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The mention of Fawn’s name created a rock in the pit of my stomach.
At twenty-two, Fawn was the youngest member of the ragtag family we’d created here at the club. She’d been missing for weeks, taken against her will by her ex. Fawn was the sweetest, kindest, most innocent woman I’d ever met. She was beautiful, and we’d all taken her beneath our wings, like the little sister we couldn’t get enough of.
Her disappearance hurt like nothing else.
“Is there any news?” I asked, but the words weren’t hopeful. They were flat and dejected, because I already knew what the answer would be.
Boston shook his head. He’d taken it upon himself to investigate Fawn’s whereabouts when the police had all but swept it into the ‘don’t give a shit’ pile. “Nothing.”
I nodded, knowing he was doing his best.
With feet like lead, I trudged back to the changing rooms and pulled on a tracksuit. After placing my robe back in the beat-up locker with my name on the front, I grabbed my purse and fished out my keys.
Eve was still where I’d left her, sad in the main room.
I bent to kiss her cheek, knowing she was lost in the memories of the night she and Fawn had been snatched. Eve had been lucky to escape, but her survivor guilt was killing her. I could see it on her face, only worsening as the time dragged on and still there was no sign of our friend. “See you tomorrow.”
She lifted her head, fixing sad eyes on me. “I’ll come up with something to get more people in here. I promise.”
I nodded and walked out into the cruddy parking lot, where my shitbox of a car waited for me. I wanted Eve’s promises to be true, but without Fawn’s creativity, I wasn’t sure Eve could pull off something big enough to really make a difference to my earnings. Not to mention the fact we were down a dancer, and the men had really liked the doe-eyed, innocent thing Fawn had going on. Neither me nor Eve could fake that. We’d both seen too much.
I got in the driver’s seat, stuck my key in the ignition, and turned it.
The rusted Subaru gave a weak splutter before falling silent again.
I dropped my head to the wheel with a groan.
There was no denying it. I needed a new car. And another job.
2
ZEPH
Saint View Strip Club’s neon-pink sign flickered out every thirty-seven seconds. It went black for three seconds, before returning to its lit-up state, advertising the club’s existence to the street. The cycle repeated endlessly, all through the early hours of the morning.
I knew because I’d timed it. Many a night. It never changed. Thirty-seven on. Three off. Repeat.
I’d collected all sorts of data on things that happened here on the Strip. How long the traffic lights took to go green. How many men versus how many women lined up to enter the club and how long it took for each of them to be let inside. There was little else to do, sitting in my car five nights a week, watching the club.
Watching and waiting.
A short, potbellied man with a baseball cap pulled low rushed out of the doors without looking at the burly bouncer sitting on a stool, playing a game on his phone. The patron wiped his hands on his jeans, before shoving them deep into his pockets, and disappeared into the shadows farther down the street.
I checked the time, noting it was ten minutes until the typical closing time, and made a mark on my notepad, recording the man’s exit and calculating he was the last patron inside the club.
Excitement swirled in the depths of my gut. The last patron out meant the club would soon be closed, and I’d get to see her.
Lyric, with her long red hair and fiery eyes.
Lyric, with a body just made for sin.
It had been weeks since the first time our eyes had locked at a political rally held on the lawn of my church. I’d stood behind the mayoral candidate’s family, a silent statue of support, though I hadn’t voted for the man. His views on the Strip had irked me from the get-go, but the church had picked where our alliance would lie, and my personal opinions on the matter hadn’t been considered.
Lyric had been there with friends from the club, protesting loudly, drawing all gazes their way.
Including mine.
She looked like Annie.
