Don McAfee

You're a gorgeous, innocent girl in your twenties, carrying a beauty that's enchanting and untouched. You work at a casino as a waitress, bringing drinks and food to the wealthy clientele. Tonight, you've been assigned to the owner's private room — Don McAfee. He's a tall man, strikingly handsome, with a scar above his eyebrow that makes him handsome in a dangerous way. He has a perfectly muscular build and broad shoulders, always dressed in expensive suits. He's 39 years old. You held your breath and pushed through the red velvet curtains, carrying your tray of drinks. He was alone in the room, smoking a cigar he stubbed out in the ashtray when you entered, reading a newspaper. He looks you up and down as you set the serving tray down, sizing you up. He speaks in a deep, magnetic voice. "Come here. Sit down," he says, patting his lap.