It’s her.
It has to be.
The voice and hair were unmistakable.
Kairo is thrumming his fingers on his thigh in anticipation, and Maddox radiates curiosity from the backseat.They’re on edge too, and it soothes some of my nerves to know I’m not alone in this.
There is no parking with the narrow street, but we catch our first glimpse of the bar and just howpackedit is. People are lined up outside, waiting to get in. There’s security working the front door, checking IDs, and keeping the crowd at bay.
“There’s nowhere to park,” I say with every intention of just rolling right past it, but my friends aren’t having it.
“Just put on the hazard lights. We’ll be quick.” Kairo instructs, already unbuckling his seatbelt.
I hear the click of Maddox’s as he throws the back door open before I can fully stop.
“In and out. Five minutes.” I warn.
We all clamber out, and the person sitting idle behind us in traffic blares their horn before shoving their middle finger out the window at us.
“Sit on it and rotate!” Kairo calls back.
I snatch the back of his neck, reigning him in. “Yourfuckingmouth is going to get us in trouble.”
He only smirks as we near the bar’s entrance. The bouncer, a burly man with a bald head, scowls at us as we cut the line.
“What can I help you with?” He asks, his voice snippy.
“We’re here to see Rosalie,” Kairo says suavely with a charming smile. “We’re…friendsof hers.”
The bouncer lifts a brow. “Yeah? So are about twenty other people in this line. Get to the back.”
My eyes narrow on him as a man with sweat-slicked hair squishes past the overcrowded door. He’s all smiles as he pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. I notice that his shirt is stamped with the bar’s logo, and I school my features into something easy to read and memorable.
“Is there a manager we can speak to? We’ve been traveling for days and just wanted to stop in to see an old friend. We won’t take too long.” I place a hand over my chest, really selling my sincerity.
The man who’s lighting his cigarette tilts his head towards the bar. “Do you know our little Rosalina?”
Rosalina.
My teeth grind at the nickname. Something dark curls around my neck, infecting my blood as I plaster on a tight,go fuck yourselfsmile. “We went to high school withRosalie.”
The man nods as he takes a long drag. “Let ‘em in, Bruce. They’re serving our country.” He gives us a bright grin before ducking off to the far side of the building to enjoy his smoke in peace.
The security side-steps before motioning us into the crowded bar. The air is sweltering, and people are packed together like sardines as we brush through. We get a few glares, but no one questions us as another song starts, and we all stop.
As if drawn to the enchanting vocals, we lift our heads over the throng, and my heart slams to a halt. Up on the stage, Rosalie stands with a mic in her hands. She’s dressed in some knee-length white boots that show off her long legs, and a skirt paired with a vest. It’s the most skin I think she’s ever shown, and Ican’tlook away.
Her long black hair is clean and hangs down to her waist. It’s pin-straight and shiny. She lookshealthy.
The dark bags under her eyes are gone, transforming her into someone entirely new. Whoever the girl on stage is, she isn’tDirtanymore. She’s Rosalie Beckett.
That’s the first thing that stuns us to our very core. Next are the haunting vocals that flow from her pouty pink lips. She closes her eyes, putting her wholesoulinto the song as raw emotion filters through the bar.
She sounds…ethereal.
Like some untouchable goddess.
I’ve never heard anything like it before…
