Home > Daddy's Possessive Friend (Once Upon a Daddy #12)

Daddy's Possessive Friend (Once Upon a Daddy #12)
Author: Kelli Callahan

Chapter One






I shouldn’t be here.

Not behind this curtain. Not on this stage. Nowhere near this club.

My parents named me Kiana because it means full of grace. There’s nothing graceful about what I’m about to do. As soon as my music plays, I’m going to step into the light and take off my clothes—for men who will throw money at me until the music stops. My body has never been touched by a man, but tonight, I’m going to let strangers salivate over it.

This isn’t the life my parents wanted for me, but I’ve never been much more than a disappointment.

Now I’m going to live out their worst nightmare.

And mine.

I wish I had a choice.

“Gentlemen, you’re in for a real treat when our next performer hits the stage! She comes from Sin City, and trust me—she loves to sin. Give it up for…” The DJ hits my music before he rattles off my stage name. “…the beautiful, vivacious, Lavender Rose!”

That’s my cue.

Lavender for the color of my wig. Rose for the color of my lipstick. One of the other dancers told me the contrast will get the crowd excited. It will make them think about my lips, doing things I don’t even want to imagine. Anything for one more dollar. I’m adopting their philosophy as my own, because every dollar brings me closer to freedom.

The curtains open, and I take a step forward. It’s time for the show to begin—my show—but this isn’t the stage I expected to be on when I made my grand debut.

I’m wearing an outfit that is both provocative and taboo. I’m young, barely nineteen, and the owner of the club told me I need to accentuate that. That’s why I’m dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl, even though I’m not sure if there is a God, and I’ve certainly never been to church. If he’s up there, he abandoned my family a long time ago, and I found a way to send my soul straight to hell.

The other girls made this look so easy—classy in a twisted sort of way. I don’t know how to do that.

The guys who watch me begin my routine don’t care. I’m their fantasy—their dirty thoughts—the things they would never admit to anyone outside of these walls.

“Take it off, darling! Let me see those tits!” A man to my right tells me what he wants to see, and I tease him with a devious smile as I begin to oblige.

My mother taught me to respect my elders, and the guy with lust in his eyes is old enough to be my grandfather. I wonder if he has a wife, children, grandchildren my age; do they know that he comes to a seedy strip club after they’re safely tucked into bed? I hope not. His vulgar comments continue as my clothes begin to land on the stage. Others join him; they demand my body like it’s nothing more than a commodity, which is what it is tonight.

The dollars begin to hit the stage. I’m not allowed to pick them up. In any other strip club, I could tuck them into my panties, but those aren’t staying on. I have to let the money stay where it is until I’m done. Someone will gather my ill-gotten gains for me when the lights come on. I have to trust them not to steal what I’ve earned.

“Come closer, baby!” A younger guy who looks like he should be at home doing his homework for college waves a five-dollar bill at me. I do what he asks.

They like my breasts. The moment they’re revealed, more money starts to land at my feet—or gets tucked in my panties when I’m close to them. They’re not supposed to touch me. I glance nervously at the bouncer, but he doesn’t seem to care. That rule must not apply if they’re waving money. I consider running off the stage, but I keep moving. I keep a smile on my face, and I let them touch me as long as their hands don’t linger.

I wonder how many compromises I’ll be forced to make before I have enough money to pay off my brother’s debt.

“Stop teasing us, little girl! I want to see what I paid for!” A guy to my left, who has been generous, points at my skirt, but that isn’t the only thing he wants me to take off.

I play the song in my head. It’s past the halfway point. I’m supposed to wrap up when it ends. I try to pace my steps and ignore the demands of the crowd. One of the other dancers told me not to drop my panties until the last thirty seconds, otherwise they’ll get to see too much and won’t care about the girl who takes the stage after me. She’s been doing this for a while, so it sounds logical.

I make my mind go elsewhere, anywhere but where I am. I think about the happy times in my life, even if there haven’t been many, because that seems better than living in the moment. That will probably be easier in the future. It’s almost impossible right now, but I do my best.

I feel like I’m about to vomit.

“You want this; don’t you, darling?” The older man moves closer to the stage and waves a twenty.

I do want it, but to walk over and let him push it into the waistband of my panties makes me feel less human. I have no idea how the women backstage do this every night. I’m going to find out, but I can’t wrap my head around it right now. The moment I don’t want to live in is the only one I can focus on.

“I put my phone number on this.” A guy next to the stage grins as he drops a five-dollar bill at my feet. “Call me if you want to make some real money tonight.”

I almost vomit when I realize what he’s insinuating. I won’t be calling him. I’ll be lucky if I’m not curled up in a ball crying my eyes out when I’m done for the night.

I hear the musical cue. It’s time. I push my panties down, and the money cascades to the floor. The dead presidents create a circle of shame around my feet as I expose myself to the crowd. I have a routine to do, one that gives them a glimpse and nothing more. I remember the steps as I move to the pole and complete my dance.

I’m dying inside, and I wish that feeling would spread through my body. I want to be put out of my misery, but that isn’t an option.

Misery is my penance.



“You did good out there tonight, honey.” Rhonda, who goes by Ravishing Rachel when she’s on the stage, walks up as I’m removing my makeup.

“Did I?” I ask, with a mixture of sarcasm and sorrow in my voice.

Rhonda is confident, strong, and she loves her job. I knew that within five minutes of meeting her. I wish I had some of that. It would make things easier.

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