Bodie reached for the box, steeling herself against the paltry amount she’d gathered before the rain chased her crowd away. The lid popped off, clattered to the floor, and her brow furrowed into a frown.
There was a handful of coins dotting the bottom of the box. Maybe five dollars if she was lucky. But her attention zeroed in on the thick roll of green that hadn’t been there before. Her hand trembled as she reached for it, not willing to believe it was real even when her fingers scooped it up.
One hard swallow.
The roll of cash was very, very real. An elasticated beaded bracelet held the roll together, and when she turned it over in her hand, she saw the tiny dangling charm bearing an A.
Goddamn it, Mr. Mysterious.
Slipping the bracelet free, she let the roll unfurl in her palm like some exotic flower blossoming. Her heart pounded erratically as she studied the bills and calculated how much money she held. Too much. Too much money for a simple street performance.
The glossy edge of something black stood out from the green, catching Bodie’s eye. She tugged a business card free from the center of the roll, frowning as she studied it. Completely black aside from the two overlapping A’s in the center, one gold and one silver. The words Club Avalon were embossed beneath the simple logo.
Her pulse stuttered when she flipped the card over.
In bold handwriting, three little words glared at her.
He misses you.
For a moment, she was tempted to crush the card in her fist until it was as rumpled and damaged as she was. Was it some sick joke? A bribe from Liam?
With the business card in one hand and the money in the other, she shook her head. The only person with the opportunity to slip this into the box was Mr. Mysterious of the hypnotic eyes, which begged the questions, who was he and what connection did he have to Liam and that damn BDSM club?
Taking a deep breath, Bodie counted the bills. Nausea roiled in her belly as the amount grew...and grew...and grew. Chest tight, she couldn’t quite catch her breath as the money blurred in front of her eyes.
One thousand dollars cash floated to the floor like oversized confetti.
One thousand dollars.
Enough to pay the rent on her tiny home for another month, with enough to cover some of the utilities and food. Enough to ease the stress of living for a few more weeks until...
No.
The money might as well have turned to ash on the carpet.
Relying on other people was no longer acceptable. Taking bribes or whatever the hell this bounty was...she couldn’t do it. Not to mention, if she spent it, who knew what conditions came with it.
Mr. Mysterious could turn up on her doorstep and demand...anything in return for his generosity. She’d be beholden to him, wouldn’t she? Because she knew damn well she wouldn’t have sufficient cash to pay him back. And what if he asked for interest? He’d literally have her over a barrel.
No one was going to have that power over her ever again.
Goddamn it.
As visions of food and keeping a roof over her head blipped out of existence, Bodie slammed her fist down on the arm of her chair, relishing the surge of pain spiking up her arm. It washed through the thin fog of distress, cleared her head enough for her to see what she needed to do.
Time to get her big girl panties on, if she had any left, and go back to that fucking club. Hopefully she had enough gas left in the tank to get her home. But she’d return to the place where her world crumbled with the roll of money and the bracelet, with her head held high, and she’d give it back.
Every. Last. Bill.
That’s what she was going to do, she decided as her stomach vehemently disagreed with her choice. Then she was casting aside any notion of continuing with the stupid idealistic dreams of dancing for a living—because major fail so far—and she’d look for a job that at least made her enough of a wage to keep the shitty roof over her head, her angry belly full, and maybe reclaim some sense of dignity in the shape of furniture.
Ripping her soul out might be easier than giving up music and rhythm.
Starving to death in a cardboard box in the middle of winter didn’t sound wonderful either. The rut she was in was going to drive her crazy.
Chapter Two
“That face of yours is gonna drive my customers away, boy.”
Braun Fitzpatrick drummed his fingers on the polished oak of his bar and sipped his soda as he studied his friend’s face. He preferred his drinks a little stiffer but at three in the afternoon, it was too early to indulge in his usual whisky. “You gotten in touch with the root of your upset?”
His usually upbeat and cheerful manager looked as though someone had dropkicked his puppy off a rooftop. Gray eyes were haunted, rimmed with dark circles—Braun wasn’t lying when he said Liam would scare off the customers. The boy had lost some weight over the last couple weeks, and Braun was concerned for him.
William Carradine was a good friend, an excellent manager, and Braun trusted him not only with his club, but with his reputation. Bisexual with a leaning more toward men, the Dominant held everyone’s respect and the subbies flocked to him like rats to the Pied Piper.
“Phone’s off,” Liam muttered as he polished a glass with lethargic precision. “Won’t answer my calls, my messages. I think she’d slam the door in my face if I went to her apartment. I fucked up, Braun. I seriously fucked up.”
Yeah, his friend needed a good kick up the ass, all right. Good job Braun had already taken steps to get his buddy back into the right frame of mind. “You sound more like a submissive than a goddamn Dom right now, boy. Maybe I should ask Connie to take you upstairs for a few hours, spank this shit outta you.”
Capable hands set the shined glass on the shelf beneath the bar, picked another up out of the dishwasher and began to polish. “I know you’re joking, but I’d deserve it. What I said was out of order. Her family’s a huge sore spot for her and I opened my big mouth without thinking and punched her right where it hurts.”
Braun rubbed his chin and propped a heavy boot on the stool next to him. He much preferred his current attire to the damn monkey suit he’d been forced to wear today—black jeans, black silk shirt, and his steel-toed boots set him in the right mood for dominating pretty little subs. “She’s what, early thirties? She’s an adult, Liam, my lad. She’ll come around.”
“Twenty-seven,” Liam corrected with a sigh. “Her family is...they’re fucking assholes, to be blunt. They’ve treated her like shit since she was a kid. Her sister got in an accident when they were younger, and her parents blamed Bodie. They made her life hell until she moved out, then they started taking money off her as soon as she got a job and started earning.”
Eyes narrowed, Braun tried to digest that. “What, a few dollars every month?”
Liam’s laugh was brittle and bitter. “I wish. She handed over almost two grand about six weeks ago. It was everything she had saved up, her rent money, the lot. And before you say something about her not giving into her family’s demands, the assholes operate the same as any blackmailers do. If she doesn’t give them everything when they order her to, bad things happen.”
Fury kindled in his gut. “Bad things?”
Liam swapped glasses again. “She refused them a couple times when she was younger. I think the first time she was maybe eighteen. Just moved into her own place, some shithole she could barely afford. The landlord was an asshole, refused to do repairs, harassed her if she sneezed. She came home and her father was waiting for her. He’d trashed the place, smashed up the door and spray painted the walls with obscenities. He roughed her up pretty bad, warned her if she didn’t pay what she owed, he’d send his friends next time...and they’d do more than just smack her around.”