“Follow me.”

—

The “dressing room” was more like a locker room—obviously the budget for fixing up the interior hadn’t stretched to give the girls more than the bare essentials. There was a row of metal cabinets along one wall, two big mirrors, and a counter with a utility sink.

Three girls were getting ready—one of them was obviously a waitress. She wore a black corset top, a short black skirt, and black fishnet tights. Her shoes were a good five inches tall, and they made my feet hurt just looking at them.

“New dancer,” Crouse announced, looking over the women. One wore a bra and G-string, and the second was dressed like a slutty cowgirl, complete with a lariat. All of them jumped when Crouse spoke and I got the sense that employee morale wasn’t very high at the Vegas Belles.

Didn’t matter to me. This was all about the money.

“Hi, I’m Venus,” the cowgirl said. “When did you start?”

“Right now,” I replied, feeling a little nervous. “Mr. McGraine just hired me.”

They exchanged looks.

“Lucky you,” the waitress said. “It’s not always that easy. They’re fucked today—bunch of people didn’t show up.”

“They said I can’t dance on the stage until they have a chance to audition me,” I explained, feeling almost apologetic. If the bartender had been telling the truth, these women had done more than just show up to earn their spots. “I’m supposed to stick to lap dances.”

“Try to get them in the champagne room,” said the half-naked girl. She leaned forward into the mirror, carefully layering her lashes with mascara. “Get the right guy in there and it won’t matter that you aren’t up on the stage. Just don’t forget to tip the waitresses.”

“Thanks, Claire,” said the one in black. She tied a little apron around her waist, then smiled at me. “You’ll do great.”

Then she turned and walked out of the room.

“What are you going to wear?” asked Venus the Cowgirl.

“Um, I have some lingerie,” I said, looking around awkwardly.

“Grab a locker,” Claire said. “Doesn’t matter which one. Put your shit in there and pull out the key. The bartenders will hold on to it for you while you dance.”

That didn’t seem like the best of systems, but I figured it didn’t really matter if someone cleaned me out. I’d only be here one day anyway. I’d left my purse and a spare set of keys hidden in the car. Earl had built a secret compartment into the trunk, so I should be safe even if someone broke into it, unless the entire car got stolen.

I supposed if that happened I was fucked anyway.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” the cowgirl said.

I pulled off my shirt, showing them the black and red bra I’d bought the other day at Walmart. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Then I unzipped my pants and pulled them down. Underneath I wore a matching thong.

They exchanged unimpressed glances—apparently stripping at the Vegas Belles was more sophisticated than at an MC clubhouse. Noted.

“I’ll take you shopping after the shift ends,” Claire said. “You’ll make more with something else. It’ll have to do for today.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “How naked do you get for the lap dances?”

“On the main floor, keep your bra on,” Claire said. “We do full contact here, but if they want your boobs they can buy a room. You take a waitress with you . . . Oh fuck.”

“What?” I asked anxiously.

“We don’t have enough waitresses.” She frowned at me. “Okay, here’s the situation. You’re not supposed to go into a room without a waitress. They bring the drinks, but they’re also in there to keep an eye on you, make sure you stay safe. Sometimes guys don’t listen to the rules, you know? The waitress can get a bouncer for you . . . Except today we only have two, which means you’ll be on your own.”

“I guess we’ll just have to let the security guys know they should stay close,” Venus said. “If we need them, we can always scream.”

“I want to go back to The Line,” Claire announced. “This is fucking ridiculous. I shouldn’t have come over here. They give all the good shifts to the Vegas dancers anyway.”

A man stuck his head in.

“You’re on in two minutes,” he told her, then disappeared again.

“That’s Trey. He does the music and announcements,” Claire explained. “Okay, let’s get out there. If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. There’s hardly anyone in the club right now, but we should have more at noon. Lots of guys come over from the tech park on their lunch breaks for a quickie.”

“Quickie?” I asked.

“Whatever happens in the champagne room is up to you,” Claire said, winking. “Just remember, the house gets a cut. Lisa—she’s another dancer—held out on them and someone beat her up in the parking lot. You figure it out.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Okay, let’s go.”

—

It’s one thing to bravely determine you’ll make enough money to fund a road-trip-slash-killing-spree by selling lap dances. It’s another to actually do it. Close to fifteen men were in the club now. I knew they had money and that I wanted to get the money from them. I even knew what to do to them to make it happen. I just wasn’t sure how to get started.