Elliot Beckham

The sharp metallic click of a lighter broke the silence of the alleyway as Elliot flicked the flame to life. He brought it to the end of the cigarette dangling between his fingers, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke curl lazily into the cold night air. The bitter taste mixed with the faint bite of winter, grounding him in the moment. Beside him, Braxton leaned casually against the wall, his own lighter sparking a second later. He drew in a drag and exhaled with practiced ease, his lips curving into a mischievous smirk. “Y’know,” Braxton muttered, his voice low but laced with mischief, “there’s a strip club not far from here.” He glanced sideways at Elliot, the glow from his cigarette briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face. “Wanna head there?”

Elliot scoffed, turning his gaze toward his friend with an incredulous look. “A strip club?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. “Nah, I’d rather not contract HIV.” He rolled his eyes and brushed his hair back with one hand. “Besides, if I really wanted, I could just find some gold-digging whore for free.”

Braxton chuckled, unfazed by the jab. He took another long pull from his cigarette before speaking. “Nah, man, you won’t get HIV. It’s not about that—it’s about the experience.” His eyes glinted with amusement as he gestured animatedly with his free hand. “We’re twenty-seven and we’ve never even set foot in one. Don’t you think it’s about time?” Elliot studied him for a moment, the words hanging in the air. His best friend had a point, irritating as it was. He had money to burn, and tossing a few hundred—or a few thousand—around for some cheap thrill wasn’t exactly going to hurt him. Elliot tapped the ash from his cigarette, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Alright,” he said at last, exhaling smoke through his nose. “But if I catch something, I’m murdering you.” He ground his cigarette under his boot, smirking as Braxton’s grin widened.

They slipped into a nearby alleyway, the sound of their footsteps echoing faintly against the brick walls. It wasn’t long before the neon glow ahead grew brighter, until the entrance of the club loomed before them. A garish, colorful LED sign buzzed overhead.

Elliot tilted his head back to read it. “Club Sunshine?” He snorted. “Sounds corny as hell.”

The bouncer at the door, a mountain of muscle with crossed arms, gave Braxton a nod of recognition before stepping aside. Elliot raised an eyebrow, glancing at his friend. “So, you’ve been here before?”

Braxton shrugged, feigning innocence, though the smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Hot girls, man,” he chuckled. “That’s all you need to know.”

Inside, the club opened into a cavernous, pulsing space. Elliot squinted against the barrage of strobing lights, his senses immediately overwhelmed by the cocktail of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume that clung to the air. Music throbbed from massive speakers, rattling the floor beneath his boots. Podiums were scattered throughout the main hall, each occupied by scantily dressed dancers twisting, grinding, or slowly slipping out of whatever little fabric covered them.

Elliot’s lip curled faintly. “So... now what?” he asked, his voice carrying over the music.

Braxton was already leaning against the bar, flagging down the bartender. He tossed Elliot a drink with a grin. “Now? You find someone you wanna buy for the night,” he said smoothly.

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “Buy?”

“Yeah,” Braxton replied with a smirk. “It’s like an auction. Highest bidder takes the prize.” He clinked his glass against Elliot’s before striding off, clearly already scanning the room for his pick of the evening.

Elliot muttered something obscene under his breath, tossing back a sip of his drink before wandering deeper into the club. His curiosity carried him to a different chamber, quieter but somehow more charged.

The room was larger than the others, but instead of scattered podiums, a single grand stage dominated the space. Men lounged against walls, sat in plush chairs, or leaned on polished railings, their faces half-hidden in the dim light. Elliot leaned against a marble pillar, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. A private stage? Maybe some sort of sick group performance? The thought amused him enough to let out a low chuckle.

Then the lights dimmed.

A hush fell over the room as a spotlight snapped to life, illuminating the stage. Elliot’s smirk widened. Right on time.

From the shadows, a line of figures began to emerge, each one strutting beneath the spotlight with an exaggerated sway of hips or smoldering look. A booming voice echoed across the chamber—the emcee, slick and theatrical. “You know the drill, ladies and gentlemen! Highest bidder wins the best of our beauties tonight!”

One by one, the performers stepped forward. To Elliot, most of them blurred together—too painted, too desperate, too ordinary. He crossed his arms, unimpressed. Then, finally, his eyes snagged on something different.

A smaller figure stepped into the light, wrapped in a flimsy pink outfit that clung in all the right places. Their expression was guarded, but there was something captivating about them, something that set them apart from the parade of the mundane. Elliot tilted his head, watching with newfound interest.

The emcee’s hand swept toward the stage. “Starting bid at five hundred!”

Numbers flew around the room almost instantly. Six hundred, eight hundred, a thousand. Elliot remained silent, sipping his drink, letting the fools wear themselves out. The bids climbed higher, voices overlapping, eager and desperate.

Finally, Elliot’s voice cut through the noise. Calm, sharp, certain. “Ten thousand.”

The room went silent. Heads turned.

“Ten thousand?!” the emcee barked, eyes wide before a grin split his face. “Going once... going twice... sold!”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd, but Elliot only smiled faintly, lowering his glass. He had what he wanted.

And unlike the rest of them, he didn’t lose.