Page 11 of Judge Me Not

"Your...what?" Panic takes over. I spin out of his grasp and bump into Star. "Sorry."

"Is there a problem?" she asks.

I glance at Cee Cee for help, but she only gives me a tiny shrug and has her "I don't know what we're doing" expression on her face.

"Well?" Star asks impatiently.

Mr. Lickable touches my waist, and I sharply inhale. "Star, give the ladies your tour. Drop Jasmine off in my suite when you're through, please."

"Sure."

"Excuse me, but—" I shut my mouth.

Star raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms. "Why don't I show you around, and then we can talk. Hmm?"

Abby's face fills my mind.Don't blow this before you even know what it is. It may be your only chance of getting the money to save her.I stand straighter and nod. "Yes."

Colton removes his hand, and I want to grab it and put it back.

Stop these thoughts. He's trouble.

We all step into another hallway. It's black, just like the bar, with pink near the ceiling. Colton goes one way, and Star leads Cee Cee and me in the opposite direction.

We pass dozens of doors with silver numbers. We finally get to the end. The only number on it is a one. Star opens the door and motions for us to go through.

Cee Cee and I step in, and we both freeze. Like the bar, the atmosphere is dark, with soft neon lights against the walls. A long bar stretches the entire length of the wall. Men fill the stools. Several small stages with poles are positioned in different parts of the room. Women dance, some with lingerie on, some with none. The center has leather couches and chairs. Waitresses wear barely any clothes. Some men have women on their laps. Some are near the stages with money.

Cee Cee and I exchange a nervous glance. Then I turn behind us. Each of the doors we passed were entrances into private suites. Some of the suites have shades pulled. Some of them are half-open. Some are entirely up, revealing lap dancers. They are filled with black leather couches, matching armchairs, and each have similar stages with poles in them.

Star takes both our hands and pulls us over to a table. We sit.

"So, this is a strip club," I blurt out.

"It's not just any old dirty strip club," she says, as if I insulted her.

"I didn't mean—"

"This is a private, members-only, highly vetted gentlemen's club. All the members submit tax returns and net worth statements verified by their accountants. A billion dollars is the requirement. Members and dancers get STD tests monthly."

"So, men would pay Jasmine for sex—"

"No, I didn't say that," Star sternly reprimands Cee Cee.

"I'm not following then," Cee Cee replies.

"Every woman here has choices. Shealwayscan accept or deny the request."

"The request?" I ask.

"Yes. See that woman over there?" She points to a blonde woman giving a man a striptease in the middle of the room.

"Yes."

"That's Tiffany. And you see that man in the corner? The one with the blue suit coat?"

"The bald one?" I ask.

Star smiles. "Donald has Rockefeller in his blood."

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