21. Lottie
Chapter 21
Lottie
‘Devil Side - Foxes’
T he music thunders through the club, the heavy beat vibrating in my chest, drowning out every thought. It’s a rhythm I know well, one that’s become comforting as I’ve tried to find myself again.
The lights flash in time with the music, a chaotic swirl of neon that blurs everything around me.
I sway my hips, letting my arms move freely, fingers brushing against the air as though I’m reaching for something just out of reach. Each motion is deliberate, a careful dance I’ve choreographed over the last week in preparation for tonight, and yet somehow, it feels like I’m losing control, the music taking over, and I let it. I let it move me instead of the moves I had so carefully planned out in my head.
This is who I am now—at least, it’s who I’m trying to be. The version of myself that didn’t let him steal everything.
It’s been a year since I started stripping in an attempt to take back some semblance of power. Every movement is a battle. Every sway, a little piece of my past that seems to still haunt me, that I try to push behind me.
The club is packed tonight. Men staring at me with hungry eyes that scan my every move. I know they don’t really see me —they see the illusion that I’ve so carefully crafted. But I can never escape the feeling that he’s out there.
Oscar’s watching me again. I can feel his eyes on me even though I can’t see him. He’s always watching. Always there, standing at the edge of the room, where the dim lights mix with shadows, where he can keep an eye on me and make sure no one touches me… ever. His protective instinct is almost palpable as he hovers at the back, following my every movement. He doesn’t judge me for being here. He never has.
When I first started stripping, I kept it a secret from everyone. I told myself it was just a job—a way to make money, so I never felt like I had to rely on Archer and his family, a way to gain back control and to prove to myself I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t prepared for the weight that came with it. The constant anxiety, the feeling of being exposed every time I stepped onto the stage, as I pushed myself to move past what happened.
I was prepared for the men who saw me as nothing more than a fantasy, a body to consume and discard.
It was never the job that scared me. It was everything that came with it — the boldness, the loneliness, the vulnerability as I forced myself to walk out on the stage with shaky legs until it became a blur as I lost myself in the music, the fear that one day I could still lose everything despite Archer’s promises.
I’ll never forget that night. One of the customers was too much—too persistent, his hands too familiar, too demanding as if he deserved to touch me. I couldn’t use my voice, still lost after what happened, and the way this man’s hands felt on me threw me right back to that night.
The bouncer who worked that night didn’t seem to care. The manager was too far away, and the others didn’t notice.
I felt small. I felt powerless.
I had been working at the club for a few weeks by that point, trying to get the hang of it. It all came crashing down around me, and I became convinced I was to forever be a victim. I finally managed to slip away from his grasp as Angel intervened, threatening him with extreme bodily harm if he dared to continue touching me. My heart was hammering, my hands shaking, and I rushed out of the exit. Running because it’s the only way I knew how to survive.
I rushed down the alley into the shadows in an attempt to hide when it hit me.
The panic.
It came out of nowhere, the rush of terror, the crushing weight of everything that had ever happened to me. I couldn’t breathe. My legs gave out, and I collapsed against the cold brick wall, the stone scraping against my back, choking on air that wouldn’t come. The world spun around me. It felt like I was drowning in the same way I had that night.
And that’s when a shadow came into view. He was tall and imposing, but his face was filled with worry as he crouched down in front of me.
“Lottie?” his hands moved in front of me, drawing my eyes to them.
It cut through the fog of panic in my brain, but I couldn’t look up at him. I was too ashamed, but Oscar knew, just like he always knew. He dropped down beside me in an instant, his hands engulfing mine as he squeezed them in rhythm with my own heart.
I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to.
My body trembled like a leaf, and all I could do was try to breathe through the panic. Oscar didn’t ask questions and didn’t push me, but I saw how concerned he was. I could feel the way he pressed himself against me like he was afraid I would disappear if he lost contact. Then, the panic eased, and the world around me stopped spinning. Oscar was still there, waiting. He was too good of a guy to walk away and far too stubborn to leave me alone when I was falling apart. I think he knew something had happened to push me to hide in the alleyway, and that’s when the other side of him appeared.
“Tell me what happened. Right now.” He demanded.
And I knew there was no way out. I was hiding in the alleyway next to a strip club. I had no idea how he found me, and still, to this day, he won’t tell me, no matter how often I ask. There was no way for me to hide. I was exposed—physically and emotionally—by the panic attack. Never mind the outfit I was wearing.
So I told him everything. I explained how I’d started working at the club, how I was just trying to find something to feel in control of, a way to prove to myself that I wasn’t ruined. I told him how I tried to keep it secret, and I told him about the man who had no regard for my boundaries, the customers who felt entitled to touch me however they wanted, the helplessness that choked me every time I stepped onto that stage.
Oscar sat there, watching me sign all of this as tears leaked from my eyes, his jaw set tight. He never judged me, but I could see the anger building in his eyes.
Not at me… never at me.
“Never again, Lottie. I will never let anyone hurt you ever again,” he signed.
The next week, Oscar was there at the club with a job offer. He had gotten hired as security. He didn’t say much about it, refusing to tell me how he pulled strings to get the job, but I knew. I knew it was because he couldn’t sit by and let me work somewhere I didn’t feel safe.
And that’s how he became my shadow. Every night I worked, he was somehow there. Standing in the back, watching, making sure nobody ever got too close. He didn’t let me walk to my car alone anymore, even when I begged him to let me do it. It wasn’t just that.
It was the little things—the way he’d pull me aside during breaks, offering me a bottle of water. The way he’d always check in with me with just a look, not just when things were bad. He never let me forget that I wasn’t alone.
It’s why I knew I didn’t deserve him. I hated myself for the feelings bubbling up because Oscar deserved someone whole, somehow, who wasn’t tangled up in her past, who could love him without all the baggage.
Someone who didn’t still dream about the man who saved her from drowning.
But here we were. Oscar was always close, kind, and looking out for me even when he didn’t have to. And I couldn’t stop myself from wanting more, even when I knew I shouldn’t.
The thump of the music brings me back to reality. My eyes immediately find his.
Steady.
His protectiveness is almost palpable as he hovers at the back of the crowd, his eyes following my every movement. He doesn’t judge me for needing to do this. He doesn’t even seem to care.
But I can’t look at him without feeling a pull, a desire I shouldn’t have. Not when I’m in love with his best friend just as much.
Just friends. They deserve more than someone broken.
I glance toward the back of the room, my eyes scanning the familiar faces I see here so often. It’s hard to focus, and the strobe lights are creating more shadows than I’m comfortable with. Seeing them again has thrown me off.
I’m just glad Archer doesn’t know about the stripping. His image is burned into my mind. Strong, protective, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, his eyes always so intense, like he’s reading my thoughts as if he can see into my soul with just a glance.
And it terrifies me.
He saved me. Pulled me from the water that night when I thought it was finally my end, when everything in my life was slipping away. He pulled me back and gave me a family and a future, and I haven’t been able to look at him the same since.
I’m not supposed to feel like this about him. Not when Oscar is here, watching me, flirting with that dangerous line of being friends or more . I feel trapped. I owe them both everything, and I would never be able to choose one of them to give my heart to fully.
Just friends.
I take a deep breath, pulling my eyes away from his direction. I’m a mess. I have been since I locked eyes with the ghosts of my past. The lights are blinding, and my breath comes a little too fast. The world around me spins, dizzying with the beat as I spin around the cold metal pole, the flashing lights, and my tangled emotions.
I keep dancing, but something feels wrong. I feel too exposed… too seen.
I swear I see them. The faces, those damn faces, lurking at the edge of my vision. My hands turn sweaty as I angle myself to the right.
Roman, Crew, Elijah.
I’m not sure if I’m imagining them or if the lights are just playing tricks on my eyes, but I swear it’s them sitting in the corner booth. The three of them sit side by side, their expressions unreadable from where I am.
They don’t know, or maybe they do.
My screams were hard to ignore. I can still hear them ringing in my ears until they grew silent when no one came to save me.
Did they know? Did they listen to me beg and plead for him to stop?
Why would they have asked me why if they knew? I don’t know, but I do know they locked me in that room.
A target.
I hope they have no idea what happened. Why I stopped being the girl they used to know. Why I stopped talking, stopped laughing, stopped everything.
They were the ones who turned their backs on me when I needed them the most. The ones who bullied me when I couldn’t speak, when I couldn’t bring myself to look anyone in the eye, too terrified of what they would see there.
And now they’re here, sitting in front of me, watching me dance, watching me reclaim something they took from me, even if they don’t know it.
The urge to turn and run is overwhelming, but I can’t. I’ve come too far. The shame weighs on me, and I swear Oscar can sense it as he moves closer to the stage. Always ready to catch me when I fall.
I stumble just a little. Not enough to ruin the rhythm of the dance, but enough to make my heart race. My feet falter, the floor suddenly too hard beneath me, the lights too bright, the music too loud.
My chest hurts. A panic attack building steadily in my chest.
The music winds down, and I finish my set. Refusing to let them get to me. I catch one final glimpse of their faces again, just for a split second. Roman’s cold stare, Crew’s signature grin, and Elijah’s passive expression.
Oscar’s there as I walk off the stage. His eyes are on me, scanning for what I don’t know. His concern is bleeding through the air. He moves swiftly as soon as he sees me, his boots shuffling against the floor.
I can hear the crowd wooing for the next girl, lost in the world that only seems to exist in these walls, and I breathe a breath of relief, knowing I’m done for the night. “Lottie.” He signs as he approaches me. “Are you alright?”
Right. He saw me stumble. I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing. My hands are shaking too hard to sign, so I force the words out. “Just dizzy.” I try to lie.
He steps closer, his hand resting on my shoulder. I don’t know what it is about Oscar; his touch is always warm and comforting. But tonight, it feels like a lifeline that I desperately cling to.
It’s the kind of touch I don’t deserve—the kind that makes my chest ache, but I greedily take the comfort it offers me regardless.
Oscar’s blue eyes search mine, and I know he’s not buying it. He never does. He knows me too well. “Lottie,” he repeats. “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”
I nod, trying to tell him I’m alright, even though I’m not sure I am. I can still feel their eyes on me. I can still see them, those faces in the crows, the ones who used to know me better than anyone else, the ones who helped destroy me.
“They’re out there,” I rasp, my throat aching from forcing the words out, but my hands are too shaky to try to sign, and I wouldn’t make any sense if I tried. “I’ll be fine.”
Oscar doesn’t say anything. He knows when I need him to back off, but I feel his eyes on the side of my face. The subtle tick of his jaw as he clenches his fists, and I know he wants to go out there and remove them, just like he’s done to so many other men who have made me feel uncomfortable.
“I’m right here,” he signs, and his words almost break me. He always says that. He’s always there, always ready to step in and help me, but I can’t ask him for more. Not when I’m so wrapped up in my past. Not when the guilt of loving them both is tearing me apart.
The lights flicker, and I hear the noise of the crowd on the other side growing louder as the next song starts.
My song.
Oscar steps back. “Go. Lose yourself and show them how bright you shine, Siren. Show them what they tried and failed to destroy.” He kisses my forehead, a rare show of affection in this place, but enough to ground me for the moment.
I realize I need to do this. I need to show them that I’m not the broken seventeen-year-old girl they drove to that cliff.
I’m no longer Scarlett. I’m Lottie. I’m Siren.
I take a deep breath and turn back toward the stage, trying to find the rhythm again—something that comes to me as easily as breathing.
I feel their eyes on me, but Oscar’s words sit in my chest, and I push forward. I have no choice but to keep dancing. To keep moving even if it feels like I’m falling apart inside.