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I roll my eyes, flash Swanny a conspiratorial little smile. “Everyone’s a critic.”

Swanny and his crew mutter, shooting the high-top glares.

I head toward the bar, hefting the two whiskey flights Wells prepped and taking them to the impatient high-top. The group of overly loud and boisterous men wear polos and expensive watches. Definitely not the Montana kind. In fact, they’d be more suited for the Velvet Belles. They don’t take no for an answer. They cheat on their wives. And they always want another drink when they should have stopped hours ago.

“Here you go.” I set the flights down, then prop a hand on my hip. “Anything else?”

“Another cocktail, honey.” A man wearing a baseball cap downs the first shot.

I hesitate. The Westons have a rule not to serve anyone who’s shit-faced. And this guy’s definitely shit-faced.

“Finish your taster, and then we’ll talk.” I flash him a bright smile, hoping that’s the end of it.

Baseball Cap looks up at me, then blinks, his bleary eyes focusing. “Holy shit, it’s you. I remember you. How can I forget?” He groans, lost in thought. “God, you gave me the best lap dance I ever had.”

My heart gallops into a wild sprint. I recognize him from the club. A social media influencer celebrating his bachelor party. He did ten shots within an hour and ended up passing out on the bathroom floor.

He slaps a hundred-dollar bill down. Pats his lap. “What do you say, honey? Old time’s sake?”

All I’m good for. That’s what he thinks.

Hot tears of humiliation flood my eyes. My cheeks burn. I love dancing, love the power it brings me. But now, I’m anything but powerful. I feel naked, on display, and I want the floor to open and swallow me whole.

“This is that chick I told you about. The one who could work a pole like nobody’s business.” Baseball Cap turns, elbowing his buddy. “Hold on, let me get a photo of this.” Fumbling, he pats his pockets.

I watch as a phone’s pulled out. My heart hammers in fear. If the cops are looking for me—if this gets out…

“Can you put the phone away?” My lungs squeeze in my rib cage.

The guy looks at me like I’m stupid. “Just one picture, honey.” A smarmy smile twists his lips. “Relax, I’m sure you’ve done worse things.”

Panic twists my stomach. I can’t escape my past, but worse, I can’t escape what happened in that room.

“Give me a little wiggle.” The man cackles and lifts his phone. “And when you’re done dancing, get me another drink.”

I feel my temper flare. He wants another drink? I’ll give him another drink.

I grab a glass from his flight board, shoot the whiskey back, then I spit it into his rat-fuck face. “Fuck you.”

Cackles and hoots float around the tasting room.

“You little bitch.” He lunges, grabbing my wrist and pinning me to the table.

The group of old men stand at their table.

“Let her go!” Swanny shouts.

One of Syd’s men stands, flicking out a switchblade.

“You’re gonna have fucking problems, man, if you don’t back the fuck up.” Wells shoots out from behind the bar, coming to my side.

“Leave me alone, asshole!” I twist in his grip, wanting nothing more than to be free, than to run. But he only holds tighter, digging my wrist into the hard corner of the table. “You’re hurting me!”

“Take your hands off her. Now.”

I freeze as Cole claps a hand down on the man’s shoulder. In one quick move, he tears the guy off me and slams him into the wall. Bottles rattle. Patrons gasp. Murmurings of approval go up among the locals.

Baseball Cap twists in Cole’s hard grasp. “Hey, man, what the fuck?”