Have you ever been so exhausted you feel it deep in your soul?

After twenty-four years living in this seedy town and six years in the business of serving seedy men, that’s me.

So. Damn. Tired.

Every day, I dream of becoming a wanderer — me and my trusty home on wheels taking life on the road. Every night, I striptease to turn those daydreams into a reality.

Bikers from around the nation ride in for Gulf Coast Bike Week every spring and fall. Under the thumb of a local motorcycle gang, the dancers at Tit for Tat Saloon take good care of them.

“Dance for just one more motorcycle rally,” I told myself.

That was three years ago, before I was claimed by a member of a rival club. Twice a year, he visits me along with the rest of his brigade.

While they are here, I tend to their needs.

This season, though, hackles are raised; local outlaws are whispering concerns that Hell for Leather is up to no good. A buzz of weariness in my bones warns that this hidden agenda will affect their favorite saloon girl.

Trouble is, I care. Too much. The men who make up their group will get me — all of me. Willingly. Regardless of how it chips away at my already-damaged soul.

“Dance for just one more motorcycle rally,” I tell myself.