Watch Me (Phoenix 1)

When she heard the door click shut, the masked man, still deep inside her, did the most unexpected thing. He gathered her in his arms until she was sitting on him, and then he put a hand on the back of her head to hold her close.

He said absolutely nothing, but his hold tightened, and the warmth he exuded shattered something inside of her.

The tears she’d fought broke free. The pain of a year, spilling out. The loss of her dreams, of what never was, emptying into this stranger’s arms.

Only when her tears dried did he shift and cup her face intimately. He held her stare like he owed her something. And then he gently kissed her, almost like a thank you for what she’d given him. She became just as lost as she’d been before. Taken to a place where her heart could nearly believe all men weren’t bad.

When he finally broke the kiss, he lifted her until he set her on her feet. She felt the heat of her blush rush over her cheeks, now reminded she was naked and not nearly as brave as she’d portrayed earlier tonight. He grabbed the black silk robe from the tray and dressed her. With a gentle look in his eyes, he fastened the robe and said, “I’ll give you a moment. Then I expect to hear exactly who you are and what the hell game you were playing tonight.”

Instead of lying, since she was never very good at that, she simply nodded. Naked, with the full condom still wrapped around his gorgeous cock, she watched him leave, his solid, muscled ass and flexing back, holding her full attention. How easy it would be to believe men could be good. That she could trust them. But men lied. They destroyed lives. She didn’t owe any man a damn thing, certainly not a stranger who thought she owed him her pain.

Chapter 3

When Rhys returned home later that evening, hot irritation licked through his veins. After dressing at the end of the show, he’d returned to talk with the woman he learned from Archer was named Zoey Parker, only to discover that she’d snuck out and took off. Rhys lived by strict rules. It kept Phoenix safe. He only slept with a woman once. No star appeared multiple times at the club. Only members were allowed in the building, except for the stars of the show, who went through Archer’s grueling vetting process. And finally, Rhys didn’t ask for any personal information about his stars. He didn’t know the names of the women he slept with. He kept things strictly professional. Zoey had him breaking his ironclad rules, and that didn’t sit well.

To rid himself of his mood, he showered off his frustration and prepared his house for poker night. He lived on the Lower East Side, enjoying the energy of the neighborhood. The trendy bars, nightclubs, and music venues gave him life when he needed it after Katherine, his college sweetheart, passed away from cancer. While his income had grown substantially since he bought the one-bedroom condo ten years ago, he never felt the urge to move. But he had done some renovations, adding modern gray slate kitchen cabinets. An up-and-coming painter had created a woman’s face on the kitchen wall in black and white. Her eyes had always looked haunted to Rhys. He realized now that he’d seen those eyes earlier. Zoey’s eyes were the same, and he couldn’t get them out of his head.

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.”