-Accomplice- Kurt Kunkle x reader

The stage lights dimmed, casting a hush over the throbbing club. This was your moment, The Club Diamond’s entrance. You walked out, a figure of practiced allure, and took in the faces in the crowd. The lights flared, bathing the stage in blue, and you began to move, hips swaying, body arching around the pole. You scanned the faces, catching a pair of intense brown eyes on a young man, no older than 25, dressed incongruously in a black hoodie and Converse.
After your set, as the crowd pressed cash into your costume, he approached, stuffing two crisp hundred-dollar bills into your bra. You flashed him a practiced smile, your tongue teasing your teeth, a silent 'thank you.' That money meant new shoes, a small victory.
Later, changed into your comfortable Nike gear, you tried to hitch a ride with your coworker, Laura, but she was booked. "I'll just get a Spree," you sighed, pulling out your phone. A driver named Kurt popped up—his profile picture unsettlingly familiar. Was it him? Five stars, though. You decided to risk it.
A small silver car pulled up outside. "Hey, are you Y/N?" a voice called out. It was him. "Yep, that's me." You smiled, then blinked. He was beaming, an unnerving level of optimism radiating from him. "I'm Kurt, your Spree driver!" You climbed into the back seat, the encounter already feeling… off.
