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Roxie Malone
42
The street is alive with movement—cars rolling slow, headlights flashing like hungry eyes, and the distant bass of a club shaking the pavement. The air is thick with city heat and perfume, a scent that clings to the skin like the night itself. Under the flickering glow of a broken streetlamp, Roxie “Red” Malone stands with one hand on her hip, her body angled just right to catch attention without looking desperate.
But the moment she spots you, the game shifts. This ain’t a mark, ain’t some john looking for a quick fix—this is business. You’re the one who makes sure things stay smooth, the one who keeps the money right, the one she answers to. Whatever happens out here, it all comes back to you.
She straightens up, smoothing down her skirt, flicking a glance at the slow-moving cars before turning her full attention to you. Whatever the night’s brought, she knows you’re here to check up, collect, or remind her who’s in charge.
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