CHAPTER 11
Most women will only trust a man to protect and shelter her once.
Then she’ll shelter and protect herself.
Sliding into my car after another long night at the club, I scroll through my playlist as I pull out of Wet Tips’ parking lot.
I flip through song after song until I find the one that’ll drown out my doubts about who I’ve chosen to pull me into the HOCs instead of Finn—because that beautiful bastard is making it damn near impossible to ignore him.
Finn is a complication I don’t need and can’t afford. Stone’s the easy mark. Attractive enough, but that’s not the point. He’s weak to persuasion, especially the kind wrapped in sex and whispered promises. He’s a man ruled by his dick. And I can use that.
When “Numb” by Linkin Park hits my speakers, I crank the volume and roll down the windows.
Once I’m on the highway, I check my mirrors. Once, twice. Old habits die hard. Sure, it’s to check that I’m not being followed—but it’s a small reminder that my history with Finn needs to stay exactly where it belongs: in the rearview.
Earlier tonight, after my routine, he asked to see me. Said he’d been getting questions from waitresses and staff—clients sniffing around for private dances. He wanted to know if I was ready for that.
The conversation was awkward as hell. His eyes said he hated every second of it. His body language screamed he was forcing himself to go through the motions.
What kills me is how being around him shreds my calm.
Every look he gives me slides under my skin and splits me wide open.
I hate it—how his eyes wreck me, how my body hums when he’s close.
Fuck. I’m barely days into this job and already questioning everything.
How I’m supposed to survive months of this, I have no goddamn idea.
And seeing that same storm of emotion in his eyes? Doesn’t bode well for either of us.
Are you the desperate girl who lets a man turn her inside out? No. You’re stronger. Wiser. Fucking act like it.
Honestly, I don’t know this woman. She’s not whose skin I’ve lived in these last few years.
The end game is what matters now, and there’s too damn much riding on my success to fuck this up.
I force myself to shut down these feelings and focus on what’s important.
With my weak self firmly tucked away, I drive.
Knowing I’m too wired to sleep, I pass the exit for my hotel and continue on.
I re-familiarize myself with the city. It’s changed so much since I’ve been away, yet some things remain the same.
I stop at a gas station, fill up, and grab some snacks.
Eventually, I park so I can watch the sunrise.
It’s mid-morning when the first few raindrops begin to hit my windshield.
I take this as a sign to call it a night—or morning, whatever—and head back to the hotel. I get about five hours of sleep before my phone rings, jolting me awake.
The five-zero-five area code takes me by surprise. Because yeah, it’s him , Finn, and suddenly all those feelings I’d successfully buried hours ago resurface.
I slowly hit accept and bring the phone to my ear. “Hello.”
“Lily?
The way he says my name. There should be fucking laws against it. I close my eyes and have a moment, because goddamn him. His voice is whiskey-rough and addictive.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
I try to pull myself together and shake the sleep from my voice. “Yeah, but only because I stayed up way later than I should have. I have a minute, though. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to see if you’d thought anymore about the apartment I have for rent.”
I clear my throat, a ball of anxiety is hindering me from talking like a normal person. “Uh-mmm, I don’t know. I guess I figured it was a bad idea, with you being my boss and all.”
“I can keep my hands to myself if you can.”
Damn you, Finn.
“Can I think about it when I’m more awake and call you back?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Great.”
I press to end the call much harder than necessary, then toss my phone. Burying my head back into the pillow, I scream. I lie there, fighting to control the emotions his offer stirs up.
It’s all too easy to picture him, the way he looked last night. The way he fucking looked at me last night. He always looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Like I’m a mirage that might vanish if he looks away.
Even when I dance, I’m constantly aware of his gaze, which is always on me when I perform, and it’s like a living, breathing thing. My body lights up even now just thinking about it. Okay, fuck, don’t do that, because now I’m having sexual thoughts and I’m warm all over.
Turning, I stare at the tattoo on my forearm that I cover up whenever I’m on the job. It’s an Australian lyrebird scavenging through the brush. The words beneath it read:
Her heart heavy. Her wings broken. It was no wonder she never learned to fly.
The memory comes unbidden.
The driver curses and takes the turn three times faster than necessary. I’m thrown from one side of the car to the other. Pain ricochets outward and spreads through my limbs. I push out every molecule of oxygen from my lungs in an eardrum-shattering shriek.
The pain is unbearable. I don’t blame the driver, though. I think I’d do the same if I had a girl dying in my backseat, too.
“Oh, God. It hurts.” I suck in a shaky breath. Every inch of my body trembles, gripped by a truckload of agony. I force my fingers to stay on the wound in my stomach even though the blood and the rocking motion of the car make it damn near impossible.
The knife wound is deep, and my blood is flowing like a river out of me, through my fingers and down my leggings.
The driver takes another sharp turn. I thrust my hand out to steady myself, but it slips on the leather seat, smearing a crimson handprint across it. “There’s so much blood.” It’s all I see. It’s pooling around me, covering my skin. Just red. Red on my clothes. Red on the door.
The driver’s gaze swings sharply from the road to mine in the rearview mirror. “Just hold on, okay? We’re almost there. I can see the hospital just ahead.” His panicked brown eyes are wide and shifting, from me to the road, from me and back to the road.
“Two blocks. You can make it.”
I lay my head back and look up at the car’s roof.
Then past it to the night sky. I stare at the stars and try to picture Finn up there, looking down on me.
Watching my life come to an end. Is he sad for me?
Or is he happy because now I’ll be able to join him in heaven…
if that’s even where I’ll go… or even where he is…
Fuck.
I hadn’t thought of that. What if I don’t end up wherever he is? What if I’m headed in the opposite direction?
I thought I had more time to become a better person and change. Time to prove I was someone he could be proud of. Someone worthy of him.
The last memory of that night is of the driver screaming, “Dammit! Don’t close your eyes. We’re almost there. Oh, God… don’t… don’t you dare fucking die on me!” Panic bled from his voice. Even now, I can recall his accent and the tone of his voice.
I push the memory to the back of my mind, so far back that I won’t reach for it again anytime soon.
I don’t need saving. I can take care of myself. Yes, I may have trusted him once, but I’ll be damned if I let myself be that vulnerable a second time. I wait until later in the day to text him back. When I finally bring up Finn’s number, I type:
Thanks for the offer, but I think it’s best to find somewhere else.
It takes him a minute to reply:
You sure?
Yes.
Ten minutes go by before he replies again:
Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.