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