Page 47 of Lost Lyrebird

“Goose!Hey, man.”

Fuck off.I hold up my hand, eyes fixed on Lily’s performance.She weaves seduction through her movements like it’s a magical ability.The song is “After Dark” by Tito & Tarantula, and it delivers a slow, thumping beat—a beat she hits with each seductive sway of her hips.It’s a combination of belly dancing intoned with the luring call of a siren.

In no time at all, she’s got all the males here under her spell and has become the main attraction at the club.

Great for the club.But hell on me and my security team.

The more the clientele watch her, the bolder they get.

If I look to the right, I can easily find a man palming his crotch and laughing off his blatant arousal with friends.If I look to the left, I’ll find the same fucking suit from her first night here, sitting in his regular spot, staring up at her like she’s some goddess come to life.

She’s reeled them all in.

And day by day, week by week, I’ve had to witness every single man pant after her like some dog in heat.

I hate seeing it in their eyes—the sick gleam of their obsession.The lust for more with her.It triggers dark thoughts in my own mind of murder and dismemberment.Because so help me God, if they touch her or cross those fucking boundaries in any way, I won’t be above putting one of them down.

Thoughts like these have spiraled a bit out of my control.But I blame it on the unrequited desires she’s stirred up in my blood, and the maelstrom of need I can’t get a handle on.Not to mention that, for weeks, I’ve also had to watch Stone put his hands all fucking over her bod, and watch them lip-lock nearly every fucking night that he visits the Wet Tips, which has increased from one or two nights a week to a bare minimum of four.

The more time that passes, the darker these thoughts become.And God forbid she pays any of the clients special attention.

Because the woodpecker in my brain doesn’t like that one fucking bit.He goes into goddamn frenzy when she does, driving his sharp fucking beak repeatedly into my temple like he’s wielding a goddamn sledgehammer.

Bam, bam, bam.Like there’s not fucking brain matter and important shit I’m trying to store up there.

Like now, as she crawls forward and motions to the man in front of her, sitting at the edge of the stage.She draws him in with the crook of her finger, then seductively dances just for him, palming her breasts, bucking her hips, mimicking riding his cock like she’s at some fucking rodeo.One hand travels up her thigh.The other tunnels into her hair, lifting her curls to frame her face.It’s sex—or what she’d look like getting fucked.And it’s enticing as hell.

And it doesn’t stop there.She covers her mound with her hand when it travels back down her body, and she kicks her head back the moment she touches herself, letting out a gasp as if in the throes of pleasure.

My vision blurs a bit.The woodpecker throws a hissy fit and jabs at my skull.It hurts the way I imagine getting stabbed in the eyeball with a pen would.

I cover my right eye and brace against it.Sometimes it helps.Today, not so much.

My hands start to shake.I hold on to the bar with my left hand, trying to stay steady.

Memories—fleeting but intense—hit me in a rush.I grunt and pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off the blinding pain that crashes next into my head.

I get a flash of a woman walking in front of me.Her hand behind her, her fingers locked with mine as she pulls me through some trees.The sunset is cresting just above the treeline.Dandelion seeds float on the breeze.A heightened view of the city I know so well, Albuquerque.A girl is lying on her stomach on a mattress, watching a movie on a small TV.Her legs are bent and crossed at the ankle.She’s popping candy into her mouth.Then I’m standing in the doorway, looking at the words scrawled in black Sharpie on a bathroom mirror, “SMILE MORE”, written in big, bold letters, with a squiggly line underneath.

The visions are vivid one moment and break apart like smoke the next.

I try to force them back.But my knees buckle as another spike of pain drives home inside my skull.

“Goose!”Bodie’s voice is suddenly at my side.It’s so loud.His voice.The music.And these fucking lights.They’re too much.

I press both fists into my eye sockets, pushing back against the pain.I groan out my frustration because I’m so done.So fucking done with this shit.This fucking pain.Some days, it’s all there is.

Another flash of memory:a single pink flower in a vase on the table next to a fashion magazine.There and gone.Then another.A dreamcatcher.They come too fast.Too fucking fast to grasp them all.

“Goose!Goddammit, G, look at me!”It’s Bodie.

I brace against the spikes and work hard to stay upright.“Jesus fucking Christ!”The words are a low, vicious snarl.They rip from my chest like an animal has taken over to fight back against this onslaught.I rage back at my own mind.“Fuck you.Fuck you.Fuck you.”

I decide my own fucking fate.

Not you!

Someone grabs me and spins me around.“Goose!”