The door swung open hard enough to rattle the hinges. Vinny filled the space like he owned not just the club but the air itself, his suit sharp enough to cut through the haze.
“There’s my star,” he boomed, voice rising above the din without effort. “Once again, you brought the crowd to their knees. All slow burn and melancholic smile—Jesus, you could melt glaciers with that look. I swear, I could bottle whatever that was and retire.”
Ash didn’t glance up. “Glad someone had a good time.”
He clapped a hand on Ash’s shoulder before pivoting toward the room at large. “Rico, stop adjusting your junk and start moving—two minutes till you’re on. And Cody, for Christ’s sake, lose the gum before you hit the stage.”
A couple of the guys chuckled; some rolled their eyes as Vinny’s praise lingered on Ash.
“God forbid you ever take your lips off the golden goose’s ass,” Cody muttered, brushing past with a little more shoulder than necessary.
“Oh, cry me a fucking river,” Vinny shot back. “When you can hold a mob like he can, I’ll kiss your ass too. Until then—ditch the belly, kid.”
Cody turned and flipped him off before slamming the door on the way out.
Vinny chuckled, a low, amused rumble. Then, noticing Ash hadn’t lifted his head once, he leaned a hip against the table,bending enough to catch his eye. The zest in his tone dulled a shade. “Hey. You all right?”
Ash kept his gaze on the phone. “Delirious.”
Vinny studied him for a beat, dark eyes narrowing, as though weighing whether the mood was part of the act or something real. Then he shook his head, half-smiling, and stood. “Whatever it is, keep it. Heartbreak sells, kid. Even if it’s just an illusion.”
Just like everything else in this place.
When the door shut behind him, Ash rose, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension, and quickly dressed up. He threaded through the crowded room, sidestepping half-naked bodies and the tang of fresh deodorant, then slipped into the narrow back hallway. The noise of the backstage dulled to a muffled buzz behind him. Ahead, the dim corridor stretched long and narrow, lined with utility doors and the hum of old pipes. At the far end, the great room’s music pulsed faintly, a heartbeat calling him back to life.
When he stepped into the main hall, the Eclipse was in full swing. Stage lights poured liquid silver over Rico and Cody, their sequins flaring like pocket-sized suns as they moved to the tune. The band bled a slow, aching torch song into the room, its notes swirling into the haze and softening the edges of everything. The crowd was scattered in little islands of shadow and light, each table haloed by an amber lamp glowing like a trapped firefly. Glasses sweated on tabletops. Voices came low, close to the skin. The air was warm, heavy with the perfume of liquor and desire.
He slipped through the haze, keeping to the wall where the light thinned. The pulse of the throng pressed around him, bodies brushing, eyes catching, too curious by half. A few heads turned as he passed, recognition flickering before he dropped his gaze and let his hair fall forward. A soft murmur followed him, the kind that could grow teeth if he let it. He adjusted his stride, casual but quick, moving around tables with the quiet grace ofsomeone used to being watched and trying not to be. He only wanted a drink, the comfort of something burning in his throat, a corner to vanish into until he could breathe again.
Tess was behind the bar, auburn locks loose above her shoulders, white blouse dipping low. She caught sight of him as he approached and, without missing a beat, poured two fingers of tequila, sliding the glass his way. “You look like a man who needs this,” she said.
Ash leaned against the counter and struck a match, letting the flame lick at the end of his cigarette before drawing in. Smoke laced upward in slow ribbons, veiling his face. “Do I?”
She gave him a once-over, the kind that says the verdict was in before the trial even started. “You’ve been acting moodier than usual the whole night. I’m not gonna ask why.”
He gave her a look over the rim of his glass, the corner of his mouth twitching. Sometimes he really hated that she could read him so easily. “Thoughtful as ever.”
As he stood there, drink cool in his palm, cigarette burn steady between his fingers, a faint prickle threaded the nape of his neck. Low at first, almost imagined. He turned and let his gaze drift across the hall, past the sway of the dancers on the stage and the murmured talk at the tables, to the far corner.
Griffin. Standing half in shadow, drink in hand, watching him with the same fixed hunger as earlier in the alley.
For fuck’s sake. Some guys couldn’t takenofor an answer unless it came gift-wrapped with a broken nose.
Ash took a long drag, stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray, and drained the tequila in one swallow. “I’m going home,” he told Tess, voice low.
“Hey—what about the rest of your shift?” she called after him.
“Tell Vinny I didn’t feel well,” he said over his shoulder, already moving, weaving through the maze of tables toward the backstage exit, frustration rising with each step.
The narrow hallway took him in, the music muffling to a dull throb as he pushed through the dressing room door. The space had emptied out—most of the performers were either on stage or working the floor. He grabbed his jacket from the hook, shrugging into it as he moved, the familiar weight settling over him like armor.
Nino was still at the staff entrance when Ash reached it, leaning against the doorframe with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He straightened when he saw Ash approach, brows lifting. “Leaving already?” he asked. “Thought you had another set.”
“Not feeling it tonight,” Ash muttered, pushing the door open before Nino could ask more.
“Shame,” Nino mumbled behind his back. “I was looking forward to it.”
The night outside hit harder than he’d expected, mist curling off the pavement, the air tasting of rust and sewage, Bellona’s sour breath creeping up from between the buildings. His bike waited at the curb where he’d left it, patient as a tamed panther, chrome catching the streetlight in restless glints. He swung a leg over the saddle, fingers curling around the grips, ready to coax the engine awake, when a shout, too close and too eager, cut in behind him.
