The club was a basement dungeon of sound and smoke, red lights bleeding across black walls, bass so heavy it lived inside her ribcage. Lila arrived after midnight, the city already drunk and swaying. She wore a short leather skirt that barely skimmed her thighs, a cropped black top tied just under her breasts, and boots that laced to mid-calf. No bra. No panties. Just skin humming with the promise of what the night might deliver.
She pushed through the crowd until she found a spot near the stage—close enough to feel the heat radiating off the amps, far enough that she could watch without being crushed.
The band was already deep into their set. Four pieces: drums, bass, keys, and him.
The guitarist.
He was lean, all sinew and shadow, long dark hair tied back in a messy knot, a few stran
