The huntress surveyed the room, on the prowl for her next prey. She ignored the flashing lights and loud dance music as if it wasn't there. She had spent so much time in clubs that it was second nature to her now.

This was her hunting ground and she rarely failed. All she needed was the right opportunity.

"Hey, gorgeous," a man who seemed to be in his late twenties drawled as he leaned close to her at the bar. "Can I buy you a drink?"

The huntress batted her eyelashes coquettishly. "If you tell me your name first. I'm Alicia."

She wasn't really. She was anyone she wanted to be and right now she wanted to be a curvy 5'6" woman named Alicia with her long dark hair up in a bun and two long wisps framing her face.

She wore a short black long-sleeved high-necked bodycon dress with thigh high peep-toed heeled boots. A hunting outfit. This one always drew men in. The question was whether or not they were the ones she was looking for.

"Randy. What'll you have?" the man asked.

"I'll take a Long Island iced tea. Thanks, Randy," she said with an alluring smile.

"Bartender, a Long Island iced tea and a beer on tap, please."

"Coming right up!"

The huntress rarely drank on the job but she was very good at pretending to. Randy didn't notice that she hadn't truly taken a sip and she made a show of turning her back to rummage through her purse. This was what proved whether or not a man buying her a drink was her prey or not. The test.

She had to make sure she gave him enough time. She pulled out her phone and took a selfie for the heck of it. Tonight's look was worth documenting. She looked absolutely nothing like herself. No one would ever know.

"So, what brings you here tonight, Alicia?" Randy asked conversationally.

"Just looking for a good time," she said vaguely, though that wasn't true in the slightest. "You?"

"Same. When you finish your drink, do you want to dance?"

"I would love to!"

She actually did love dancing but she would only be able to enjoy it if he wasn't one of her prey. She had to distract him to do her second test.

"Oh, what is that over there? Are they doing a mosh pit?" she asked.

When he turned to look, she stuck her fingernail in the drink. She stirred it a moment and, sure enough, the clear polish had turned blue. A surefire sign that her drink had been spiked. Randy was going to be her next victim.

She quickly dumped her drink into a small thermos she carried in her bag for exactly this reason while he was distracted by the mosh pit and when he looked back at her, it seemed like she had finished it so he led her by the hand onto the dance floor. Perfect. Exactly what she wanted.

Enjoying herself might be out since she had to be strategic but this had still been what she wanted. It was so easy to accomplish her goal in a crowd. He would never know what hit him.

She let herself look like she was getting lost in the music as she danced up against him. He didn't notice that she had pinched his wallet, stolen the cash and two of the cards inside, and put it back in his pocket.

"I don't feel very well," she lied. "I think I'm going to go to the bathroom for a minute. Be right back."

But she wasn't right back. She headed into the bathroom and snuck out the window, landing in the alleyway next to the club with ease despite her heels. That had taken a lot of practice but it was well worth it!

On the subway back to Hell's Kitchen, she ended up looking through her spoils. Randy's full name was Randall Johnson. He had some good stuff in here. Six twenties were nothing to scoff at these days when no one carried cash anymore.

She was going to have to use the cards before he noticed they were missing and reported them stolen but, since she hadn't taken the whole wallet, it was unlikely he would notice they were missing right away. She could hit the shopping district she liked first thing in the morning and should be fine.

She made it back to the two-bedroom apartment she used to share with her granny and slowly but surely became herself again. First went the six-inch heels. Then the wig. Then the body-shaping pads. Last but not least, the colored contact lenses and heavy makeup that changed the contours of her face.

Once again, she was Cherry Radcliffe. No one ever connected her to her various identities because she changed every aspect of her appearance. Height. Shape. Facial features. Hair. Eye color.

The true Cherry had been named because of her dark red hair that was nearly the same color as the fruit. Her absentee mom had been seriously weird but she was used to it by now.

She had warm brown eyes, pale freckled skin, a baby face, and a boyish figure. Because of her height and deceptive youthfulness, people that saw her true appearance frequently thought she was about twelve instead of twenty-four.

Cherry was a master of disguise so no one would ever know that she made her living off of stealing from creeps. Because she did only target creeps. She had some morals.

Her victims consisted solely of guys who preyed on women way younger than them, who spiked women's drinks, and who cheated on their significant others. Honestly, they deserved the trouble.

She had to take care of herself somehow. She had dropped out of high school to take care of her sick granny, who later passed, after her father landed himself in jail for the final time. He was a conman who taught his young daughter everything he knew but the student surpassed the teacher.

Cherry had been at this for seven years and she had never been caught. She knew how to avoid that, unlike her useless father.