Someone stuck a dollar in her panties, while in the background two men yelled and a woman clapped her hands. The heavy bass of the boxes that had been attached to the walls of this cheap ambience made plaster crumble to the floor. The artificial light turned the atmosphere heavy, bathing it in a ghastly pink light, broken sporadically by cold white. Probably a trainee had put in the wrong bulbs.

For Soleil, it was a bit of a rescue.

Her fingers clutched the now warm iron pole, which seemed a little slippery from her own sweat. The blonde hair of her wig stuck to her shoulders, partly caught in her neckline, as did the money she was being slipped.

She jerked her head to one side, letting her hair swing like a cascade, and followed the movement with a turn around the pole. Then she tightened her grip, gave herself the hold to lift off with her legs and wrap them snakelike around the metal. Her hands released, the murmur of her spectators spoke enthusiasm, and her fingertips danced over the lace bra. It was a size too small and stifled her breath, but it made her breasts, which almost spilled out, look bigger and thus caught more paying customers.

And more was good.

Her thighs slowly slid down the pole until she could touch the bottom of the platform with the palms of her hands and find her way off the metal and back onto her feet from a handstand down. With her back turned to her guests, she took the chance for a swing of her hips. The too-tight panties probably made her ass at least as desirable as her long legs, which at one metre seventy weren't lacking.

On evenings like these, everything had to be perfect.

No scratches. No pimples. No wrinkles. The heavy make-up had to fit perfectly, the clothes had to make sexy and every ounce of fat that had no place on the body was reprimanded with nasty words.

Perfection was important.

No one wanted to see an imperfect doll dancing on the pole.

And that's exactly what the strippers were in this place: dolls.

An elegant turn brought the customers back into view, a few of whom Soleil gave the put-on smile she practised daily in front of the mirror. It wasn't good enough to hold up in every situation, but it was enough to inspire joy in the hearts of her guests in the low light of the club.

The slow sway of her hips gave her time to breathe the stuffy air and put her head back to watch the other girls. Hell had already stripped bare and seduced, with her dark curves, twice as many guests as Soleil. Heaven had just pulled her skimpy top over her head and Dragon stood topless on her platform while her fingers artfully traced the tattoos.

Different positions to the same tune.

Further back, in the corners where no one wanted to be seen, one of the eternal regulars had sat down at one of the cheap wooden tables. Opposite him was a stranger in a simple suit. His face couldn't be made out in the dim light, but he wore a headband, earrings that shimmered in the light, and by far the most boring tie she had ever seen. Probably a businessman who had strayed into the wrong neighbourhood in the depths of Yorknew.

With a snort, Soleil averted her eyes, turned her attention to her guests and slid down the pole once, only to sit wide-legged in front of the men and gesture with her index finger for them to come closer.

She would probably take off her panties first this time. That would attract a few of the spectators, who had already seen everything from Hell, in her direction. Then again, it was important to build up tension. Exposing the breasts first would be the better strategy. But it was also the method she always used.

Heaven had criticised it more than once: she – Titania, as they called her in this business – was too monotonous.

Always the same. The same strategy, which was why she had lost several clients in the last two weeks. There was nothing new to see. A flawless body among others who looked the same had nothing captivating about it if you didn't savour all the charms. A silly statement, considering that people had been ogling her body for three years when she stood at the pole. After three years, you either had loyal regulars, or you didn't. That was the thing Heaven couldn't understand because she had only been dancing at this place for a fortnight, so she was new and exciting.

Hell had been doing the job for seven years and only had so many viewers because she had seductive talent outside of the job. People desired her because each night held a very special ticket for one man.

Dragon also lived off regular customers.

In the end, they all did.

Slowly, Soleil pushed herself back up the bar, bent forward and gripped the closure that held the bra together. Simultaneously, her eyes wandered back to the stranger sitting at the table with one of her regular customers. It was the same moment that her client pointed and waved at her, while the office boy shifted a little weight forward to get a better look at her.

Immediately, she opened the back.

The bra came off, the straps slid off her shoulders and the fabric fell to the floor. Her client in the distance clapped. The stranger looked away instantly.

Damn virgin, it ran through her. Men like this simpleton who had been dragged into this club were the reason some strippers had to go the extra mile. Most of the time, they ended up in the lap of said man to show him the female benefits. And often, this didn't even bring in much money; regular customers only in the rarest of cases.

Unintentionally, Soleil clicked her tongue before taking her breasts in hand, lifting and gently sliding them up and down in fluid movements. Most of her clients reacted like cats at this point. They stared, focused on her breast and casually put a few more notes on the table.

"Titania!" A woman's powerful voice filtered through to her, causing Soleil to lose her beat in the same breath. All at once she stood still and the cursing of her guests was directed at the old witch, whose muscular upper arms crossed in front of her chest made her look like a bouncer with breasts. With a strong wave, she signalled she was waiting for Soleil behind the thick blue curtain. A moment later, the old woman yelled for Hell to make the same gesture in her direction.

Hastily, Soleil picked up her clothes to hop off the platform with a powerful leap and disappear behind the curtain in a flash. Hell followed barely a breath later.

The dressing tables and sparkling clothes hanging on the walls transformed this small, screened-off area into a world apart from the bar. A bit like a personal wardrobe where they all had space.

"You're done for the day." The old woman, Crona, had settled down on one of the low chairs and pointed at the clock. "Grab your things and get out of here. I'm not paying for overtime and the other girls should show up any minute, too."

"Cheapskates," Hell sighed, only to catch a crushing glare from Crona. The eternal same spectacle before the old woman rose and, with a last glance at the clock, made clear they should hurry. Then she slipped behind the curtain, back to watching the other two.

"By the beggars of the city, this old hag could swim in money and still refuse to pay more than she needs to." Hysterically, Hell threw her hands up in the air. "Don't you think she could be a little more generous, Sol? It's not like I'm expecting diamonds, but looking good comes at a price and eventually, I'll get wrinkles. Look at me. Thirty and I can only get the notches around my eyes covered with what feels like four pounds of putty."

"Maybe it's time to change the ambience." Shrugging her shoulders, Soleil began to dress.

"Into which one? Stripping grannies?"

"Don't you have enough money to learn something clever, maybe? Bartending, for example. Or saleswoman."

"Girl, how can you still have so much hope at twenty-five, huh?" Shaking her head, Hell put her hands on her hips. "Damn, what are you going to do in five years when you can barely keep your head above water as it is?"

"That's five more years." Soleil remained unimpressed. "I have a plan by then."

"Of course, but you know, dreams-"

"Have no place in places where you put money in slips. I know," she finished Hell's sentence before pulling the blonde wig off her head and sliding her fingertips through the slight waves of her hair. They were hardly noticeable, merely adding a pretty bounce to the deep black of her strands and also keeping the fringe from sticking too flat to her forehead.

In front of a mirror, she brought her hair into better shape. The strands only reached a good bit below her chin and the fringe just covered her eyebrows without being in the way. The middle parting made it easy to move everything into its proper place, and for a moment the evening ambience fell from her shoulders.

"You look like seven days of rainy weather," Hell noted, glaring briefly at Soleil before combing through her own dark blue strands. "Try smiling."

"You should see me on the stage."

"A real smile, genius. It would attract a lot more people if there was a little more life in those pretty violet elf eyes of yours for once."

"Maybe the day I know I don't have to come here to pay my rent." Casually, Soleil slipped on her grey ankle boots, which became one with the equally grey trousers. "Or if you get a decent job."

"Go to hell, you little smart ass." Hell took it with a wry grin before pointing at the light blue jumper that was just finding its way into Soleil's hand. "New?"

"No. Found it in the wardrobe and thought I might wear it."

"Suits you."

The reply was a banal shrug before Soleil slipped the fabric over, threw on the heavy winter jacket and reached for her bag. Everything important was together, which also meant she no longer had to be a burden to Crona.

A quick glance at her watch, however, made her sigh. Three o'clock in the morning. No snack bars were open at this hour, which also meant she had to cook for herself.

Bagged soups and toast might still be in the cupboard.

"I'm off then." Without further ado, she said goodbye to Hell, who had just grabbed her phone and was typing something, but looked up once more and waved goodbye. Then Soleil stepped out from behind the curtain.

Crona just casually nodded goodbye to her before the mass of the club actually came to the fore. The eyes of most were still greedily glued to Heaven and Dragon, whereas none wasted a second in glancing in her direction. Here, no one was interested in women who didn't plan to take their clothes off.

The money that had been shoved into her panties had a safe place in her purse in return. Besides, it was easier if no one was interested in any of the women outside the show. It made the walk home less dangerous.

Like a shadow, Soleil slipped through the crowd, straight to the exit, where she greeted the two bouncers and wished them a bearable rest of the evening.

Her hurried footsteps pushed the men so far into the background barely two minutes later that they could barely be seen on the poorly lit street. Instead, her steps pushed into the foreground. The clatter of light heels shimmied up the ugly concrete facades, only to disappear somewhere above. Alleyways echoed it and darkness engulfed most of the city, so she could only vaguely guess the shapes she was avoiding at some corners. Still, barely three intersections down, a shadow appeared behind her that wasn't hers.

At first, she dismissed the sound in the background. Even if it was rare, there were still people who had to get home at night. But the footsteps followed her down the street, past two corners, straight into an alley where Soleil turned in a flash and slipped a hand into her pocket. Her fingertips kissed cold metal, feeling their way to the wooden handle of a knife she always carried.

From the shadows across from her, the figure of a man – the damn virgin, as she had christened him – loomed.

It was the guy from the club, still looking like he was portraying an averagely screwed-up image of a second-class businessman. The earrings, their blue orbs shimmering darkly, possessed a hint of a wannabe pretty boy.

"Exciting. You couldn't look at the club and now you're stalking me." Snorting, she raised a brow, causing the stranger to raise his hands and come two steps closer.

His wide eyes seemed to scrutinise her with understanding, which he probably cut from his ribs because it gave nothing to understand other than that he had followed her. Still, he turned to her in a pleasant voice. "Sorry for this unreasonable pursuit. I just wanted to make sure."

"Make sure?" She wrinkled her nose and clutched the knife tighter.

"That you have what I'm looking for," he returned with a friendly smile, and for a moment, Soleil classified him as a clearly psychopathic serial killer.

"Pleased to meet you," she replied, regardless. "And how can I be of further service?" Perhaps he was stupid enough to be thrown off his game, even if the grey irises hung rigidly on her. His somewhat wild black hair reached almost to his eyelashes in places, framing the top half of his face, while otherwise covering the neck. At least he was a maniac who knew what suited him – apart from that ridiculous headband.

"I have a job for you, Soleil."

Not only was he insane, he knew her name. That made him twice as dangerous and, at the top, made sure she inevitably reinforced her position when he lowered his hands again.

"And I'm ready to fix your crooked nose if you take one more step in this direction."

His nose wasn't crooked, really. Still, it had perhaps been broken before, which was only noticeable if you looked closely. Otherwise, it fell into the bitter average that started somewhere around seven out of ten for this lunatic.

"You wouldn't have to dance anymore." His calm voice left no doubt that he believed he was in control of the situation, and it was almost captivating how he maintained his friendliness without making a single false move. Not having to dance anymore sounded like music to her ears, and yet there was something sneaky about him.

"Is that right?" she inquired. Listening couldn't be wrong. "And how do you imagine that? What are you going to offer me?"

"Money," he returned curtly. "A lot of money."

"And what do I have to do for it? Spread my legs? Play half-naked kitty for the weekend? Or what are you into? Do you want-" she fell silent as he raised his hand and took a breath. The smile had slipped. Probably he was indeed as unused as he acted. "Your first time?" she purred in reply, only to watch as he lowered his hands.

"Please, shut up."

Rough. Terse. Simple and honest, as if she'd ruined his plan for a cultivated conversation while putting images in his pretty head that would give him nightmares by bedtime. The startled laugh, however, lasted only a moment in Soleil's lungs before the stranger explained himself further.

"I want you to play a part for me."

Again she opened her mouth, but he beat her to it as he took a few steps closer and pointed at her bag. "You can let go of the knife."

His confidence didn't even make her inquire how he knew what she was holding. Only the gentle, almost threatening undertone in his voice revealed that a knife wouldn't stop him from doing anything at all. So she released her grip and crossed her arms in front of her chest as he stopped in front of her.

"So?" Uncertainly, she eyed him. He was a little taller, though not by much, and his face looked even a little more handsome up close than it did from a distance.

"You want the job?"

"After some meagre information? You think I'm that simple?"

He shook his head before his gaze settled far too gently on her. "The job involves an act you're supposed to use to mislead someone."

"So what?"

"You're too curious," he noted with a slight smile before finally revealing his cards. He seemed damn sure of himself. "You look a lot like a woman who was once married to a man whose face no one knows. This man has something I want."

"Clever. Let me guess, he lives in upscale circles and you can't take care of the problem yourself because you can't say for sure who said man is." She scoffed. "And by all accounts, you need him alive, otherwise you would surely have hired some assassins, no?"

It was only meant to be a biting remark, a side blow, because although he seemed threatening, he looked like a puppy that couldn't hurt a fly. However, the reaction of her counterpart was different than expected.

"You catch on quickly," he merely remarked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world before continuing with his words. "Your part in all this would be to seduce this man and get some information that no one else can get."

"Why don't I just seduce him and show you who he really is?"

"Because he never wears a face for longer than four hours, unless there's a special occasion coming up. You could always mistake him for a servant wearing the same masquerade."

"Tricky." Indecisively, Soleil shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "And if he doesn't want me?"

"He'll want you." His eyes seemed to scrutinise every inch of her body. "The press doesn't know his wife has died. He'd give anything to find the ideal replacement."

"The press doesn't know, but you do?" He aroused disbelief, which he nipped in the bud in the same breath.

"Information has its price. You just have to ask the right servant."

Part of her wanted to replace "ask" with "torture", and the uncertainty of who even brought such an absurd job to her made Soleil pucker her lips before she tilted her head slightly.

"And who is requesting my services, may I ask?"

His smile grew more honest. "Chrollo Lucilfer. My friends call me Boss."