“Walking alone at night is dangerous for a young lady,” my dad chimes in. “One of us will drive you.”

Choose your poison wisely, Stray.

She looks at me. “I’ll be ready by seven fifty.”

Good girl.

Aspen probably thinks I’m doing her a solid for covering for me, but I’m not.

I just enjoy watching her squirm.

“She’s a beautiful girl,” my dad states after she walks into the house. “I’m glad you’re being a good brother and looking out for your new sister.”

Chapter 6

Aspen

Dammit Violet, answer your phone.

I’ve been trying to get ahold of her ever since Knox offered to drive me to her house, but she still hasn’t texted me back.

Normally it wouldn’t be a problem, but I have no freaking idea where she lives.

The only thing I know is that she lives with her Aunt who’s loaded.

I rub my hands on my jean-clad thighs and force myself to breathe.

“Everything okay?” Knox questions from the driver’s seat.

He’s been acting smugger than usual ever since we got in the car.

At first, I thought he offered to drive me as a thank you for covering for him in front of his dad, but now I’m not so sure.

Knowing him, he’s only doing it because he knows how much I loathe being near him.

“Just peachy.”

“You said she lives on Crystal Court, right?”

I nod. “Yup.”

My pulse races when he turns down a side street. “What’s the house number?”

“Twenty-three.”

We drive past a few houses and he rubs his chin. “Weird. The houses on this block are all in the hundreds.”

Dammit.

I bring my palm to my forehead. “Whoops. I meant one twenty-three.”

His eyes narrow a little. “Right.”

A moment later he pulls to a stop in front of a large house. “We’re here.”

I grab my purse and knapsack. “Thanks.” I bristle when he cuts the engine. “What are you doing?”

“I figured I’d wait for you to go inside before I leave.”

Well, shit.

“That’s really not necessary.”

His teeth flash white. “Just trying to be helpful.”

It’s all I can do not to laugh. He’s not trying to be helpful, he’s…

What is he trying to do?

My stomach somersaults, and I feel the blood drain from my face with my next thought.

No. There’s no way he knows.

How could he?

Pushing the door open, I slide out of the seat.

“What time should I pick you up?” he calls out.

I freeze, scanning my brain for a reply that will make him back the fuck off.

“You don’t have to. Violet already said she’d drop me off later.”

I can tell he wants to argue, but fortunately he drops it.

Unfortunately, I can feel his eyes glued to me the entire time I walk up the driveway.

My palms turn clammy the closer I get to the house because there’s no way in hell Violet will be the one answering.

It’s fine. I got this.

I turn around and wave when I reach the front door, hoping he’ll drive off, but no such luck.

If anything, the fucker looks amused.

Gritting my teeth, I ring the doorbell.

A sweet old woman answers. “Hi, dear. How can I help you?”

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, “Hello, ma’am. Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?”

Ignoring her confused expression, I muscle my way inside the poor woman’s house and shut the door behind me.

“Come on, sexy,” the guy says as I grind against him. “Take that mask off and let me see your face.”

“Sorry,” I tell him. “Club rules.”

I never in a million years thought I’d be a stripper, but after my dad died and I had no way to support myself—or pay for college—it was the only option at my disposal.

Working at an ice cream shop after school didn’t pay the bills or fit around my hectic school schedule. And I’d rather die than rely on my new stepdad or accept the money Leo’s always offering.

Stripping at the Bashful Beaver doesn’t exactly fill me with pride, but at least I’m able to support myself without relying on anyone else.

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, and it’s all I can do not to stab him in the thigh with my heel.

I thought being on stage in front of everyone sucked, but I’m realizing private dances in the champagne rooms are way worse.

Not only are they too personal for my liking, the customers tend to ask way too many questions when they get you alone.

“Ginger,” I deadpan, hoping he takes the hint to shut up and enjoy his dance.

“Your real name,” he presses.

“That is my real name.”

Gripping his glass of scotch, he sighs. “Do you have any other moves, or is this your only party trick?”

Given I’ve only worked here for two months, I’m still relatively new to the industry, but rumor has it some girls dole out special favors to certain customers who are willing to pay.

However, that’s not my scene.

The only thing customers should expect from me is a pair of big tits, an okay ass, and mediocre dancing.

I look at the clock on the wall, relieved to see his time is up.

“Sorry, handsome. Party’s over.”

He slips a five-dollar bill into my G-string. “Learn to play nice next time.”

Dick.

Draining the rest of his drink, he walks out.

Muttering a curse, I slip past Bubba the security guard and make my way into the dressing room.

Violet—or should I say Angel, because she’s donning her usual white angel wings and feather masquerade mask—must see the disappointment on my face because she says, “That bad, huh?”

I hold up the five-dollar bill. “You tell me?”

She winces. “Ouch.”

“You’d make more if you weren’t such a bitch to everyone,” Candi Kane chimes in. “And if you knew how to dance.”

She’s one to talk. Not only is she mean to every girl who works here, she fell off the stage last week when she attempted to twerk.