Chapter 5

“Are you sure you’re okay? Want me to pull over? There’s a rest stop about a mile up the road.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I really am.” Lindsay’s forehead found the passenger side window, skin and bone meeting glass with a clunk. Her index and middle fingers traced tight circles against her eyelids, coaxing starbursts of red and purple in the self-made darkness. The prior excitement for a daylong shopping spree alongside Jim was ruined by the harsh reality check she received first thing this morning at the Sulaco County Sheriff’s Department.

“Hi there! I’d like to apply for a sheriff’s card.”

“God almighty, they keep getting younger. What are you, twelve?”

Lindsay wound the backpack straps around her fingers and tugged hard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You reek of it already. That brothel stench.” The drawer snapped shut. A framed photo on the desktop tipped forward and lay face-down. “Have you applied for a sheriff’s card before?”

Lindsay pivoted her torso to the side. “Umm, no.”

Blotches crept up the elderly record clerk’s neck as she shoved the paperwork across the counter hard enough that it scattered, two pages helicoptering to the floor. “You’re so young. So pretty. Why do you want to throw your life away and become a good-for-nothing whore? Is that something to strive for? To be proud of? How could you do this to yourself? To your family? Have you no respect for them?”

The woman’s words kept coming and all Lindsay could do was clutch at Jim, wondering if the roaring in her ears was blood or shame or the sound of everything she’d dreamed about crumbling around her.

“Nice to see nothing’s changed around here, Irene,” Jim said, his anger flaring. “Still spreading sunshine wherever you go.”

Jim ushered Lindsay to a back corner of the lobby. “The law in these parts don’t approve of us. Just fill out the application.” His finger motioned toward each line. “Sign here, here, initial this. They’ll run you through every database they’ve got: credit, criminal, probably access your third-grade report cards. Then comes Suzi. She’s religious. Really religious. Scripture quotes and everything. She’ll ask if you were molested. If you’re on drugs. If someone’s forcing you. She’ll say ‘reconsider your choices’ about fifty times.” He tapped the paper. “Just keep signing. When Suzi starts her shit, you give her nothing. Don’t engage. Yes, no, I understand. That’s it.”

“All whores go to Hell!” Irene rose, palms flat on the desk after two grinding hours of forms and lectures. “You’re gonna burn forever because of this!”

In the car, they’d passed a billboard that read FORGIVE MY SINS JESUS; SAVE MY SOUL. Guilt stabbed Lindsay so intensely that she doubled over, shoulders shaking with the effort not to let everything overwhelm her. Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. What ... what have I done?

The vehicle slowed down and came to a stop. Lindsay lifted her eyes.

“Contrary to what you’re telling me, you’re not okay.” Jim jammed the gearshift into park. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on? Are you still upset about earlier?”

“I ... I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” Lindsay undid her seat belt, opened the door, and staggered out to the rest stop’s parking lot. Her hands trembling as if she was freezing despite the July sun searing the asphalt all around her, she plopped down on the nearest curb.

Within seconds, Jim’s shadow fell across her and he folded down, knees cracking, until their shoulders touched. “I told you earlier, you can’t let that mean old bitch get into your head. She treats all the girls we bring in like absolute shit; it’s what she does. First time I brought Kenzie there, Irene called her a wetback whore and threatened to have ICE waiting outside, to have her deported back to Puerto Rico. Thing is, that was complete and total bullshit because being from Puerto Rico, Kenzie is already a U.S. citizen.

“With Irene, it’s all intimidation tactics. Other girls, though? Others will clap back at her.” He smothered a laugh. “Last Christmas, Sahara sent Irene a postcard from Cabo that said getting fucked on the beach daily. Something you’ll never experience.” His hand found Lindsay’s wrist. “Just ignore her. She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know any of us. She just knows she’s sixty and bitter and you’re eighteen and beautiful, and that kills her.”

But ignoring what happened was easier said than done. Mean old bitch or not, that woman had forced Lindsay to look at everything from a different point of view. Was accepting a job at Happy Ending Ranch the correct move? When her medical results came back this morning and she’d been cleared to work, Lindsay was sky-high with excitement. But now, mere hours later, doubt had overtaken her. Do I really want to go through with this? But what choice did she have? I can’t go home. Not anymore.

What right does that hag have to talk to me like that? Back in Citronelle, things were different. Lindsay was on a first-name basis with over half the townsfolk because she worked at the fairgrounds every summer. She always met them with cheerfulness and was never impolite. Her parents raised her to be respectful of everyone, especially her elders. Mom says a smile is the best makeup any girl can wear.

This whole idea of fleeing home to work here could implode spectacularly. One misstep, Lindsay knew, and she’d be trading fishnets for handcuffs. Sheriff Spaeth was gunning to crush the brothel and its stable of bedwarmers. Still, prison seemed tame compared to Mr. and Mrs. Anastacio ever finding out that their little girl had resorted to peddling her pussy to make ends meet.

Whore.

That label hit hard. Being called one gutted Lindsay to her core. It was taboo to say that word in the industry, but in all fairness, it was the truth.

Lindsay hadn’t heard the other ladies say it yet. They referred to themselves as working girls, working ladies, courtesans, or providers. Sounds like sanitized AI. Colt mentioned “prostitute” a few times yesterday but said it was a dirty word too. Not as dirty as whore, though.

Think about what you’ve done, the decisions you’ve made. Lindsay’s new life crouched in wait, ready to pounce as soon as Jim’s vehicle returned to Flagstone. How long would it be before she’d be flat on her back, legs spread for the assembly line of cock? Strangers’ cocks. One empties his balls, another’s already unzipping. Like that guy last night, the one Nicolette said had sewer breath. Scarlett claimed this past Saturday, she had sex with eight different men over fourteen hours.

Eight. Different. Men!

As much as she wanted to visit the lingerie boutique in Oakfall that Pamela recommended, Lindsay needed to compose herself before getting back into the car. “I’m gonna use the ladies’ room. I’ll be back.”

Though no one else was inside, Lindsay locked herself in a stall, anyway, and wheezed in labored breaths. Seriously, am I cut out for this?

“You’re awfully quiet. It’s unusual for you. Haven’t said anything since we left the rest stop.”

Lindsay startled as she whirled to face Jim. She grated her teeth into a smile and hoped it didn’t appear as anxious as she felt. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

On the highway, Jim repositioned his eyeglasses as he took a moment to inspect Lindsay. Oakfall waited at the next turnoff. She’d departed for the sheriff’s station in gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting checkered blouse to maintain her modesty and not rouse any suspicions.

But once they cleared Flagstone, Lindsay stripped down to skintight denim shorts with frayed edges and a fluorescent orange halter top. Sexy was an understatement. In all his thirty-five years of working at the house, Jim had never seen a woman as stunning as Lindsay.

Even better, she was untouched with zero experience. Screwing her ex-boyfriends back in high school meant nothing. Lindsay was as pure as the driven snow, yet also ripe for the picking. Innocent until proven filthy? In time, she would become a marquee attraction at the brothel.

But only if things stayed positive and people like Irene were kept out of her life.

Jim was quick to realize yesterday that Lindsay wasn’t the stereotypical girl who sought work at the ranch. She had a wonderful family and was raised the proper way. Outsiders would never believe that. Lindsay didn’t come from a fractured home. There was no sob story. She’d never been beaten or molested by her father either.

Truth was, most of the ladies passing through Happy Ending Ranch came from decent backgrounds. They’re just regular girls, really. But try telling that to the ignorant masses. In their minds, every working girl was running from daddy’s fists or chasing the next fix.

That’s the only reason she chose this life, right? She’ll be dead in five or six years from an overdose.

In reality, no, that wasn’t the case. Still, Jim admitted a few underwent difficult struggles, whether at home or elsewhere. But find me a profession where that isn’t true. Doctors, lawyers, hell, even your friendly neighborhood barista. Courtesans are no different.

“Where are some of your favorite places to hike?” Jim could have said he understood Lindsay’s negative frame of mind and asked if she wanted to discuss it. But he knew a better way to go about this. He could tell she was rattled and now second-guessed her decision to leave the sanctity of her family. I don’t want her to bail on us and go running home. Working girls obtaining their sheriff’s card through Irene (and her sharp tongue) was a necessary evil.

What’s worse, it needed to be renewed every six months.

Lindsay tucked one leg beneath her. Last evening, Jim inquired about her interests so he could list them on her biography page for the website. She mentioned that, more than anything, she loved to hike. Why not expound on that now and potentially stabilize her mood?

“The Cactus-to-Clouds Trail, without a doubt. My dad and I hike it two times a year.”

“Cactus-to Clouds Trail? Where’s that located?”

“California, Palm Springs. It’s kinda crazy, you start in the desert and end up on this snowy peak called San Jacinto.” Lindsay leveled her breathing before adding, “It’s twenty-one miles long and you climb about ten-thousand feet, which sounds insane but my dad and I have hiked it so many times we don’t even sweat it anymore.” She put her hands behind her head. “We’re pros.”

“Impressive. I used to go hiking a lot back in the day.” Man, I haven’t done any of that in thirty years. “Two miles up, huh? I bet it’s freezing cold when you reach the top, even in the middle of summer.” Or is it? He didn’t know.