Page 12 of Lost Lyrebird

He quickly sends another.

You got this.

Taking a Goliath-sized breath, I repeat aloud, “I’ve got this.”

I’m not the girl Finn left behind.I’m the woman I’ve made myself into.One that can make a grown-ass man beg, heel, cry, and come on command if I choose.

My determination firmly in place, I grab my makeup bag from the passenger seat.My armor.When I’m made up, it feels like I’m inhabiting another body.Which is exactly what I need.To be someone else.Someone likeable.Someone sweet.Not the person I see when I look in the mirror.

I’m good at this, I remind myself.I can play any role to fit the needs or wants of my clients.Finn isn’t a client, though; he’s a target, but the same rules apply.

The first place I use the cover-up is over the tattoo on my forearm.It’s not much, but enough to push down the real me and that old pain hiding just under my skin.When I’m done, I get out of the car, ready to be a different person.

Once again, it’s time to put all those dancing and acting classes to good use.

CHAPTER 3

Some things once lost disappear from our lives entirely, while others reappear when we least expect to find them.

APRIL 2007

I hate days like this, when pain is my steady companion upon waking.It makes spending the day surrounded by bright lights and loud music a cacophony of torture, and in those moments, I want nothing more than to sell my share of the club and be done with the alcohol, women, and pasties.

It wasn’t always this way.There was a time when the migraines were few and far between, when I used to feel like what I was doing here mattered.The women reminded me of Elle.They were at risk in the same way she was.Protecting them gave me a purpose.One I couldn’t easily walk away from.

After all, if I didn’t look after these ladies, who would?

But this?This right here, is bullshit.It makes me want to pull every silver hair from my head.The bass is a sharp knife splitting my skull apart.The song choice and the sight of another girl without the necessary skills to do the job—it’s a fucking medley of torment.

I used to have more patience for this shit.After five years, I’m worn the fuck out.Running a strip club means many moving parts and a ton of drama.I’ve done what I can to minimize it, but it’s still too much sometimes.

I rub my forehead.“Seriously… what is this?What in the fuck is she doin’?”

Bodie, my HOC brother and best friend, tilts his head to the side.Maybe he thinks a different angle will give him deeper insight.“Uh-mmm… walkin’ like an Egyptian is my guess?Or it could be that modern dance shit Blaire likes.”

A frustrated groan rumbles out of me.How is this my life?

Raven, the best assistant manager in the world, stands off to the side of the stage waiting for my signal.I give her a slight shake of my head.That’s all it takes for her to stop the music, thank the girl, and lead her off the stage.

A short-haired, dark-skinned woman with more than a few handfuls of curves is up next.Her best move is a dolphin dive where she belly flops on the stage, then proceeds to hump it to the beat.

Bodie rewards her with a standing ovation.Only when she’s escorted offstage does he plop back into his seat beside me and laughs like an idiot.“Oh my God!Please hire her.I need that girl in my life.”

I glare at him and massage my temples.As the auditions progress, I pop half a dozen aspirin.

The potential is here to make this place a goldmine.However, the locale and the available talent have hindered its success.

Another dancer takes the stage, and it’s another no.

“But I haven’t even taken off my bra yet,” the busty brunette whines.

Bodie smacks my chest.“Yeah, man, let her at least take off her bra first.”The girl hears him and frowns.Her gaze darts between us, like Bodie has a say, and maybe if she can convince him, she’ll get the job.I elbow his side hard enough that he’ll feel it tomorrow.The grunt followed by a curse is music to my ears.The man has been a pain in my ass for longer than I can remember.Literally.

“You ready for the next one?”Raven calls out.

No, but fuck, it has to be done.“How many left?”

“Two.”