Chapter 2 Let the show begin

ELEANOR'S POV

The rack in front of me looks like a crime scene where dignity came to die.

Strings, lace, rhinestones, and... what even is that? Mesh? Dental floss with glitter? Whatever it is, it's red. And the red ones always bring in the most tips. Must be something primal, caveman brain sees red, thinks sex or violence. Maybe both. Works out either way, as long as they pay up.

I flip through the hangers with the same enthusiasm I reserve for pap smears. Every outfit here is just a variation of “please objectify me,” and I’m honestly too tired to pretend I care.

“Trashy, trashier, oh....look, satan’s prom dress,” I mutter, pulling out the red one with the plunge so deep it might as well be a bellybutton window.

I throw off my robe and shimmy into it. My boobs spill into place like they’ve rehearsed for this moment. I check myself in the cracked full-length mirror behind my table. It’s bad. Which is exactly what makes it good. The audience is going to eat this up.

I sit down at my table, surrounded by a graveyard of highlighter dust and old lashes stuck to the rim of a shot glass I use to store Q-tips. The mirror lights flicker, buzzing softly like they might blow at any second. Fitting ambiance for a club that smells like Red Bull, spilled and desperation.

As I’m lining my lips...classic red, obviously, a shiver runs straight down my spine.

I freeze.

It’s not the AC. That’s been broken since Valentine's Day. It’s not nerves either, I don’t get those anymore. Not after four years of grinding on every flavor of perv this city can cough up.

Still… my fingers tremble slightly, like they haven’t gotten the memo that I don’t scare easy. My heart skips, then speeds like it’s sprinting toward something....fight or flight revving in place.

The cold rush fades as quick as it came.

“Great,” I mutter. “Now I’ve got ghost chills. Love that for me.”

I shake it off and finish my liner. My reflection stares back at me, all sharp cheekbones and red war paint. I’m not Eleanor Sterling right now, I’m Scarlet Sin. Sinner, saint, and showstopper all wrapped in four inches of Lycra and glitter.

Nothing’s gonna mess with my stage tonight. Not the shivers, not the bad vibes and definitely not whichever suit-wearing bastard is about to walk in demanding a lap dance cause he thinks he owns the night.

I’m halfway through strapping on my heels...those silver, illogically high death traps that scream Daddy issues, when the door creaks open.

No knock. Again.

“Jesus, Timmy,” I say, not even looking up. “One of these days you’re gonna walk in and see something traumatizing. Like me fully dressed.”

He laughs, nasal and fast, like it’s been stuck in his throat all day. “You’re up in ten, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

Of course I know. I’ve had this routine down since I was twenty and too broke to afford self-respect.

“Stand up,” he says, gesturing with his stubby fingers.

I groan but do it anyway, rising to my full 'five foot nine in porn heels' glory. He watches as I spin on command, like a goddamn rotisserie chicken. I can feel his eyes doing that slow undress thing even though I’m already ninety percent naked. Makes my damn skin crawl.

But Timmy’s never tried anything. Not once in four years. And in this line of work, that practically makes him a saint.

He nods, pleased. “You’re gonna rake in huge tips tonight. I can smell it.”

“That’s probably just the cheap cologne from the guy who tried to tip me with a Subway coupon last week.”

“Come on,” he grins. “Gimme that move....the one you did last Friday. The upside-down split thing where your leg’s on the pole and your other one’s practically saying hi to Jesus.”

I blink at him. “What, you want me to dry hump the air right now too? Maybe throw in a happy ending for good measure?”

He smirks, unbothered. “Don’t get smart with me, Ellie.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss,” I say sweetly, flipping him off behind my back as he turns to leave.

He rushes off to go make sure the stage is prepped for my grand reveal. It’s always a whole thing when Scarlet Sin takes the spotlight. Lights, smoke, and just enough latex to scare a priest.

I glance at myself in the mirror, adjusting my top, not that it covers much. My boobs are front and center, my ass is barely hanging on to the fabric, and my makeup is an ode to slutty perfection... smoky eyes, red lips, a single rhinestone at the corner of my eye like a stripper’s tear of joy.

Scarlet Sin. The fantasy. The seductress. The walking, gyrating red flag. Velvet Halo is where I let her loose. Where I become her. Where the rent gets paid and the tips help pad my “get the fuck out of this job” fund, also known as nursing school. Where I’ll eventually be able to save actual lives instead of saving half-hard businessmen from their midlife crises.

But hey. Potato, pota...ho.

I tug at the hem of my microscopic skirt, not that it makes a damn difference, and sit back down. My nerves are weird tonight. Not the usual pre-show tingle. This one feels icy. Like someone just cracked open a window into my soul. My skin prickles and my heart skips.

Nope. Still not nerves. I’ve been doing this long enough to know the difference.

Maybe it’s just the creeps that’ve been coming in lately. Real freaks. Pale, glassy-eyed types with dilated pupils and the kind of stares that make your blood feel… wanted. They tip like gods, though. One of them gave me a grand just for licking whipped cream off a chair. They're definitely always high on some shit.

Whatever. I shake it off.

Scarlet Sin doesn’t do fear, she does control. I cross my legs, lean back, and wait for Timmy’s voice over the intercom.

Then I stand and peek through the curtain, just a sliver...habit more than curiosity. The crowd looks the same as always. Tired suits, twitchy creeps, and a couple of regulars who think I give a damn. But then… two men walk in. They’re tall, broad, and not the kind of lost frat boys or suburban dads we usually get. They move with a different energy, like they own the place and everyone in it. Can’t see their faces too well from here, but something prickles down my spine, and not in a fun kind of way.

That chill again.

My heart lurches, thumps hard against my ribs like it’s trying to punch its way out. I shake it off. Probably just low blood sugar. Or maybe I’m dying. Honestly, either would be preferable to another night of this. I yank the curtain closed and blow out a slow breath just as Timmy’s voice crackles to life through the mic.

“And now, the one you’ve all been waiting for, give it up for Scarlet Siiiiiin!”

Cue the hoots, the whistles, the absolute lack of shame. I smirk. “Let the show begin.”