Page 5 of Dance for Me

When her breath hitched threateningly, Bodie bared her teeth and slapped some sense into herself. She needed to get dried, get dressed, and get her ass into gear. There might be enough loose change from her takings today to get something filling from the store.

No more moping or feeling sorry for herself.

When rock bottom was the only thing she could feel beneath her feet, it meant the only thing she could do was claw herself back up. Claw and gouge her way out of the shit and prove to everyone she wasn’t a failure. That she could take care of herself no matter what was thrown at her. That she was worthy of being loved.

No.

Bodie curled her lip as she shut off the water and reached for her towel. Her hands moved angrily, sharp movements of the towel soaking up the water on her skin as she glowered to herself.

She didn’t want or need to be loved. Love was a weakness no woman could afford—it was used as a tool to manipulate emotions, to twist and bind a person into serving another person’s whims. Used to break people down, keep them under a booted heel, reel them in with vows of I love you and shatter them when the thrill of power was gone.

With the towel wrapped around her body and another around her hair, she rushed from the bathroom to the almost empty bedroom in search of dry clothes. She found a pair of jogging pants and a hoody in her dwindling supply of clean clothes and, once dressed, walked back into the living room to find her hairbrush and attack the damp mess attached to her head.

Still cold, shivering slightly, her shoulders sagged. Only a few weeks before, this room had reflected everything she wanted in a home. She’d taken her time selecting the paintings on the walls—nothing fancy or expensive, but artwork she liked—and she’d had pretty little ornaments on tables and the big dresser she’d picked up at a flea market. Books had lined the shelves; now they were stacked in heaps in a corner of the room.

Now it was barren, empty. She’d kept the armchair simply because it was too ratty and unkempt to pass on. Ridiculously comfy, it was a solitary comfort on a night when she came home to the remnants of her life.

All because of an accident that wasn’t her fault.

Bodie moved the box off the seat and set it on the floor between her legs as she collapsed into the chair. Her stomach grumbled in annoyance, sharp hunger pains cramping her belly, but there was little she could do about it.

Wet strands of hair fell over her face as she dropped her head into her hands and pressed her fingers to her eyes.

She shouldn’t have turned down that damn dancing job at Avalon. She could admit to herself she’d allowed pride to rule that decision, combined with the raging pain Liam had caused her.

She sighed and rested her head back, staring at the ceiling with blind eyes. That was the crux of things. She’d trusted Liam with nearly everything in her life for over twenty years, loved him like a brother. And he’d tossed her family in her face, hadn’t trusted her with an important part of his life, because he thought she was like them.

Angry and sad all over again, unsure how she was supposed to deal with the two emotions battling it out inside her, she shut it all down. Brought her defense system into play so she felt nothing. It had been a valuable resource as a teenager, perhaps even in the tender years before then when the vitriol her family spewed all over her was just beginning.

She couldn’t say how long exactly—so many of her memories had been repressed over the years that she’d lost periods of time, forgotten much of the trauma she’d suffered through.

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.

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