Page 73 of Vegas Daddies

All three of them turn white.

This part of the storyisn’tsomething they’re gonna enjoy listening to. I still see their faces. These guys were unmasked, all three of them, and each of them wore the same delighted expression on their faces.

They were happy to see me.

Even more so when my kidnappers pushed me onto the bed and left me alone with them.

“I think I was a sort of…thank you gift for these three men.”

Brander’s fist clenches. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they were all just in there waiting for me.”

Match turns a new shade of red. “Please don’t tell me they?—”

“No. God no.” I screw my eyes shut at the thought alone. “No. Somebody came back in and got me out in time.”

“Who?”

“I dunno. Again, he was masked. He might have been my attacker, actually.” I curl my lip. “It’s strange that he came back to save me. Must have been a change of plan.”

“And then what?” Brander keeps his fist tense.

“I was thrown back into the red SUV. The back seat this time, lucky me.”

All three of them stare blankly at me.

Clearly not the best time to make a joke.

“There were two of them in the front, and they were both talking in Russian. One of them started the car and we took off again, arriving five minutes later outside of Ursula and Hook.They escorted me inside and handed me over to some gorgeous Russian lady with gigantic breasts.” I emphasize with my hands.

The same size breasts as Levi’s hookup.

“Anyway, some more Russian was thrown back and forth. I stood twiddling my thumbs waiting for that to end. When it did, the woman took me backstage, said I had‘pretty face and good behind,’ and gave me my costume for the night.”

The men stare at one another.

“I asked what was going on and she said”—I adopt my best Russian accent—“‘Don’t worry. All tips for you to keep.’ I slipped behind a curtain, changed, and found myself on a VIP podium five minutes later with dozens of eyes staring my way.”

Match’s jaw hangs open. “And you just…got on with it?”

“I was scared for my life! I couldn’t afford to refuse the lingerie and tell the woman, ‘No thanks.’ It was either pole dancing, or the hotel room with three sexually-starved-looking men.”

“Fair enough,” Brander says. “Did anybody touch you?”

“No, so there was no need to go snapping noses.”

“He was staring at you like a fucking starved dog. I had to do something.”

A silence stretches between us.

Déjà vu.

It’s late. I’m sitting on Brander’s couch again, this time in evenlessclothing than before. My experience at the strip club was…interesting. Definitely made me second-guess my career path.

I wasn’t even naked and I earned more in an hour than I would a shift at the hospital.

Not like I’m planning a premature quarter-life crisis career change.

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