Lana’s pulse didn’t change. She’d learned that trick in another life. “She’s dead,” Lana said.
The man smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m looking for someone. She used to go by Lana Rhoades. Pretty, vulnerable, made men do very stupid things.” lana part 1 lana rhoades
Her real name wasn’t Lana Rhoades. That was a ghost, a persona she’d shed three years ago in a bus station bathroom in Nevada, leaving behind a sequined costume and a phone full of blocked numbers. Now, she wore tailored black slacks and a silk blouse the color of a fresh bruise. She was all sharp edges and quiet calculation. Lana’s pulse didn’t change
The bass dropped. The neon hummed. And Lana realized her past had just walked in the door, wearing an oyster-gray suit and holding all the answers she’d tried to bury. The man smiled
Lana slid into the seat across from him, the leather sighing under her weight. “You’re either very lost or very stupid,” she said, her voice a low murmur over the thrum of bass.