Wicked Love

Shelby evidently works night shifts and parties for the Sanctuary, I figure the best way to catch her is to stop by her place around noon during the week. This poses a problem with my class schedule, but time is of the essence, so if I need to skip a class or two, that’s just how it has to be.
On Monday evening I call Krew to see if he’s available on Wednesday around noon to drive me back to East Harlem. He assures me he’ll make himself available.
Afterwards, I get an idea to do a property record search to see who owns the building that houses the Sanctuary. It’s owned by DKA Holdings, LLC. I search the Secretary of State’s website to find the name of the owner or officer of DKA Holdings, and the only name is that of a New York attorney.
“Hiding behind a mouthpiece I see,” I mumble to myself. “Worried about liability?”
Okay, so now I’m talking to myself.
But the truth is: I am consumed by this and I have every right to be. This is deplorable and it makes me sick when I reflect back on what I witnessed that horrible night last Halloween.
“DKA, DKA,” I repeat over and over again in my head.
Dan.
Kandy--Kandace?
ARMENTROUT!
Oh. My. God.
Professor Armentrout and his wife – Kandace? How can that be? It’s not possible. It has to be a coincidence, right?
I go into the ACRIS website to see any and all of the properties held in the name of DKA Holdings, LLC in the five boroughs.
I pull out the notebook and open it to where I jotted down Shelby’s address in East Harlem.
Boom!
Recorded owner is DKA Holdings, LLC. There’s another property located in The Bronx belonging to DKA - the party house. It has to be. I scribble that address down so that I have it to provide to the police after I shake down Shelby.
Geez, which one am I? Cagney or Lacey?
Even I have to chuckle at that one.
I pick my cell up and call Krew again.
“Hey Princess,” he says and I can feel his smile over the phone, for some reason, my belly tingles.
“Krew, you won’t believe what I’ve found out!” I practically scream. “Are you still at the club?”
“I am,” he replies, “But getting ready to close up. Want to grab an Uber and meet me here. I’m about ready to go upstairs and hit the shower.
“Upstairs?” I ask.
“Duh, yeah, upstairs. It’s where my apartment is Princess.”
I guess I’d never given any thought to where Krew lived. “Oh, I didn’t know that,” I reply, “That’s convenient right?”
“It is for me,” he says, “Come on by. I’m anxious to hear about what you’ve found out, as long as you didn’t find it out by going anywhere.”
“No worries,” I say with a laugh, “Google is truly my friend right here safely tucked away in my dorm room. Be there in a bit.”
When I get to the club, Krew is standing inside of the lobby. He unlocks the glass door allowing me to step inside. The wind and rain are coming down in sheets, and it looks like it’s not gonna stop anytime soon. October can be beautiful or it can be a bitch. And since this is just the second week of it, it appears it’s decided to go the bitch route.
I pull the hood back from my head, and realize my hair likely looks like something from a horror movie. But at least it’s halfway dry, unlike the rest of me.
“You’re soaked, babe,” he comments, taking the liberty of helping me out of my hoodie. “Let’s get you some dry clothes.”
Babe.
I like the endearment.
“So, how do you access your apartment from here?” I ask, following him, my soaked boots making squishy sounds on the tiled flooring, as I try my best to bring some semblance of order to my tangled hair.
“Come, I’ll show you the secret door to my private man cave,” he replies, walking down the hallway and opening a door at the end of it. “After you.”
I walk up the thick-carpeted steps and once I get to the top, I’m impressed by his place. It’s open, kind of a loft type thing, with very masculine decor. Black leather sofa and matching chairs, glass end tables and coffee tables, but it’s his art that totally blows me away.
The walls are white-washed brick, and the framed art canvases have overhead lighting to bring out the various colors and textures of the abstract oil paintings. I immediately go over to inspect them close-up. “These are breath-taking,” I comment, looking down at the bottom left to identify the artist.
KB
I turn quickly to look at Krew. “You did these?” I ask, my eyes widening.
He stands there, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of the blue jeans he’s rocking and cocks a brow. “You seem surprised Princess?”
I shake my head, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I just never knew you were so gifted,” I sputter like the idiot I am.
His laugh is genuine, forgiving and quite honestly, delightful as he closes the distance between us.
Call me weird, but I totally love a guy in blue jeans, a sweater and nothing on his feet but heavy socks. Right now Krew could grace the cover of Stud Monthly. Everything about him, head to toe, and back up again, is pure sexy without trying to be. And his art? Oh my God, his art has my panties damp. It’s so damn unique, so multi-faceted, just as he seems to be that I’m totally bowled over by it. By him.
It’s as if he reads my mind because all of a sudden, his boyish grin fades, and in its place comes a look of warmth and purpose. His hand reaches out, and his fingers gently tilt my chin up so that I’m looking into those vivid moss green eyes of his. “I’m going to kiss you now, Carson,” he whispers softly. “And then I’m going to get some dry clothes for you, okay?”
“Okay,” I