“We have to call Sherriff Spaeth and report this.”

“You don’t have the right, and it’s not your place,” Pamela said to Colt seconds after they left Lindsay, still a disheveled mess, in their office/bedroom along with Jim, Kenzie, and Scarlett. Once hearing Lindsay’s account of what she had to endure from Sammy in recent times, Colt asked Pamela to step out to the hallway so they could talk in private.

“Sammy beat the hell out of that poor girl and came damn near close to choking her to death. She’s got bumps and bruises all over her body.” Colt’s knuckles coiled and bleached. “He needs to be reported and brought to justice.”

“I agree, Sammy does, and I’d be for it under any other circumstance, but if you report him, the police will do their investigation and they’ll wind up arresting Lindsay, too, for prostitution. I don’t want her to get into trouble.”

Colt glared at Pamela without blinking. “You want us to get into trouble ourselves? I don’t. Ever hear of aiding and abetting a criminal? That’s what we’re doing as long as Lindsay stays with us. We know she committed a crime, too, and it’s our civic duty to report it. Failure to report a crime is a fel–”

“Oh, shut up with your legal jargon!” Pamela shoved at his chest with both hands. “For fuck’s sake, Colt, Lindsay is not a criminal! And if you report her, or even Sammy, and she gets into any sort of trouble over it, even a tiny bit, I swear to God, I will never forgive you. Sherriff Spaeth would salivate at the idea of throwing one of our girls in jail. He’d probably destroy the key.”

“He’d also salivate over the chance of having our business license revoked and shutting the house down forever and putting you and me in jail.” Colt pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know if we have one slip-up, he’d do it. I don’t want to take that chance.”

“If anyone reports anything to Sherriff Spaeth, or any other lawman, either here or in Utah, it’ll be Lindsay. Not you. This is her decision. Not yours, not mine, but hers.”

“I know you care about the girl, Pamela, and want to protect her, but she knows the law, and she broke it.” Colt’s breath rushed out in a groan. “That is pretty simple, cut and dry. Why on earth should she not pay the penalty? When Lindsay was hired last year, we laid down the ground rules for working here, as we do for all turnouts, and she was warned about doing anything illegal, about our strict, zero-tolerance policy. She signed a legal contract.”

“Colt, again, I swear to you, if you –”

“I’m not interested in specifically bringing Lindsay down and having her sent to prison,” he interjected. “My sole focus here is Sammy. He needs to pay the price.”

“Not at her expense.” Wrinkle lines assembled on Pamela’s forehead. “You might as well report half the house then for turning tricks illegally because you know full well it happens. Scarlett, Mariko, Nicolette, Elisabeth, Sahara, Riley, Stacy, Julie. Hell, report me, too, because I used to turn them when I was a senior in high school.”

“Pamela, I –”

“I’m warning you, Colt: don’t you dare. It’s not your place.” She jabbed a menacing finger into his chest repeatedly. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

His brown eyes as cold as ice, Colt took a single, slow, deep breath, and nodded. “Whatever, fine. We’ll have it your way.” His nose twitched. “But if we get into trouble over this, too, and lose our brothel license, or worse, I’ll never forgive you.”

<> <> <> <> <>

“So, let’s be honest here and stop sugarcoating this so-called profession and tell it like it is.” Suzi Singleton, a retired sex worker and current Pastoral Associate for Evangelization at Glory To God Catholic Church, located in Flagstone, sat across from Lindsay later that evening in the brothel’s recreation room. Pamela called the church two hours prior and specifically asked for Miss Singleton to stop by and have a confidential, one-on-one discussion with Lindsay while she decided what, if anything, would be the next step in dealing with Sammy. With an extensive background in the sex industry, Suzi made regular visits to Happy Ending Ranch and was always willing to lend an ear and/or offer spiritual advice to any working girl who needed it.

“I’ve had many clients, Lindsay, confess that the things they’ve asked me to do they’d never ask their wife to do because they respected her, or because she was the mother of their children,” Suzi said. “Some of the things I experienced as a prostitute included being urinated on and asked to do the same. I had clients with all kinds of fetishes – foot fetishes, bondage, spankings, men wearing women’s clothing, anal fetishes, domination while I was submissive and vice-versa, and role-plays.

“Many times, they asked me to be a little girl or play out the worst of fantasies. Men have grabbed and pulled my breasts until I cried. When I told them that they were hurting me, I was the one who didn’t know what I was talking about. I’ve been put in every sexual position possible and pounded until I thought I was ripped in two. I’ve had my hair pulled, been spit on, had my jaw dislocated, and choked.” The forty-nine-year-old cringed and made a face. “It’s a glamorous life, huh? All fun and games?

“I’ve experienced all of that because that is what those men paid for. Then there were the clients who came in on a Friday or Saturday night with their buddies and they all wanted a piece of me. So, either I saw one right after the other or they would all come into the room together, at the same time, and take turns in front of each other.

“The drunken and stoned clients wanted to party with me and if they couldn’t get off, it was somehow my fault, and the trouble would begin. Have you ever tried to reason with someone under the influence? In my experience, there’s nothing scarier than a man who’s intoxicated and then becomes angry. I’ve had clients who claim to be judges, to be lawyers, police. I even had a teacher who taught me in grade school come see me. Some of my friends’ dads were clients. I’ve been robbed at gunpoint, called a slut, threatened with death, given blowjobs until I puked, and bitten until I bled.

“This is not a moral or religious issue. This is an issue of exploitation and violence against women. You’re so young, Lindsay, so pretty. You have your whole life ahead of you. You don’t need to be doing this. You need to get out and find a new path in life, a new calling, while you still can.

“Did you know that psychopaths will first use prostitutes to experiment on before they move into society? That’s because prostitutes will not report them and are viewed as disposable people. The man you were with … Sammy? The one who abused and mistreated you? I know him. I partied with him in the past, a long time ago. To me, even back then, Sammy had the tendencies of a psychopath. I never liked him; certainly never trusted him.

“I want more for the women in this industry. I want men to know that it is not okay to use and abuse another human being for their own gratification. But the sad truth is, prostitution will never, and I mean never, be looked at as a legitimate job. I don’t care what anyone tells you.

“Even if it was legalized in every aspect, imagine, Lindsay: an alternate universe where you were never a prostitute, never once considered it. In the future, your son comes home to tell you about the new girl he’s dating, and then you learn her profession is a prostitute. Do you think prostitution will ever be looked at as a stand-up job? Or your daughter comes to you and says, I have decided to become a prostitute, and you as a parent tell her, wow, honey, I’m sooooo proud of you. Seriously …

“I am so fed up with this pro-legalization side who claims to like what they do and that it’s empowering, or they get to make their own hours, or whatever their arguments are. There are several like that at this brothel – Pamela, Kenzie, and Nicolette, among others. First of all, I’d like to ask them if they’ve ever been exposed to any kind of abuse before entering the sex trade. If so, did they receive any kind of therapy for what happened? Did they come from a loving, two-parent home where personal values were instilled and were they encouraged to become someone? Did they end up in the wrong crowd?

“At one point I would’ve been for legalization because this was my normal. It was what I needed to do to survive. I was once your age, Lindsay. I was once you. If I would’ve admitted out loud that this was wrong and I deserved better, the shame and the guilt would’ve eaten me alive, therefore not allowing me to do what I needed to do.

“Now let’s talk about the empowering part. I’d never made large amounts of money so fast and in such a short time, and yes, I hated men abusing me, but the more money I made, the more I could justify why I was doing this.

“When men chose me in the brothel – I worked at this very same one thirty years ago, with Colt’s father in charge – it made me feel wanted and beautiful in the moment, but eventually I realized that they only picked me because I was fresh meat and they wanted to see how much they could get away with, or if I’d do things cheaper than the other girls. I also realized it wasn’t that I was more beautiful, or more attractive, but rather a hole for them to use.

“Over time, I felt dirty, and my mind started to change. I no longer trusted any man because more than half of my clients were married, and I really believed all men were pigs and abusive. I started to hate myself, too, but loved and needed the money, and felt I needed to keep doing this. Does that sound familiar? I’m sure you’ve heard almost all the longtime regulars here, if not all of them, say they continue to do this solely because they need the money.

“Back in the day, all the girls around me were getting high, and the clients offered me drugs, too, so even if you weren’t doing drugs before entering, you begin to. That’s already happened to you, you said, yes? Sammy introduced you to weed, to alcohol, and you’re not even twenty-one yet. That is wrong on so many levels.

“I started doing stronger drugs because I wanted to feel happy like the others instead of miserable. I wanted to stop thinking or, God forbid, I had a horrible client, and had to put on a smile for the next. So, it just made sense to numb myself. Drugs also gave me this boldness and openness to do more because I was so stoned, I just didn’t care.

“I have heard so many girls over the decades say they’re only going to do this so they can pay for school which they never finish. Or if they do, they still stay in the industry or say it’s only gonna be for a short while longer to make some extra money, but it’s never enough.

“I lost who I once was and became replaced by this new me who was provocative. I became desensitized to everything sexual and all the things men wanted from me became my normal when in fact it was degrading. I became angry and tough; I lost any innocence I had, which wasn’t much to begin with. Sex became my job, and I couldn’t separate real life from the fantasy life I was portraying at this brothel, at other brothels, and on the street.

“How do you separate your personal relationship? How do you go to work and become this toy and then go home and make love to your man? You don’t. Any sex I’ve had with my two ex-husbands, and any subsequent boyfriends, I acted the same way with them as I did with clients, and soon I lost me. Nowadays, I don’t date. I’m celibate. Even though I’m incredibly lonely, and there is this massive void in my life, I don’t plan on ever dating again.

“There has been so much damage done to not just my physical body, but my spirit and soul. Being a prostitute, for lack of a better term, broke me. Things have become lost forever and deep wounds have become ingrained in who I am. It took a lot of support and help to leave, and stay gone, and get better in all those areas. That’s where the church came in and, honestly, the church saved my life.

“I didn’t even realize how much damage had been done until I left and became sober. Then I was left to deal with the shame and mistrust and try to find that happy-go-lucky girl I once was. Sadly, she’s gone. She doesn’t exist anymore. So, I’ve had to learn all over again how to be me.

“Unfortunately, my story isn’t unique. I’ve heard this story hundreds of times. This is happening not only in third-world countries, but in our own backyard. It is time to stand up for our women and children and protect them before they fall prey to this dark world. This, Lindsay, is the dirty truth. I spent fifteen years in this so-called sex trade, and I can tell you, I went through hell. You need to get out while you still can – again, you’re young and have your whole life ahead of you – and you need to reconcile with your family. You’ve been through enough hell already with Sammy, but there is still time to escape before you become so lost in this nasty, seedy world, that you can’t – like a Pamela, a Kenzie, Nicolette, Scarlett, Mariko, and so on. Don’t sign your life and body over to an exploitative system that will chew you up and spit you out.”

Silence then fell between them, heavy, eerie, and chilling at once, as Suzi’s words, her personal story, consumed Lindsay. Suzi watched Lindsay intently, but behind the mortification another emotion brewed. Guilt? Confusion? Trepidation? Suzi couldn’t put her finger on it, but whatever it was, it wasn’t positive. Had she gotten through to Lindsay? Was her argument convincing enough?

“How am I supposed to get out?”

“Easy. Leave,” Suzi said evenly. With no emotion, she just put it out there. Plain and simple. “Go home to your family with an open mind, an open heart, and tell them you need them, you need their help. Your parents may be disappointed in you, and they may be angry, but you said they’re religious and have a strong faith, and I believe they would welcome you back under the right circumstances.”

“And if they don’t?” I can’t go back to Citronelle. Ever.

“You could stay at the church. Several prostitutes have come to me – they’ve come to the church – over the years to find refuge, to put their life back together. I’m all about helping the women in this industry because, obviously, I was once in it myself. So is Pastor Harris; he’s the one who reached out sixteen years ago and gave me a hand when I needed it most. Stay at the church as long as you need to. You’d always have a home with us.” She leaned back on the sofa and tilted her head. “Are you going to pursue any legal action against Sammy? Mike, you said that’s his real name? Are you going to file a police report? I suggest you do it in Salt Lake City instead of here.”

“I don’t know.” Swallowing the fear that leaped into her throat, Lindsay cringed. “Pamela and Colt said if I do, there’s a good chance I get arrested myself because so much money was exchanged between me and Mike, and it’s all easily accessible because of the bank records. I don’t … I can’t go to jail.” She closed her eyes and shifted about on the recliner. “But I don’t want another girl to get mixed up with Mike, too, and suffer the same fate I did – or worse.” She covered her eyes and suppressed a cry. “I … I don’t know what to do!”

“The ultimate catch-twenty-two for any prostitute who operates illegally, under the table. I know the feeling. Trust me, I do.” Suzi spoke quietly, calmly, despite the fact she desperately hoped Lindsay would do the right thing. Sammy was a monster and needed to be stopped before he hurt anyone else. “Afraid to report a john because you’d also be incriminating yourself at the same time. Keep in mind, though, that you’d only be charged with a misdemeanor and may get off, but Sammy would be hit with a felony, and he’d be knee-deep in trouble.

“Also remember, whatever we discuss tonight is off the record – it’s one hundred percent confidential, between us. I’m not going to run down the street after leaving here and recount our conversation word for word to the sheriff. I’m here to help you, Lindsay, in whatever way I can.”

“I know. And thank you.”

What was so wrong about staying at the brothel for a few months, maybe until the end of the year, and building up a nest egg? I’m not going to fall into this trap she keeps talking about and never find my way out. While Lindsay understood Suzi’s story and didn’t believe she embellished any of it, it was still Suzi’s story and not necessarily her own. I can walk away any time I want as nothing, no one, would force me to stay here. It’d be my decision.

But would she walk away? Lindsay was interested in righting the wrongs from a year ago and pursuing a bona fide relationship with Pamela. I should’ve never left the brothel and been more open, shown more interest, in hooking up with Colt too. After all, he and Pamela were a package deal, right? I like that Colt was so sweet to me this afternoon and said I could stay at the house as long as I wanted.

Plus, Lindsay didn’t believe that Pamela continued to work here, as Suzi claimed, because she was “trapped” too. Pamela is still here after all this time because she loves her job and she’s the freaking boss. In Lindsay’s mind, Pamela would always be at the brothel in some capacity or another. She owns it, along with Colt, and it’s their moneymaker. Those two were joined at the hip, always had been, always will be, and couldn’t function without the other. They’ve been each other’s shadow for thirteen years, twenty-four hours a day, and the only way Pamela ever leaves the brothel is if they decide to sell it.

But others like Nicolette? Mariko? Yeah, this is who they are. They’re in deep and have no way out.

If I decide to stay here beyond the end of the year, Pamela will protect me. She did an excellent job of it last summer, yes? Pamela promised me earlier that no one will ever hurt me again as long as she has something to say about it. Indeed, running off with Sammy was a mistake. But what happens if he terrorizes another girl, maybe even murders her, and Lindsay reads about it on social media?

I’d feel so guilty I’d probably commit suicide like Evie. Lindsay had the chance to see to it that Sammy pays for his sins and gets locked away for several years. Assault, solicitation, money laundering, drugs, supplying alcohol to someone not of legal drinking age; Pamela said they’d throw the book at him.

But for that to happen, Lindsay would have to suffer her own consequences as well. Knowing my luck, Daddy and I would wind up being cellmates. …

<> <> <> <> <>

Pamela cleared her throat. “Hey, Colt.”

He turned away from the bar, where he’d been immersed in his laptop, e-mailing his contemporaries in the LPIN industry, and offered his wife a curt nod. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Pamela wore a strapless pink cocktail dress that adhered to her breasts and waistline and featured an uneven hemline that nearly touched the floor in the back. She also had on her Pleasers pumps, fake eyelashes, and fake nails. Her hair was in a twist, and she had full makeup on. No one’s lips were the color of hers, either – a vibrant pink, at least naturally.

Yeah, she’d been looking to make some money tonight.

Pamela walked across the parlor and slid onto the stool next to Colt, swinging her knees his way. “Been an odd night, hasn’t it? This place has been a graveyard. I can’t believe how slow it’s been.” But she wasn’t here to talk about the house’s lack of business. Instead, Pamela lifted her hand tentatively and placed it on Colt’s wrist. “You and I, we haven’t had the greatest forty-eight hours, have we?”

“Ehh, it happens. We’ll get over it like we always do.” He sniffed his nose and refocused on the laptop. It was the middle of the night, a mere fifteen minutes from closing time. To Colt, three o’clock couldn’t come soon enough. “I thought for sure you’d be spending the night with Lindsay, sharing the same bed with her.”

A dismal frown bent Pamela’s mouth. “I’d rather be with you.” She squared her shoulders as he glanced back at her with a brow raised. “Listen, Colt. I’m sorry about all the bickering we’ve done lately. I know you care about me, obviously, and you’re worried for me, and I appreciate that. I really, really do.” Air whizzed over her teeth. “But you know I’m not ready to walk away from this yet.” She motioned at everything around her. “The day I quit being a working lady will be my final day, ever, at the brothel. I couldn’t work here, strictly behind the scenes, and function properly. You know that. I tried that last year, for five months, and was miserable.”

“You were miserable because you were going through physical rehab on your back and were in a lot of pain.” His shoulder flinched. “You were also in denial, or something, because you were so upset you’d hurt yourself. It’s that stubborn Prescott Pride of yours.”

“Inherited straight from my mother.” She gulped down a hurried breath. “Another reason I’m so hesitant to step away, baby, is that I like working with you. I mean, think about it – you and I have been together nonstop since 2006. I’m not talking like a married couple being soulmates, even inseparable. With us, the attachment is more pronounced, I think, because we’ve worked together, too, all that time. I was talking with Lindsay about this earlier.” A smile appeared, showcasing two full rows of pearly whites. “You and I have been inseparable since we met. I mean, have we ever been truly apart for any length of time?”

“You went to Oakfall with Jim, Kenzie, and Nicolette yesterday. Went there without me.”

“Oh, come on now.” She uttered a sweet laugh. “You’ve gone there many times without me too. Be serious, okay? Think about it.” Her smile flattened. “If I retire from this business, you and I, our time together, it’ll take a drastic cut. If I go into the medical field or become pregnant and we start our family – which we will do someday, I promise you – I’m not gonna be around the brothel anymore.” Her nostrils flared. “I can’t be here because I’ll always have the urge to slip into a minidress, my high heels, and start hustling. This … it’s who I am, Colt. I’m thirty-one years old and have been doing sex work since the day I turned eighteen.”

“I’m forty-five and have been working in this house since the day I turned eighteen, too, thanks to my dad.” An ache prickled behind Colt’s sternum. “It’s who I am as well, but the difference is, I’m sick of it.”

She inclined her head and squeezed his wrist. “Would things be better if I actually did quit? Retire? If you didn’t have to put up with watching me take random strangers back to my room and listen to me have sex with them? I know you’re burned out, Colt, and you’re tired. You’re exhausted. You’ve dealt with all the bullshit, all the drama, of managing and then owning a brothel for twenty-seven years. And your wife has been your featured attraction for almost half that time. I know how grueling this is for you.”

“I do want you to hang it up,” he said, “but at the same time, if that happens, I know you’re not gonna be long for this place. You’re not the type who’d stay and be a House Madam.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I like working with you too. You help keep me grounded. You’re a constant reminder of all the good in my life, and how lucky I am. No matter what, there are pros and cons to either side.” His chest bulged. “To be honest, I can’t imagine what it would be like to be at this house and not have you in it anymore. I don’t even know how I’d make it through each day, what I’d do, without you.”

“You’d flirt with and sex up all the other girls.”

“Yeah, right,” he laughed at her joke, but then went back to being serious. “What I’d like, sweetheart, is yes, for you to retire, to step away from this business forever, but for me to do the same. I’d love to sell the brothel and for us to go home to Maryland and never look back. I could start a new business or, heaven forbid, get a real job myself, and you and I could focus strictly on each other.” Colt emitted a harsh, deep sigh. “But what’s the possibility of that? How feasible is that? I’ve been here forever; no one is more a prisoner of this cursed house than I am.” His nose scrunched. “I despise this fucking place. Not because of you, Pamela, or the fact you work here. I don’t want you to think that. Not at all.”

“Then maybe we should consider selling and walking away from it.” Pamela trailed a hand up and down his forearm. “And no, I know you don’t feel that way because of me. But I don’t like that you’re unhappy.”

“Again, that pros and cons thing. We could sell the house, yes, and I could try a couple of different businesses, legit, upstanding businesses, but would the money ever be enough after the type of income we’re accustomed to? Certainly, I’m not going to earn anywhere close if I take a job say, managing a hotel or something, in Baltimore. I think we’re both kind of hooked on the money here.” He sighed again. “As I said, I’m a prisoner in these walls.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“But I am. And, being honest, you like it here. You still enjoy it, so what am I supposed to do? I may want out personally, but not at your expense. I want you to be happy, too, and I know working here makes you happy. That trumps any and everything for me. You care about your clients and enjoy giving them pleasure.”

“Save for Corey, and maybe Roy, I have no emotional attachment whatsoever with any of my clients.”

Colt angled his head. “But you still care about them. You care about them all, Pamela, because of the type of person you are. A good, genuine, loving person and that is very, very rare in our business. Really, it’s unheard of. It’s also the reason you have more repeat customers than any girl we have. The approach you have to this job is one of a kind, it’s so unique, so special, and I’ve honestly never worked with anyone like you.”

As an example, Colt’s mind harkened back to this past Monday when Pamela had the sit-down interview about LPIN with Mark Fasick, the filmmaker from California. At one point, Fasick asked Pamela to elaborate on her role as a professional girlfriend for hire and how she could justify it.

“Some people think you can live without intimacy, without connection,” she said in response. “I think that’s total B.S. A few years ago, a client e-mailed me following a party we had and said Pamela, earlier today, a miracle happened. Since my wife passed, he said, I’ve been very lonely. I haven’t been so much as hugged in over two years. I’m not handsome, I’m not rich, I don’t know how to talk to women. But you held me, you rubbed my back, and listened to me vent about my grief. This might just be a job for you, but today … today you saved my life.”

Pamela paused and glanced downward for a moment, breathing steady, and refocused on the camera. “I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m not a doctor. I don’t work for a crisis hotline.” She extended both hands. “I’m a sex worker.

“And as a sex worker, I see a side of men most others don’t. Just to clarify, the term sex work refers to sexual encounters by consenting adults in exchange for some sort of payment. Everyone has their preconceived notions on that idea but think about this: studies have shown that on average, sex only lasts five to six minutes. So, if a client pays for an hour, or three, what are they actually paying for? I’ll tell you: they’re paying for a place to be their true selves, a place to talk about challenges without being criticized or judged, a place to try new things without losing everything they’ve built, and frankly, sex is a really strong need for them, and it often consumes them because sex is how men feel loved and worthy.

“You see, we’re all designed for connection, to find our tribe. It’s how humans work. As a woman, I can pinpoint the one person in my life who’s been pivotal in helping me get through the hard times. Dealing with sickness, when I lost my grandfather, and the times I just needed a friend. We all just need one person in our lives that sees who we really are under everything else yet loves us anyway. But oftentimes, men don’t have that.

“How many times in their life has a man been told the phrase man up? Toughen up. Don’t be a sissy.” She leaned forward. “Real men don’t cry. Think about it, if you’re a man watching, how old were you when you first heard that? Younger than ten? Younger than five? What was going on in that moment? Were you afraid? Were you sad? Were you hurt? Did you get the support you needed? Did you get to cry? Or … did you learn to keep it inside?

“From a very young age, our boys are getting messages that having feelings and needing help is bad. This happens in school, in sports, on television, and in their own families. They come to believe that their value, their manhood, is in their muscles, their money, or their mojo.

“Think about that. You don’t get to pick your body. There’s only so much you can do with it. Money can be really hard to make happen, if it ever does, and it can go away really quickly. So, as a man, if society only allows you three ways to prove yourself, and the first two you can’t control, no wonder they turn to sex to feel better. No wonder they get desperate and aggressive when they feel lonely or unworthy.

“So, they create this mask, or persona, if you will, to keep themselves protected from shaming or criticism – usually from other men. A mask of what a man is supposed to be: stoic, logical, tough, fearless, emotionless. And since sex is the only time that men get to take off that mask, it’s easy to understand why they often feel they need to be connected sexually to express themselves emotionally.

“On the other hand, women feel like we need to be connected emotionally to express ourselves sexually. This dynamic, this mismatch that happens usually leaves the guy feeling alone or rejected and then poof, they’re in bed with a sex worker.

“But what happens if he’s too poor, too afraid, or too ashamed to hire someone like me? Because men don’t have tools or outlets for alienation or rejection or loneliness, we see violent outbursts all around us. They just … implode. Domestic violence, abuse, radical hate groups, police brutality, incels, murder. As a society, we are largely missing the fact that the way we teach our boys to be men is directly related to the violence we’re seeing.

“Sure, violence has many causes: genetics, situational, conditioning. We can’t fix the genetics, yet, we can’t prevent all the bad situations, but we can and we must address the conditioning and it starts with how we talk to our children. We must stop telling them to man up or stop crying. We must stop excusing teasing and bullying as boys being boys. We must allow mistakes and learning, emotions, and empathy. We need them to see that healthy manhood is about facing your fears, overcoming challenges, and living with compassion.

“There are many different types of sex workers, and people have their opinions on us, good or bad, informed or not, but for me, personally, I do whatever it takes to help people heal, whether that’s a pretty woman experience or naked therapy. My job includes consoling a man who misses his children on the other side of the country to teaching someone about the female anatomy, to reminding someone what it feels like to be touched, to be loved, who’s been deprived for so long, to helping someone who’s physically or mentally disabled feel normal just for a moment.

“Don’t get me wrong, this job isn’t glamorous, and it certainly isn’t easy. But there’s a greater good here. These people deserve to feel important and connected, too, and if they could find that somewhere else, they would. We’re all people that need help; we pay for help all the time. We pay for tax attorneys, we pay for car repairs, we pay for childcare, housekeeping … but there is just this huge stigma around sex. Why is that?

“Just as much as we seek healing for our minds, and our bodies, we ought to be free to seek healing for our hearts and well, our parts too. Just as you’d hire a mental health professional, I’m a sexual health professional, but it’s not about the sex. It’s about intimacy and connection. I love what I do. I love having a positive influence on the lives of others, bringing them joy, happiness, an escape from their everyday reality. Because to me, there is no greater purpose than helping your fellow human being.”

Back in the current moment, Colt smiled, and covered Pamela’s hand with his own. You’re so damn attractive.

Truly, one of a kind.

“How is Lindsay doing?”

“Still sore and shook up. It’s gonna be a long time before she’s herself again.” Pamela told Colt as he went back to the bar and resumed typing. A moment ago, he secured both the outer and inner doors at the entrance, officially closing things down for the evening. “Sammy really did a nasty number on her.” Pamela gazed at the laptop curiously. “What have you been working on?”

“E-mailing every brothel owner and manager in the state of Nevada, warning them about Sammy, and trying to get him blacklisted.” Colt’s eyes clouded over. “He must never be allowed to step foot in a brothel again.”

“You’re blacklisting him?” A pensive shimmer danced across Pamela’s face. “Really?”

Although the LPIN industry was cutthroat amongst his contemporaries, as Colt had no friends in it outside this house, all the owners and managers would generally band together and stand united when there was an unruly client who had caused extreme harm to a sex worker, or was a threat to do so, and agree to ban him from their premises forever. Sammy would be a special case, however, as there was no monger more infamous than him, and only a handful had spent more money in the trade than he had. Sure, a few proprietors may not want to lose his continued patronage (and the cash flow that went along with it), but Colt trusted the reputable brothels would do the right thing.

“What? You don’t think I should?”

“Oh, no,” Pamela said. “Not that at all; of course I do. I never want to see that man again myself. Not after what he did to Lindsay.”

Plus, word of mouth would spread quickly in the prostitute community, and in time Sammy would find it difficult to hook up with independent escorts too. And if certain houses continued to allow him inside, well, Colt hoped any lady would simply refuse to party with him.

Hopefully, he’ll be blacklisted completely in forty-eight hours.

“I have zero tolerance for domestic violence, any abuse against women.” His blood boiling, visceral anger consumed Colt’s eyes as he now loaded up the website for Gradiph Pharmaceuticals. “I’ve known Sammy – Michael Steele – for twenty-seven years, and I’ve always known how wicked and manipulative he is. Even my father was wary of him. Sammy is an arrogant, narcissistic, self-centered, controlling sociopath who has absolutely no respect for women.” Colt surfed over to the listing of the company’s board of directors and their contact information. “Now, everyone will soon know who he is and what he’s done, and he's gonna get what’s coming to him.”

(End of Chapter Twenty-Three - to be continued)