"Nice work out there, Sam. Mind coming by mine later to show off that nice ass of yours?"

I give a glare over my shoulder at those words, already stepping away from Rick's pawing hand. Him and Rodney, the Opal Lane's bouncers, loom next to the employee lounge doorway as me and the other girls filter in, done with our stage dancing. Well, Rodney looms, his heavily tattoed arms crossed to prevent any drunk patrons from trying to cop a feel, while Rick just so happens to be trying to do that exact thing. Why they keep him on payroll, I'll be damned to know.

But it doesn't do to get on a bouncer's bad side, particularly in a poor part of town like this. So, mustering up what little patience I have left for morons like Rick, I give him a big smile. "Well, if you ever stop wasting your money on the slots to afford me, I'll make it a night to remember. Promise."

The other girls all laugh, having gone through this exact same exchange with the bastard on different nights, while Rick shrugs, having been rejected by every girl at this point. "Ah well, watching you for free's gonna have to do. Anyways, boss was wanting to talk to you. Says you got a new customer, a high-roller too."

I raise an eyebrow at this, but stride through the gaudy, red-lit hallway to the front desk. Sure enough, the squat figure of Jeremy is huddled behind the counter, flipping through a stack of bills. At my approach, he spares me a glance only long enough to say "Room 3. He's paying double the usual rate, so don't act up, you hear me?" before turning his attention back to his money.

Double the usual, huh? "Some new idiot drug dealer in town just asking to get caught after flashing that much?" I ask, unable to quash my curiosity.

Jeremy shrugs, pushing up his useless monocle to try and appear even the slightest bit important. "Don't know, don't care. All you need to know is his money's good, no matter where it comes from. So go play nice," he says, shooing me away.

Well, this keeps getting better. Even this money-grubbing asshole is usually good enough to say who's paying, or at least give a hint, so that means something is up here. Ugh, whatever. Like he says, money is money.

Room 3's door lies open for me down a separate hallway, lined with similarly numbered doors for "private shows." Of course, in a seedy town like this, that basically amounts to getting whored out, which is why the private shows are so damn expensive around here. Anyone willing to shell out twice that amount must be looking for something extreme. Not a very pleasant thought, honestly.

Making sure that my revealing outfit is tastefully loose, and checking to see that - post main stage dances - Rodney has taken his position near the private show hallway's entrance, I step into the room.

The first thing that hits me is the potent smell of booze. Given how much this high-roller is paying, I guess it's not surprising Jeremy pulled out what meager stocks of alcohol he had squirrelled away. The second thing is that there's a chair placed in front of the guy, almost as if he's here to talk about something. Rich people have weird priorities, huh.

Then my eyes light upon the man, and I tense up. His beard's been shaved to reveal a surprisingly well-lined chin, his hair's been cut back to something resembling professional, and he's clearly exercised a little, given the lack of belly. But without a doubt, looking into his dark and cruel eyes, it's my father.

He grins, just as unsettling an expression as the day I left. "So, this is where you've been wasting your time. Putting your mother's good looks on display for petty cash." He pauses just for a moment, eyes blurry from the amount of drink he's consumed. "Well, it's not my place to critique your life, is it? You decided that the moment you went out to live on your own."

Taking a deep breath, I stand tall in front of him, intentionally forgetting my current attire. "You didn't leave me a whole lot of choices - it was either leave or become just as pathetic as you were. Though, loathe as I am to say it, I'm glad to see you've gotten yourself together. But if you came here looking for forgiveness, just get the hell out."

Father laughs, sitting up straight to look me in the eye. "Forgiveness? Nah, neither of us care about that. I'm just here to support my rebellious daughter in her new line of work."

"You sick fuck. You really think-"

He cuts me off before I even get started. "Yes, I do. I paid for the hour; hell, I even gave you extra. So you're going to give me a proper show. And just because I know how much you'll hate it, I want you to call me 'Daddy' while you're at it," he says, casually reclining in his chair, eyes already roaming up and down my scantily clad body.