Colt shifted in his seat, his face awash in the spectrum of neon glow. Overhead, a glitter ball rotated, sending shards of light skittering across Pamela’s bedroom, dancing on the floor, up the walls, and onto the ceiling. The air was thick with the sweet, smoky fragrance of sandalwood incense, punctuated by the faint, rhythmic pulse of music from the parlor. “Okay, pop quiz time.” Colt’s fingers drummed his thigh as he cast a curious gaze. “If we’re alone and I ever call you Dakota again, will I be in trouble?”

“You most certainly will.” Pamela’s attention remained transfixed on her Telstra Hiptop 2, the trendy new phone that seemed permanently attached to her right hand these days. “Hmm, might even be forced to spank you.” Typing away, her lips twitched, and she fought the urge to flat-out laugh. “I’ve got a mean backhand.”

“Duly noted. I’ll remember that.” Colt smiled, but the light didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Actually, there’s another name I’ve been meaning to ask you about for the past several days.” He paused, pushing any thoughts of playful flirting to the side. “What can you tell me about Lexus?”

Pamela’s thumbs froze mid-text, hovering over the tiny keyboard. “Lexus?” Brown eyes doubling in size, she trapped her lower lip between her teeth. “I … what?” The phone slipped from her grasp, bouncing on the mattress with a soft thud. “Lexus? That’s … how did you …?” She jolted upright, her spine a ramrod.

“Lexus,” Colt repeated, rolling the name around as if tasting it. “Star performer at Bare Essentials, according to their website. Quite the range of services, too – way beyond just typical club work. Private parties, home and hotel visits, the whole nine yards.” He focused on Pamela, curious but not accusing. “Quite the résumé for someone who claimed to be just a stripper and webcam girl during our interview last week.”

Pamela’s fingers twisted in her hair, tugging at the roots. “Oh, God … I should have mentioned that, shouldn’t I? Those private parties were … look, I was desperate, okay? You don’t get it.” She avoided eye contact, afraid of being judged. “I needed the money. You try saving up for a cross-country move on a high schooler’s budget. It’s impossible.” The world around her blurred into a dizzying mess as she struggled to compose herself. “This isn’t gonna be a problem, is it? I mean, for my job here? I really like this house and want to continue working at it.”

“Hey, easy now. It’s okay. You’re not in any trouble.”

Pamela emitted a huge breath, her eyes rising heavenward for a split-second. “So, we’re cool?” The words came out in a whisper, fragile as spun glass. “My job here is safe? You’re not going to –”

“Not at all. Your past is your past, but dammit, Pamela. Fuck.” The tendons in his forearms flexed and strained. “Bachelor parties like that, they’re a whole different ball game. No security, no legal protection. Just you, alone, walking into God knows what. Do you have any idea of the danger you were putting yourself in?”

Pamela’s chin lifted. “I wasn’t alone. I always had two bodyguards with me.”

“Bodyguards can be overpowered, paid off, or simply choose to look the other way. Or, in some cases, join in. You’re always alone.” His voice trembled as he spoke, betraying his inner turmoil. “Listen to me. What we do here, it’s safe, it’s legal. No one will ever hurt you. I won’t allow it.

“But out there?” Colt gestured toward the window, his face contorting. “I don’t care how much money anyone offers you.” He gritted his teeth for control. “If you value your job here, absolutely no more moonlighting. Period. Strip at a club during your week off each month if you need extra dough, that’s fine, do your webcamming, but no more private parties. That’s like playing Russian Roulette with your life. And the illegal hooking on the side? That stops too. Now.” The proverbial whip landed one more brutal crack as he said, “Do I make myself clear?”

His words had grown legs, kicked her hard in the belly, drove all the oxygen from her body. “Yes. Yes, crystal clear.” Sinews stood out on Pamela’s throat.

A beat passed, then another. When she spoke again, it was in a rush, reminiscent of a typical, frustrated eighteen-year-old, and not the confident, unflappable seductress she’d carried herself as thus far. “But Colt, I don’t … I mean, I was talking to Roxanne and Jackie, and they both said …” Pamela licked her lips, hesitating. “They told me William is cool with them seeing clients outside work. I thought, I mean, isn’t that okay? Why should it matter?”

“No. No, it’s not okay.” The recliner shuddered as Colt launched himself from it, its worn springs groaning under the abrupt shift. “Dammit, girl, solicitation by itself can get you arrested.” He stalked the small room, hands raking through his hair. “Girls like Roxanne and Jackie, they’re playing with fire, and that’s on them. But you …” Colt turned back, eyes dark with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Anger? Fear? Something deeper? “You’re different. You’re the one who’s special. And I’ll be damned if you risk either your safety or your freedom again just for some quick and easy cash.”

He dropped to one knee at bedside, floorboards whining under his weight. His face hovered mere inches away, so close that Pamela could feel the heat of his breath. “I mean it. Promise me.” Colt’s eyes hooked her, refusing to let go. “I don’t give a flying fuck what Roxanne and Jackie, or any of the others, do or don’t do in their free time. Sherilyn, Laterika, the whole lot of ‘em. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” He edged closer, if that was even possible, the air around them tense, electric. “I only care about you. You, Pamela. You.” Colt grasped her hands and squeezed with such force that it caused her to wince. “Promise me, sweetheart. Swear it. Nothing outside these walls ever again. Nothing.”

Pamela’s lips parted, a defiant retort dying on her tongue as she absorbed the raw emotion in Colt’s stare. But like flipping a switch, realization dawned, and any defense she had suddenly shattered. This wasn’t about money or control on Colt’s part. It was about her.

Her safety.

Her future.

“Yes, sir, you win. I promise. I swear, never … again.” A single tear traced down her cheek because for the first time in her young life, Pamela felt truly seen, truly valued – not for what she could offer, but for who she was.

(End of Chapter Seven - to be continued)