Page 11 of Never Distract a Biker

Outside, the air is cool, a gentle caress against my skin as I meld into the night. The police continue their dutiful charade, unaware of the puppet master in their midst. But their questionswill lead them astray, chasing phantoms while the true architect of their play remains shrouded in shadow.

I walk away, the weight of the evening's work a comfortable presence in my mind. The city stretches before me, filled with secrets and stories yet to be told. And somewhere in this tangled web, my mind goes to Electra and I hope she will be alright.

5

Scarlett

Sighing inwardly, I drag my feet down the hall. The thick air is scented with sweat and desperation, and I can almost taste the tang of perfume mixed with alcohol. Tonight is another fight to keep Mom alive.

My heels click-clack against the tiled floor, each step a metronome counting down to showtime. The locker room is empty, just how I like it. No need for small talk or prying eyes. I slide my key into the lock, twist, and swing the metal door open with a practiced ease.

I reach for my first outfit for tonight, a whimsical maid number that knows its job well. It’s a costume that says, “I’m here at your service,” even though my service ends on stage. At the trail of my thoughts, my mind drifts back to the stranger from days ago,and I blush. Who would have thought I would toss caution to the wind with a stranger in a darkened car park?

I wrestle my mind back to the present. The one-piece maid costume clings to my skin like a second flesh—provocative, black and white, impossible to ignore. Rummaging in my locker for my dust feather, I feel a foreign texture beneath my fingers, tucked at the back of the locker. Rigid and rectangular. My curiosity piques, my pulse already quickening with an unspoken suspicion.

It’s an envelope. Brown, nondescript, entirely out of place amidst my scattered makeup, wigs, props, and costumes. My heart hammers against my ribcage; this isn’t mine.

Easy, babe.

I slip a single finger under the flap, peeking inside. The sight that greets me is both unbelievable and terrifying—wads of $100 bills, more than I’ve ever seen. It’s a small fortune that could mean everything ... or nothing but trouble.

"Damn," the word escapes, a gasp that hangs heavy in the air.

Panic laces through my veins, cold and sharp. What if someone sees? What if they think—

No time for what-ifs. With shaky hands, I shove the envelope into the deepest corner of the locker and slam the door shut. The metallic clang is a harsh punctuation mark that seals my locker off to the outside world.

"Get it together," I tell myself, taking a deep, steadying breath. My hands tremble as I spin the combination lock, securing away the mystery that’s just landed in my lap. The weight of this discovery sits heavy on my shoulders, but I push it down and force it into the box labeled ‘later.’

For now, there’s a show to do and customers to charm. The envelope will have to wait. But the promise—or threat—it carries won’t be ignored for long. Not by me.

The thud of my heels on the stage syncs with the pounding in my chest as I step into the spotlight. Lights flare, a blinding white for just a moment before my eyes adjust and the music swells around me. I move, hips swaying, arms lifting, but my mind is a million miles away from the pulsing beat and the hungry eyes that follow each dip and twirl.

"Attention," I mutter under my breath, a silent echo of the command I gave myself earlier. But it’s no use; the envelope burns in my memory, and I wonder if it’s a beacon of hope or a harbinger of danger.

I plaster a smile on my face, and let it spread like a mask to hide the chaos underneath. My body remembers the routine, muscle memory guiding me through motions that have become second nature. Yet every sway feels weighted, every turn filled with the rustle of unseen bills whispering secrets I’m not sure I want to hear.

"Smile," I remind myself, even as my thoughts betray me, circling back to that damned envelope again and again.

Finally, the last note of my set fades away, applause erupting from the shadows beyond the stage. I offer a practiced bow, my heart racing not from the exertion but from what comes next.

"Good show," the DJ whispers as I pass him, the words lost in the din of the club.

"Thanks," I reply without really hearing, my feet already carrying me backstage, urgency fueling my steps. The locker room is quiet now, most of the girls had left in the small hours that cling to night like a bad dream.

My hands are steady as I open my locker and slip the envelope inside my bag before retrieving it. I hoist it over my shoulder and wonder if I should be going home with this small fortune.

"Lock up tight," I murmur to myself, spinning the combination until the click tells me my secret is safe again. My fingers linger for a second on the cold metal before I pull away.

It’s done. The money is mine, tucked away like a dangerous secret. And with its weight added to my bag, I feel the burden of its presence, a constant reminder of choices made and paths yet to tread.

"Time to go home," I tell my reflection in the mirror. She looks back at me, steel-gray eyes fierce with resolve. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it head-on. We always do.

I burst through the club’s back door, my breath catching in the chill of the night. The city sleeps around me, but I’m wide awake,my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. The streetlights cast long shadows as I hustle to my car, the black leather of my bag digging into my shoulder.

"Keep moving," I whisper to myself.

The envelope inside is a dead weight, its contents a mystery that both terrifies and thrills me. A hundred grand doesn’t just appear out of thin air – not in my world. It reeks of danger, of strings attached, but the need burning in me drowns out the fear.

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