~SCARLETT.

I shoved the front door open and stepped into The Velvet Fang, the cool air hitting me square in the face. The lights were low and moody, the bass a slow, steady heartbeat under my feet. A haze of smoke and stage fog filled the air, and the place smelled like cheap cologne, cinnamon vodka, and secrets.

It was barely 3 PM.

Too early for the club to be alive, too late for me to be running on fumes.

My body was wrecked: tired, hungry, and still humming with adrenaline. I hadn't breathed ...