Page 78 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Anthony
Thankfully, the limo ride is more relaxed. Yuna takes at least a hundred selfies—alone, with Iris and with everyone else—and makes witty observations. Iris laughs at her jokes, her weight resting against me, which is exactly how I prefer it, so I can feel her warmth and play with her hair.
Julie, on the other hand, is still off. I don’t know what her deal is. If she didn’t want to come, she should have stayed home instead of ruining the evening.
Wait a minute. Did Byron run to her and cry about how I took the contract away from him? Unless I’m mistaken, she’s closer to Byron than Milton. She was even staying at Byron’s place earlier. She could’ve realized Yuna had something to do with Byron’s setback.
If that’s the problem, she needs to cut it out. Except I can’t tell her to do that, not with Iris and Yuna watching. I need to find a way to talk to her privately. If she’s got a problem with the way I’m fucking with Byron’s life, she can take it out on me, not the women.
Finally, we reach Z. The line’s long, wrapping around the block. My hand linked with Iris’s, I lead everyone to the VIP lane.
The assistant chief of security lets us in with a polite greeting. He must’ve heard I was coming to be manning the line himself.
I watch Iris’s face carefully as we enter the club. Until now, I’ve never wanted someone to love my club and feel proud of what I’ve built. I have no idea how she’ll react to Z. She and I never went clubbing in Tempérane, and I’ve never seen her listen to or play contemporary music. Z is about as far away from classical as you can get.
The loud music throbs at a cellular level. Iris lifts her head, her eyes wide, as she takes it all in—the slick, well-dressed crowd, the multilevel interior with balconies and private nooks and crannies, the bar with all the best liquors. Lots of chrome and glass.
“Wow.” A smile breaks over her face. “It’s awesome. I can’t believe it’s all yours.”
The coil inside me loosens. “Every bit of it. And there are more.” I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair. “All yours, too.”
She pokes me in my ticklish spot. “Haha, very funny.”
She doesn’t understand—all this, I built for her. Seven years ago, when Ryder betrayed me, I swore I’d become so strong that nobody would ever hurt me or take away what was mine again. I learned very quickly that to have that kind of power, I needed to be very, very rich. So I devoted the last seven years of my life to making money—so that if I ever met someone who could be the sun, the moon and the stars of my heart, I’d be ready. But I don’t argue the point with Iris. It’s enough that she loves it.
“Your DJ has great taste. This is fantastic music,” she says.
I pull back to study her face. “Really?”
“What? You don’t think I listen to music by people who haven’t been dead for at least five decades?”
“Well…yeah.”
“Ha! I do, just not that often. Besides, you can’t dance to Rachmaninoff.”
Laughing with relief and satisfaction, I take everyone to the VIP section I’ve reserved on the second level. Yuna doesn’t even bother to order a drink. “We gotta get out on the floor!” she says.
“You’re just going to skip drinking?” Julie asks, her tone a bit too pointed.
“Later. I don’t need alcohol to dance like a rock star,” Yuna says. “Come on!” She pulls at Iris’s arm.
Mr. Kim says something to her in Korean, and she shakes her head, gesturing at him to stay seated. The poor man looks supremely uncomfortable, although he’s doing his best to hide it. He’s probably not used to loud music.
“Drinks are on the house,” I tell him as Iris drags me out as well.
Julie stays behind. Bobbi follows us, affecting a bored clubber face. But her eyes are watchful.
The second we’re on the dance floor, Yuna throws herself into the music. She’s a wild dancer—not great but not giving much of a damn as she flings her arms and hair about. A couple of guys join her, and they seem to be having fun. Once I’m satisfied they aren’t going to try anything with her, I dance with Iris.
Her movements aren’t out of control like Yuna, but she’s a fabulous dancer, matching my moves beat for beat. Her body gyrates, her arms raised above her head. She dances in front of me, making sure she’s grinding against me.
My blood runs hot, and the dance starts to feel more like foreplay.
After a few loud songs, she puts her arms around my neck and says, “I’m thirsty. Drink?”
I pull her closer and lead her to one of the three bars. This one’s in the back, in one of the quieter parts of the club. She gets a cranberry vodka, and I order scotch, neat.
