Queen of Lies (Empire of Lies 2)

He shut the door and I sucked in several deep breaths. I stepped onto the platform at the center of the room, and hoped like hell that his mystery man was just someone who had nothing better to do with his millions. That he would watch me dance and request nothing else.

The door opened minutes later, and a man in a dark grey jacket and jeans stepped into the room. He had tattoos inked under his eyes—teardrops, clouds, and small cursive names. The Virgin Mary was drawn onto his neck in impressive shades of black and red, and as he slowly took off his jacket, I noticed that tattoos owned every inch of his arms.

He stood still and gave me a menacing stare, instantly scaring the living shit out of me.

Unsure of what to do, I avoided eye contact and started to move around the pole, like an awkward first-timer.

Grabbing the neck of a vodka bottle, he poured himself a shot and tossed it back before slumping down onto the plush leather couch. He watched me dance for all of two songs, and then he held up his hand.

“Stop,” he said, his voice terse. “Have a goddamn seat.”

“It’s club policy that I’m not supposed to ever—”

“Have a fucking seat, Meredith Alexis Thatchwood. Or would you prefer if I call you The Black Swan and pretend to buy into whatever bullshit pity story all your coworkers believe?”

I froze at the sound of him saying my real name, stepping down and obliging within seconds.

He poured himself another shot, and then he extended one to me.

Too scared to reject it, I tossed it down my throat. The small glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the floor.

“I’m glad I’m finally getting to meet you in person,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Although, I never would’ve guessed that an heiress would work in a place like this. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the nicest places in the city, but doesn’t Daddy Dearest give you enough of your inheritance every month, so you don’t have to come here?”

I didn’t answer. I’d never seen this man a day in my life, and the mere sight of him was setting me on edge and making me wonder if tonight would be the end of my life.

“Are you deaf?” He glared at me. “I just asked you a fucking question.”

“I’m not an heiress anymore…” was all I could think to say.

“Well, that actually makes some sense,” he said. “But not enough for me to forgive you for what you’ve done to me.”

I swallowed, unsure of what the hell he was talking about. I watched as he calmly rose to his feet, as he poured himself a glass of whiskey and took his time sipping it.

“I’m not a man who gets surprised too easily these days, Miss Thatchwood,” he says. “But any person who is willing to blatantly steal from me and ignore all of my fucking phone calls, always gives me quite the shock.”

“No, I…” I shook my head, now realizing that the annoying number must’ve belonged to him. “I’ve never stolen from you…”

“Oh, yeah?” He raised his eyebrow. “Maybe you thought that by taking a few thousand from these stuffy ass suits, that you were just being a slick bitch and it would never catch up to you. That taking money from them was just easy money that they could work overtime and replace before their wives found out, huh?” He walked over to me and pulled a gun out of his pocket, placing the barrel under my chin and gently tipping my head up to look into his eyes. “What you should know is, that’s my fucking money, and I owe it to the A brothers—two people you don’t cross or dare to pay late in this city. They’re the only two people outside of my own group who I actually respect, and they don’t offer payment plans or understand the words, I can’t pay you on time this week.”

I sucked in a breath as he moved the barrel against my neck, cocking it.

“If you’d only taken a few thousand, maybe I could’ve lived with that. Maybe I would’ve made you give me your night’s wages for a few months and made sure you never stole from me again, but—” He paused, laughing and shaking his head. “You’ve stolen a bit too much for that to be an option.”

“Please don’t kill me…”

“Kill you?” He laughed, even harder this time. “I’m not going to kill you. I can’t pay anybody with a dead body.”

“I can give you your money back.”

“I know,” he said. “You’re going to do it right now.” He called out for someone and the door opened, allowing another guy to walk into the room. “Take Miss Thatchwood down to the car. We’re going to hold her overnight and then take her to the bank in the morning.”