Page 90 of Savage Promises
It’s been a month since the Albanian warehouse fire and the disappearance of all the weapons Shane wanted to strengthen the empire. Still, I worry I’m being used as some bargaining chip to see if Garrett knows anything he’s not telling the Quinlans.
Dread is lodged in my throat, but I stay strong. That’s what Shane expects from me. And it’s my best chance to survive whatever the hell this is.
The car slows, making a full turn onto another bumpy road until we glide over what feels like smooth asphalt. Finally, the engine cuts, its purr fading.
I hear Shane’s door open. A moment later, my lock clicks and his warm hand takes mine to guide me out.
“Keep the blindfold on,” he says, his voice even.
I nod softly, letting him lead me forward. We cross through a whoosh of automatic doors and the air feels different, tinged with a faint hint of fresh paint, wood shavings, and new carpet.
“Okay, baby,” Shane murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “You can look now.”
The blindfold falls away, and the air seizes in my lungs. We’re standing in the center of an opulent two-story nightclub.My...nightclub.
But then I remember. It’s not mine. I couldn’t get the funding and lost it.
The place looks completely different from theconstruction site I visited months ago, but I’d know the bones of this place anywhere. It’s what drew me to it. The main floor stretches like a sea of polished marble and glass. Overhead, a massive crystal chandelier casts prisms of light that dance across the space. The bar, a sleek, curved surface of black quartz, glimmers under strategically placed lighting. Plush, jewel-toned seating areas are arranged in intimate clusters. The second-floor VIP balcony wraps around, offering a perfect view of the dance floor below. The seating areas are even more lavish than the main floor, each broken up with velvet drapes, gold accents, and glass cocktail tables.
It’s stunning, but white-hot anger bubbles in the pit of my stomach. The club has been remodeled exactly to my specifications. That creep architect sold my design ideas to someone else. Someone who could afford to pay him.
“Shane, what’s going on?” I ask, as warm tears burn the corners of my eyes. “Who...who bought this club?”
“You did.” Shane leans against the wall, a picture of power and beauty.
“No. I didn’t. I couldn’t. What are you talking about?”
His expression is unreadable except for a dark satisfaction in his eyes.
“Come on.” He takes my hand again. “I’ll show you.”
He steers me through a hallway of lockers, state-of-the-art equipment, and appliances. After a set of stairs, we arrive at an office and Shane stands in front of it, smiling.
Then he steps away and I gasp.
Lennox Quinlan, Owner.
“Me, the owner? Are you kidding?” I clutch my chest.
“I don’t kid.” Shane whooshes the door open. “Surprise, baby.”
The office is nothing like the cramped, dark-wood paneled office at Club Echelon. This looks feminine. The walls are cream and gold, lined with white built-inbookshelves and art deco accents. A massive white lacquer desk sits in the corner on an angle with a teal blue velvet tufted chair behind it. The surface of the desk is clear except for a sleek silver laptop and a single vase of white roses.
Excitement hums from his skin as Shane struts to the desk to lift a stack of papers.
“This is the paperwork to prove it. It’syourclub, Lennox,” he says, placing the sheets in my shaking hands. “The club is fully paid for. No loans, no debts. And I’ve deposited one year’s worth of operating capital into a checking account. In your name and your name only.”
Throat dry, I sift through the papers. There’s a deed to the building, a certificate of occupancy, and finally, a bank statement.
Lennox Quinlan
The balance has my heart pounding.
$1,000,000.
One million dollars. Operating capital. For a club.Myclub.
I stare at Shane, my jaw dropped. This can’t be real. “Shane, I... I can’t accept this.”
