Page 43 of Beautiful Scars

Zane and Colt exchange a look I pretend not to notice. There's that worry again.

"Let's plan on two weeks. Three at most," I say to them. "I want that house ready to move some guys into. A full team. Whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes," they echo, but I hear the reservation in their voices.

I understand their concerns. Oak Valley represents everything I've tried to leave behind about my father's legacy. It's where he got his start—working as a middle man, storing and moving goods—anything there’s a market for—for the guys at the top. He clawed and scratched and fought his way up until he wastheguy at the top. The last man standing. Until me. I know how risky a move like this is, but I won't take a chance on losing any more in this life than I already have.

"I want to get out of here first thing in the morning. So let's get everything finished up and secured," I order, already scrolling through my contacts.

They leave without another word, with Zane's disapproval hanging heavy in the air. Once they're gone, I allow myself a moment of weakness and pull out the phone that contains Sunny's last voicemail. I pause for only a moment before hitting play. I listen to it once and remind myself that the next couple weeks are all about making sure no one ever threatens what's mine again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sunny

I grab the clothes I packed for the night out of my bag before tossing it into the old, dented locker. It hits the bottom with a heavythud,and I slam the door a little harder than I'd wanted. The sharp metallic clang echoes off the walls of the empty dressing room, making me jump.

I rattle the latch to double-check that it's locked. I get along with most the girls here, but there are a few that'll take anything that isn't nailed down. Especially if it's mine. Jealous bitches.

I drag the fistful of clothes I'm holding over to one of the long counters and lay them out. What little there is of them. Benny's cool about letting us wear what we want, but like he says, 'less is more.'He's right—the more skin you show, the more cash you earn. And when you start out with nothing but hospital discharge papers and a fake ID some guy made for you in his basement, you learn the wisdom of those words fast. I mean bills don't pay themselves.

The name I chose was obvious. Angel. The perfect reminder of exactly how much trusting someone can cost.

I catch my reflection in the mirror as I change. The girl looking back at me doesn't look anything like the one who stepped off that bus seven years ago. That girl was all bruises and bandages, held together with staples and sporting a dirty, wet cast. This one... well, this one at leastlookslike she has her shit together. Even if it is all smoke and mirrors.

My fingers trace the edge of my collarbone—the starting point of the tattoo that winds down my body. Jade helped me design it—a thick ribbon of night sky and stars behind a waterfall of wildflowers. Every single kind I could remember from the lake is there. It covers the full length and width of the scars that carve a trail from my shoulder to just below my ribs. It continues down over my hip where it buries the ink I got from Garrett and wraps around my thigh.

It's beautiful and only someone who knew the scars were there would ever be able to see them underneath. Cost me three months of tips, but it was worth it to stop having to spend a couple hours each night painting myself with body makeup.

Jade's good at finding solutions like that. I consider her my best friend. I’m as close to her as I can imagine being to anyone. She found me in the bus station bathroom, trying to change my bandages one-handed, out of money, and out of options.

She gave me a spot on her couch until I could get on my feet. She's the one who convinced Benny to give ‘Angel’ a shot at working behind the bar.

I pull out one of the hard molded plastic chairs, and collapse into it. I’ve got almost an hour before my shift starts, maybe half that before the dressing room starts filling up. I like to get here early, especially on the weekends. It still takes me time to work up the courage to get my ass out onto the floor. I'm good at what I do, but I've never really settled into it.

Given a choice, I'd rather be doing something else. But it all comes down to money. There's no way I could make what I make in a night here anywhere else. Not with my lack of education and experience. I mean, I don't even have a high school diploma.

The day I got released from the hospital I got home, packed a bag, grabbed all the money from the stash spots as well as the main jar in the kitchen and headed towards the bus station.

The cops had told me there’d been no sign of Garrett since the night he almost killed me. They assured me that he was probably long gone and wouldn’t risk coming back. They didn’t know him like I did. I caught the first bus leaving Easton Creek and I’ve never looked back.

I'm lucky I had someone like Jade willing to take me under her wing. I owe her so much. But, I'll admit, some nights it's easier than others to find enough gratitude to give away. Especially when the job is more about dodging hands on your ass then serving drinks.

Not that Benny messes around when it comes to safety. He won't hesitate to sic one of the bouncers on anyone who can't take no for an answer. It happens more often than it should—at least once a night on the weekends. Usually the dancers are the target, but no one, not even us bartenders are immune.

I pull my old, faded T-shirt over my head, and shimmy out of my cut-off jean shorts, letting both fall to the floor. My toes wiggle and dig into the worn denim at my feet as I get used to the cool air on my skin.

I gently massage the scars that run down my body before getting dressed. They may be hidden under layers of ink now, but I can always feel them. The skin feels like it healed too tight in places and it always seems to ache and itch. It gets worse when I get nervous. I swear sometimes I can still feel the sting and burn of those scissors digging in and dragging across my skin.

My doctor tells me there's nothing he can do to help if I won't go talk to someone. He doesn't think it's a physical problem. He's probably right. But I have a hard enough time getting through a day with the few ghosts who won't settle enough to ignore. I don't need to go digging up the whole damn graveyard. It's better to leave some things buried and silent.

I stare at my reflection another minute before slipping into the tiny scraps of fabric I laid out. Snow white lace—my signature look as Angel. Judging by the tips I take home on an average night, I've gotten fairly convincing at playing the good girl—big brown eyes under thick long lashes, long honey blonde curls wrapped up in silk ribbons, and an easy, innocent smile. Guys eat that shit up. They all seem to want a sweet girl they think they can ruin. They're a little late to the party, but what they don't know won't hurt them. They aren’t paying for truth.

I’m tugging up the straps of my top when the door swings open and Jade breezes in, all long legs and confidence. She’s just coming off her afternoon shift. Her short, shiny, black hair is teased up into spikes and her deep red lipstick is as perfect as always.

“Girl!” she says, tossing the black leather bag that matches her costume onto the counter next to me, “You’re in for one helluva night. It's crazy out there. The regulars are already showing up for the night, and Benny said there's three different bachelor parties scheduled. He asked if I'd stay over, but I promised my sister another visit and help with her kids, ya’ know?" She stops mid-step, scans me from head to toe, and smirks. “I still think it's such a waste. You should really think about getting up on that stage, Angel baby. Package like that, you’d rake it in. Seriously, they'd be eating out of your hand.”

I give her my best playful smile, half-posing as I start to weave a length of white satin ribbon into my hair. “I can't dance. No rhythm,” I say, winking at her in the mirror. “Besides, I'm not really a center-of-attention kind of girl. Never have been.”

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