Chapter 1
Violet
Thebasshitsmyribs like a second heartbeat.
It was a mistake the second we stepped through the doors. I knew it then. I know it now. The air is too warm, too thick, and every light is designed to make you feel like you are either wanted or invisible.
Right now, I am both.
The VIP area sits on a raised platform, a velvet rope guarded by men in black who stand like statues. Bottles glow on a glass table. People laugh too loudly. A girl in a red dress is perched on a man’s lap like that is the most natural thing in the world.
My best friend, Lyla, is on the opposite leather couch, leaned in close to a guy with shiny shoes and a smile that looks practiced.
She is having the time of her life.
I am counting the minutes until I can go home.
I clutch my drink with both hands, even though it’s gone warm from my grip. I don’t remember ordering it. I take a sip anyway. Something sweet. Something stupid. It tastes like syrup and regret.
Lyla throws her head back laughing, and the guy beside her reaches to tuck her hair behind her ear like he owns the right to touch her. She lets him. She looks at me like,See? Fun. You should try it too.
I try to give her a smile that does not look like a plea.
I do not belong here.
I belong behind the register at the supermarket, scanning groceries, asking people if they want a bag, keeping my head down, saving my money.
I belong in my tiny apartment where the radiator clicks all night because it’s really cold outside and the building is old.
I belong in quiet.
Instead, I’m here, in a club in Silverbrook Valley that opened two weeks ago, surrounded by men with expensive watches and eyes that travel too slowly.
The guy on my left shifts closer.
He already told me his name five minutes ago like it mattered. Like it was a gift.
I forgot it on purpose.
He leans in now, elbow on the back of the couch behind me, body angled like a trap. He smells like expensive cologne and liquor. His smile is sharp, like he practices it in mirrors.
“You’re quiet,” he says. “I like that.”
My throat tightens. I take a sip of my drink. It does not help.
“Just tired,” I say.
“Tired,” he repeats, like it’s funny. “You don’t look tired. You look like you’re waiting for someone to rescue you from your boring life.”
My stomach drops.
I force a laugh. The survival kind. The kind that says,I’m small. I’m harmless. You don’t need to get mean.
“I’m fine. I’m not waiting for anybody,” I say.
He reaches out and taps my knee with two fingers. Casual. Testing.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
