Nicholas’s POV
The bass is a physical thing...thick, bruising, crawling up my spine and into my teeth. I don’t even know the name of this place.
Some new warehouse conversion on the edge of the industrial district. Lights the color of bruises. Bodies packed so tight you can’t tell where one person ends and the next begins.
I didn’t plan to come here. I planned to stay home and rot.
But the silence in my apartment started screaming louder than my thoughts, so I put on black jeans, a black shirt, boots I never wear anymore, and left before I could talk myself out of it.
Now I’m three whiskeys deep and the alcohol has only sharpened the edges instead of dulling them.
I see her everywhere.
In the girl with the dark hair swinging her hips two bodies away.
In the flash of a throat wh
