I walked onstage, shrouded in darkness. Customers were happily getting their drinks refilled by beautiful women. I searched the room, looking for Wheeler. When I caught sight of him in the back, twirling a silver butterfly knife, I actually blew out a breath. He had his eyes on the crowd, watching every man sitting alone or who walked past him.

The music changed over and a steady beat and the sound of drums filled the room. I’d selected a rhythmic song that didn’t have the distraction of lyrics, and if sex could be translated to music, this song would have been it.

I clamped the cuff around the pole and crouched down on my side. It wasn’t until the spotlight showered me that the men turned their attention my way.

And boy, did they! I peered through my hair and saw the tip rail fill up. It wasn’t the kind of routine where I collected the money by hand or in the strap of my thong. Breed bars had their own system, and during the main attraction, the stage bouncers set my boxes at the designated areas on the stage for tipping. After the show, I’d walk around and find out who really enjoyed my performance… and how much.

Visual effects appeared on the thin blue curtain behind me where Manny had adjusted the lights along with props. It looked like ripples of midnight blue bringing to life a silhouette of twisted tree limbs. I rose to my hands and knees, looking around as if something were hunting me.

A couple of men gripped the bar around the stage, leaning forward, eyes wide, enthralled by the action unfolding.

Then I slowly tugged at the chain attached from my wrist to the pole. Unable to free myself, I walked around the pole and leapt up, spinning in an acrobatic move with my arm outstretched.

When the beat dropped, I collapsed to the floor. A man gasped and lurched to his feet, thinking I had fallen by accident. I glanced over my shoulder with a panicked expression, every move calculated and dramatic. As I did this, I stood up and pulled at the chain, spinning under it and combining dance moves with an artistic interpretation of a woman in peril. My unkempt hair caressed my body with each sultry turn.

I climbed the pole in search of escape, turning upside down and locking my long legs. Once I had a good grip with my hands, I slowly spread my legs and then swung around, twirling off the pole. The beat sounded like native drums, and I frantically gathered up the chain as the shadows shifted and changed on the curtain.

A predator moved into sight—the silhouette of a black panther.

I looked upon the men with smoldering eyes, drawing them in. The next thing I knew, men were getting out of their chairs to put money in my boxes but also to inch closer to the stage. The bouncers continued pushing them back to their seats, but the men were riveted.