that on the regular. I probably would have laughed if my nerves didn’t have my entire body in a stranglehold.

I stepped around Tor and spotted Keir sitting with his back to me at a table, watching a woman dance on a small raised platform. I took her in as I approached. She was lean and toned, but her movements were too exaggerated for my taste. Too intentionally erotic. She wasn’t capitalizing on the seductive possibilities of the music playing. Considering the purpose and her audience, that might have been best, but it seemed a shame.

There you go again, analyzing everything.

Yeah, well. What else am I supposed to do?

The voices quieted the second Keir’s piercing stare met mine.

There it was again. Exhilaration, like epinephrine straight to the heart. How did the sight of him tangle my thoughts while unraveling my insides? I wasn’t scared of him. If it wasn’t fear bubbling up inside me, then what? I couldn’t deny the answer blaring in my head as I closed the distance between us.

Attraction—a primal, magnetic pull that hooked me at the molecular level. And it wasn’t just his rugged good looks that drew me in; it was the effortless way he emanated power, as if born with an abundance of self-possessed confidence so natural to him that boasting was unnecessary. Keir Byrne knew his strengths and saw no need to flaunt them. The mere scent of such surety was intoxicating.

“If it isn’t Little Miss Alexander. You’ve managed to surprise me—not an easy feat.” Somehow, he knew exactly how loud to speak so that he could be heard above the music, but just barely. It forced me to give every ounce of my attention to each word he spoke.

“Glad I could add a little amusement to your day, though it looks like you’re plenty entertained.” My eyes cut over to the woman who continued to gyrate on the private stage.

---