Page 23 of Stolen Sun

Isaiah Canton and I were on our high school baseball team together. We were friends, somewhat. There was a level of mutual respect, even though we weren’t close. He was always throwing parties at his dad’s house because Jeff was always working. In school, none of us knew what his dad actually did, and Isaiah always said he traveled a lot when someone asked. Now I know better.

Jeff Canton operated the family business—a secret club for men that only the rich and powerful were invited to join. It’s run completely off the books through random accounts, businesses, and schemes to hide its existence. Men are the only members, and almost any vice is offered to them. The only rooms I’ve personally ever been in were the poker room, a banquet hall, and Isaiah’s office. Based on what Isaiah told me when he asked me to join, I also know that they have an escort service and access to just about every sort of illicit drug.

The building is tucked behind a wood line, and the main parking area is around the back. The club never closes, but you wouldn’t know that from the front of the building. There are only ever a few carsparked in the lot facing the road, and it looks run down to deter anyone from wandering in.

Using the inconspicuous backdoor, I enter the small lobby with dark wood paneling on the walls. Dark leather chairs are set off to one side, and heavy, cathedral-style doors fill the opposite wall. In the middle directly ahead of the entrance, an intricately-carved double podium separates me from the bleach-blonde receptionist.

As soon as I make eye contact, the tip of her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth between her teeth. She lowers her black-framed glasses to look me up and down.

“Good morning Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome,” she says seductively.

“I need to see Isaiah,” I state, crossing my arms and keeping my distance.

Her lips press into a pout. “He’s not expecting you. Guess you’ll have to wait here with me.”

I scoff and stare her down, pulling out my cell to dial his number.

“Declan, my man!” He answers, happily. “Is that you I see in the lobby?”

“Yep,” I clip.

“Hand Leah the phone for me, will ya?” He requests.

I close the gap between me and the podium, handing her the phone. She’s sure to brush her fingers across my hand before taking it from me to hold against her ear.

After a moment, she says, “Alright,” and hands the phone back to me.

Stilettos click against the marble as she rounds the podium to unlock the double doors. She’s wearing little more than lingerie, but that’s the point. Isaiah’s exclusive men’s club is attractive to the elite because it offers a world that doesn’t exist outside of these walls. All they have to do is pay their dues to be a part of it.

I follow Leah down a dark hallway very similar to the lobby before reaching the elevator. When we step inside, she turns to face me. I cross my arms as she traces her finger from my bottom lip down my neck and around my shoulder as she circles around me. Then she runs her fingertips down my spine before snaking her hand back to my front to grab between my legs.

“Just my size,” she purrs, massaging my dick. “You know, there aren’t any cameras in here.”

I step to the side, causing her to lose her footing. I catch her arm before she falls. I need to play the part of a potential member, but she needs to keep her hands to herself.

“Maybe on the way out,” I tell her and wink to hide my annoyance.

She smiles as the elevator opens to the penthouse on the top floor. Exiting alone, I walk through the empty living area to find Isaiah snorting a powdery white line off a woman’s ass while she lays across the dining room table completely naked.

I clear my throat.

He spins around as though he’s surprised by the sound.

“Please tell me you’ve changed your mind about the club, Dec,” he begs, walking over to me with his hand out.

Isaiah is only slightly shorter than me, but he has more of a runner’s build. His innocent-looking baby face and rich boy attitude have always worked for him. No one would ever suspect him of running an underground organization like this.

I shake his hand and answer him honestly, “I’m still a solid fuck no, bro. I do have a business proposition for you, but I want something else instead of the membership.”

“Oh?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

“It seems we have a mutual friend, Nate Williams,” I state, waiting to see what he does with that.

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but he’s dead,”he replies flatly.

“I’ve heard.” I raise my eyebrow at him.

“What’s this business proposition you have for me?” He asks, ignoring the implicating look I give him.

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