Lost Girl

  Lost Girl

  by

  Elena Trueblood

  © 2020 Elena Trueblood

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover Image by Pexels from Pixabay

  To all the badass women in my life

  who inspire me every day,

  and to all the badass people

  who dare to love us.

  Table of Contents

  Priest

  Alessandro

  Priest

  Giovani

  Bones

  Priest

  Tony

  Luca

  Priest

  Bones

  Alessandro

  Giovani

  Priest

  “Come on baby, just dance with me for a little bit.”

  I roll my eyes while I drain the glass of its last swing of Tullamore Dew, “Get out of my face, asshole.”

  I take my eyes off of him, dismissing him, and return to looking at the crowd that’s filling the dance floor before me.

  Misfits is damn near always packed full, one of the hottest clubs on this side of the city, and with the patronage of the Phoenix, it’s a very successful venture for my crew. With its massive dance floor, fair priced drinks, and the amazing inhouse DJ we had it all here. Even those pretentious VIP areas for parties and celebrities that visited the area, on top of being a popular venue for mid to small scale concerts. The kind big artists call “intimate” and rake in the cash because everyone in the club gets to feel like they are able to touch, even though that’s never the case.

  I put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into this place to make it as it is, well not my blood, but that’s besides the point. I am here enough that I am known here by more than just the crew.

  That also makes it one of my personal safe havens, where I can let my hair down and breathe without Cobra think he needs to send unnecessary backup.

  Everyone knows to leave me the hell alone in Misfits.

  Except for this asshole apparently, as he grabs my wrist in what he must think is a strong hold and yanks me from my favored white leather balloon chair.

  Other crew members stand up from their seats or stop whatever they are doing to look on. Not help, because as one of two female members in any sort of leadership role within the crew they all know I can handle myself, but that doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy the show.

  “Bitch, I asked for a dance!”

  Dude yells in my face, like that’s supposed to change my mind, and I can’t hold back the smirk, even as he holds my right hand over my head like I’m some fucking ragdoll for him to throw around.

  “You must not be from around here, huh?”

  I can’t help but ask, but before he can respond I’m yanking my arm free while hooking him in the jaw with my left hand.

  He stumbles back, ass hitting the matte black floor, but I didn’t hit him hard enough to knock him out. I’m not that nice.

  “Priest,” Bones calls from behind the bar.

  He is Cobra’s second in command, my best friend, and the closest thing to family I’ve got, being as Cobra and Mom raised us.

  “I’ve got it Bones.”

  I don’t even look over my shoulder as I approach the idiot. I adjust my black long sleeve crop top and shake out my bleached blond hair.

  “Your first mistake was talking to a woman like I’m obligated to dance with your dumbass,” I tell the idiot, stepping on the hand that he snatched me up with.

  I hear the crack of one of his fisted knuckles buckling under my weight, and a corner of my lip lifts as he lets out a cry of pain.

  It’s not that I’m getting off on his pain, but a girl of the crew never shows weakness or sympathy in a moment like this. Here, a girl has to be ten times more ruthless than any man to make the point that we are not all soft smiles and loving embraces. We are not pieces of ass let in to the crew to warm beds and be passed around like a shared candy to keep a place within the security of the crew. Some of us are rare gems made from unbelievable pressure, a pressure that we do not succumb to, some of us are the ones who provide the protection, some of us are the ones who hand out destruction and pain.

  “Your second mistake was touching without asking, like I am property to be man handled.”

  I squat down, and now he seems to realize just how dangerous I am, just what rabid animal he unleashed. I reach into the back pocked of my pants, and pull out my knife and release the blade, the silver glinting in the stopping dance lights.

  “Your third mistake, well your third mistake is ignorance. I am gonna clue you in though, cause I’m sweet like that. This is Phoenix territory. I am Priest. I make motherfuckers like you pray for mercy, but tonight I am feeling more benevolent than usual, so I’m gonna let you off with a warning… This is probably going to hurt,” I tell him honestly.

  I hold his left arm to the ground with my right hand and with my left, I draw a cross on his exposed forearm, about two inches long and an inch across. He’s thrashing the whole time but there isn’t much a person can do with both arms pinned down and an ever-present weight just hovering over their chest.

  He’s sweating up a storm and cussing me out as I do the whole thing, but I don’t care; he’s not the first person and I am sure he’s far from being the last.

  I let him go, and he scrambles to his feet while holding his newly cut arm like I tried to kill him, which I totally didn’t, though it wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about it. I just really wanted to go back to enjoying my night out.

  I examine my knife before wiping it clean on my jeans. I turned my back on him and walked back to the bar, the music and chatter started back up, and I get myself another glass of whiskey and shoot it down my throat, savoring the tickling burn as it scorches its way down.

  “You should have killed him, Priest.”

  I already know that Bones is glowering at me, his brown skin and curly chin length black hair would have detracted from his “frightening factor”, if it wasn’t for the fact that the man’s light green eyes could look through a person, and the scar that ran the length of neck, its jagged edges ruining some of his neck tattoos. I know that when he smiles his bright white teeth cut across his face, his naturally perfect teeth looking like the Cheshire cat’s smile in a dark room.

  I don’t look at Bones as I watch the crowd that is currently side eyeing me like they are all trying to figure me out. It’s probably got something to do with the fact that none of the security staff have looked my way, nor does any of the waitstaff bat an eye. For those who don’t know the weight I hold here, I’m sure it’s cluing them into the fact that I’m not an average joe.

  Sure, I don’t look like a typical Phoenix, most of our crew are male, and those who are female well, let’s just say that most of them are arm candy for the guys. I tend to stand apart from them with my athletic body though I still manage to keep every feminine curve my mother handed down to me. Her curves and her café au lait skin are two of the few things I inherited from her. Whoever my father was had some ridiculously aggressive genes, and even though I had pierced and modified my appearance from the little girl I had been, I knew for certain my father was a white guy, not that my mother had ever talked about it.

  He was the one subject that was forbidden.

  “Bones,” I sigh, “you think I should kill any man who looks at me,” I remind him.

  It’s the truth. Bones is more than overprotective.

  “He touched you. On our grounds.” Bones voice has gone all gruff, or maybe I should say gruffer than usual.

  “Yeah, he did. But he was also ignorant and probably used to getting everything and everyone he’s ever wanted because of a trust fund. It’s much more effective to scare the ever loving shit out of man like him. He’s going to think twice about
the females he tries to pick up now, and for a man like that, that’s torture enough.” I know his type better than I’d like to admit.

  Bones just grunts, and I know that if he ever sees the guy again the asshole is in for a very rude awakening, but I don’t control Bones. Hell, Cobra doesn’t really control Bones; Bones decides to do what Cobra says out of respect, but not because he blindly follows. No, he has his own sense of justice and if it differs from ours, he’s not above going rouge.

  “Anyway, Angel and the girls are looking for you on the dance floor,” he tells me as he walks away.

  I have the bartender give me another glass of whiskey, because if Angel and the girls are looking for me, I am going to need it.

  Angel is Bones’ girl, and don’t get me wrong, the girl is fierce while still remaining very much like her name, sweet and delicate. She’s able to strike fear into Cobra when he’s pissed her off and has threatened more than once to remove a favorite member of Bones’ body when he’s tried bossing her around one to many times, but she also reminds me of a fluffy cat.

  All sweet and frill. It might have something to do with the fact that we upgraded her job from a rescued prostitute to a burlesque dancer, so no all I see when I look at her is her all dolled up with a big ass feather boa around her.

  Sure she does more than just that routine at the burlesque lounge we own, but it’s the routine that fits her the most, to me anyway.

  We couldn’t be any more different on the outside.

  The moment my Timberlands hit the dance floor I’m surrounded by crew girls, mostly wannabes or the sweethearts of the men already in the crew. Most of them are nice enough girls, but then again, that’s the problem.

  Crew life isn’t a life made for nice girls. It’s a life founded on grit and grime, and most of these girls know nothing of either, with their knockoff designer dresses, and excessive need for shiny and flashy objects.

  It doesn’t take Angel long to find me in the sea of overly shiny fabrics and updos.

  “Priest! Dance and party with me!”

  She whines and it doesn’t take me but a second to figure out that the rest of the crew girls are boring her.

  That’s one of the things that makes Angel a true crew girl. She’s been through hell and back, has her own demons, and while most wouldn’t think she has it in her, she knows darkness. But she combats it with keeping herself busy and living in “joy”, her word not mine.

  Angel lives for excitement and spontaneity. She’s beautiful, dark raven’s wing hair that’s so straight it looks like a continuous sheet, high cheek bones underneath some of the bluest eyes I have ever seen, and the palest skin.

  She reminds me of a porcelain doll.

  She’s holding on to me, bouncing in anticipation and finally I roll my eyes. I look up at the DJ booth and like DJ Skelli knows, she starts playing one of Angel’s favorite dance songs. The speakers start blaring “Got Money” and she grabs my hand and starts swiveling her hips, trying to find the beat.

  Laughing at her antics I start dancing, loosing myself in the music and the feel of my body. The dance floor is the one place I don’t care who’s touching me, even though most people tend to still give me my space.

  That’s why I love Misfits. It’s not the drinks it’s the loud music and the ability to dance.

  Dancing is one of my strongest memories of my mother before she was killed. My mom was from Barbados, so dancing was a very large part of her identity, that and her Catholicism.

  While we went to every possible mass, and she went to every confession, my mother had been an exotic dancer. I remember the judgement in every priest and nun’s face as we took our places in the pews. I remember my mother’s few good dresses that she reserved for Sunday mass.

  But I also remember going to the clubs with my mother for her rehearsals, or just watching her dance while she’d make dinner. While priests always told my mother that it was a sin to make men lust after her, and that being immodest was a sin, every move my mother made drew attention of the male sex and even the female.

  My mother was absolutely beautiful, and with that beauty came an ability to make others look. She’d do a simple two step and stop traffic.

  So, I lose myself to the music, body taking control of my extremities and let the crowd move around me, letting me be just a drop among the many bodies. I don’t care who I dance with so when the music changes to a body pulsing sensual beat, I don’t mind the hand at my waist pulling me in to dance. But I do notice.

  I notice everything because that’s how Cobra and Mom raised me. To notice and note everything around me because you never know when you are going to have to either fight or flee.

  I note the dress pants, the shiny black shoes that are so different from all the shoes around us, like this guy just left an important meeting or job. The forearm that is curled around me has its sleeve rolled up, showing a tattoo that looks like a coat of arms, but I can’t make out exactly what makes it up.

  “Name’s Vin.”

  His voice is a deep rumble with a heavy accent, though where he’s from is hard to distinguish.

  “Priest,” I offer in return while looking over at Angel, who has managed to drag Bones on the dance floor.

  The man can dance. None of that lanky gangly awkwardness remains from our teenage years, as he holds Angel’s hips and grinds against her, her face blissfully happy.

  Remind Bones to thank you for all those dance lessons as teens, I think.

  “Your name is Priest?” Vin asks and I fight not to roll my eyes.

  “It’s what I answer to.” I tell him as a non-answer.

  Only a handful of people know my real name, my mother and Cobra had made sure of that, mom being her over paranoid self, Cobra saying my real name just didn’t fit me.

  “Interesting. Where you from?”

  Man read the room, this isn’t twenty questions, playa.

  “Local,” my voice is clipped.

  Hoping to convey the fact that he’s fucked up my vibe, I extract myself from his arms, “Thanks for the dance!” I call over my shoulder and head back to the bar, keeping my back to the crowd and dance floor.

  Sage is the bar tender tonight. He’s crew as well as a good friend, so he already knows what I want and pours my whiskey, handing it to me when I take my seat. He quickly moves on the next order, but not before he nods his head at me, eyes trained over my shoulder.

  Shit.

  I look behind me.

  Sure, enough Vin is making his way from the dance floor toward me. Now that I can see his face I have to fight the urge not to roll my eyes at his very fuckboi face. He’s perfectly kempt, hair gelled in place, eyebrows either waxed or tweezed to perfection, and it’s easy to tell that this man takes longer to get ready that I do, hell, probably longer than Angel does and that girl actually puts on makeup and does her hair.

  I take a sip of my drink, trying to figure out this guy’s angle.

  That’s one thing you learn quickly here; everyone who isn’t your crew has some sort of angle they are trying to play you with, whether they want you in the sack, want to steal your money, or just want to cause some pain, either way they want something.

  “Sorry, Priest, it’s just been a while since I’ve actually gotten to enjoy anything outside of work,” Vin says as he comes to stand beside me, and I’m still trying to figure him out because what he said just doesn’t sound sincere.

  “It’s whatever Vin. I don’t do heart to hearts with strangers.” I shrug my shoulders.

  “We don’t have to be strangers.” Vin says low, so low most people wouldn’t have heard, so I decide to act like I don’t.

  I lift my glass to my mouth just as a commotion starts at the front door, I can hear yelling though it’s impossible to understand what’s being said with the constant rumble of voices. I can see Bones heading over that way and after taking a final chug of the amber liquid in my glass I shift my body to join the fray.

  I look up at the DJ bo
oth, still occupied by DJ Skelli but now I can see the shape of at least two men beside her. I change my direction, Skelli is crew too and I know that Bones can handle himself, Skelli isn’t a fighter, she’s our money maker and you always protect your money man.

  I’m pushing my way through the crowd, which is too busy watching the door commotion to notice that I’m shoving my way through. Skelli’s trying to get her back against the wall but the two figures are shuffling around her, trying to sandwich themselves around her.

  I elbow a guy out of the way of the stairs, but instead of rushing forward up the stars like I’d like to, I head up the stairs quietly, my booted feet making barely any noise. I’m almost to the top when I feel a tug on my hand and I whip round, to find a man I’ve never seen before.

  He’s burly, like he could have been a linebacker in another life. His dark hair is combed back but, in this light, I can’t tell if it’s long or not. His face is serious, and while some might find it intimidating or frightening, they haven’t seen Cobra. This guy just looks serious, like there is business to attend to. He’s also tall as all get out, taller than Bones’ 6’2” frame, but I don’t think about it. I know that with the few stairs between us, I have the upper hand in any fight, and my crews safety always comes first.

  I pull my hand free and turn my focus back on the stairs. The speakers don’t point at the booth so I can hear better than when I was crossing the dance floor.

  “Bitch, I’ll ask you one more time,” someone says, and I hear the sharp sound of a slap, but nothing else, no intake of breath or gasp, Skelli might not be a fighter but she isn’t wasn’t weak either.

  “Where is Elda?” His voice holds dark rage, but I don’t focus on that. I’m holding my breath because it’s been years since that name’s been uttered around me, it holds so much information, because to most of the world Elda fell off the face of the earth.

  I take a steadying breath and step into the booth, noting the burly man still behind me, but as he’s not dressed in the same suits as the two in the booth, I don’t think he’s with them.