Micah mutters, “This place gives me fucking hives.”
I huff a laugh and grab a drink off a tray just to have something else to hold.
Alexei motions to the corner table where a few men in suits are seated—clients, obviously. “We are celebrating a partnership tonight,” he says. “But one of our friends is getting...cold feet.” His eyes flick to me. “You’ll take him out for us after a quick performance. Sing something beautiful.”
I nod, jaw tight and suddenly nauseous.Goddammit. My eyes dart to Nolan.
“I told him how useful you are,” he says with an evil grin. “How you and your anger are truly something to see.”
Of fucking course you did.
I clear my throat. “Sure.”
Alexei waves the small band off with a lazy flick of his hand. So I do what I’ve always done. I perform.
I take the stool on the stage, the city lights burning behind me through the glass. A single mic. My old guitar. It still smells faintly like smoke and whiskey and nights I can’t remember.
Micah sits at the bar, watching me with an intensity that says he knows I’m not okay. My veins are buzzing, and my fingers tremble as I test a chord. The room quiets. The hum of the city fades. And then I start.
My fingers find the strings like muscle memory. The melody comes low and rough, rising from somewhere in my chest. My voice cracks on the first verse, but I keep going, the lyricspouring out like my dirty fucking soul:
“Been walking through shadows, chasing a flame,
Caught a glimpse of the light, but never her name.
Still burning the spark that refuses to fade,
I’ll find my way home through the mess that I’ve made.”
The crowd leans in. Heads tilt, a few sway. But I don’t see them. I seeher. With paint on her hands, hair loose around her shoulders, smiling at me. She’s the only person I’m really gentle with. My rage is a monster clawing beneath my skin, desperate to tear free and rip every one of these fuckers to shreds. I tighten my grip on the mic, forcing the next verse out:
“There’s gold in the ashes, I swear that it’s true,
The fire still remembers the color of you.”
It’s lighter. Hopeful. And it hits harder because of it. The audience is eating it up. I can feel the energy, the pulse of it rolling through the room. Adriana’s perched at the bar, biting her lip, her eyes dragging down my chest like she owns me. I look away before I’m sick. Instead, I find Micah again. He’sleaning forward, elbows on his knees, a small smile tugging at his mouth. He knows. He fucking knows who I’m singing about.
The lights burn hotter. The world narrows to the vibration of the guitar under my fingers, the faint crack in my voice when I hit the chorus again. Faces blur into shapes. Glasses glint. But I’m not here, not really. I’m nineteen again, playing for her on my bedroom floor, her laughter blending into the melody.
The last chord hangs in the air too long before dissolving into silence. For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then the applause hits. It’s full, thunderous, and genuine. Alexei leans back in his chair, smiling like a demon.
I step down from the stool, the guitar strap slipping from my shoulder.
“Nowthat,” Alexei calls out with a smirk, “is how you sell a soul.”
“Yeah, not bad for a burnout,” Alexei’s assistant says, brown hair slicked back and beady eyes looking down at me. Helooks like he’s barely twenty, the stupid little fucker. His friends laugh.
My throat goes dry. I catch Micah’s glance again, the silentdon’t do it. But I can already feel that heat crawling up the back of my neck.
Alexei’s voice drips through the air behind me, smooth as oil. “He’s got more fire than you think. Come.” He motions toward a narrow hallway lit only by the amber glow of the lamps. My pulse kicks up, my fingers flexing at my sides. Micah falls into step beside me, silent.
We follow Alexei into a private office—a room that smells like cigar smoke and money. A single chandelier hangs above a heavy mahogany table. Nolan’s already there, perched with a drink in hand, Adriana at his side, one manicured hand resting on his knee.
Across from them stands a man I don’t recognize. Late forties, clean-shaven, expensive suit, smile sharp enough to cut glass.His black hair is tied back into a bun, and he has cruel, sharp blue eyes.
“This is Nathan Bravera,” Alexei says. “Longtime associate. Handles distribution, investments, and other matters we don’t discuss in daylight.”
Bravera’s eyes rake over me like I’m an item up for auction. “So this is your little rockstar pet,” he says finally. “Does he sing, or just snort?”
