Justin POV:
I made my way to the counter, eyes scanning the dim haze for Celeste. I needed her to set me up—Pretty Cat, if she was around. Or anyone, really. Any girl who didn't mind it rough. Hard. Fast. Someone who wouldn't ask questions, who didn't need tenderness.
Just release.
Just silence.
Because tonight, I didn't want connection.I wanted to forget.
The bass pulsed under my feet, low and steady like a heartbeat on the edge of arrest. Lights throbbed—red, violet, blacklight—casting shadows where faces used to be. Here, names didn't matter. Faces didn't matter. Just masks, rules, and release.
I stalked past the velvet-draped lounge, leather gloves clenched in my jacket pocket, straight to the bar.
Celeste was behind the counter, like always. Hair up, lips red, eyes that didn't flinch—like she'd seen too many men like me and stopped bothering to warn them. She gave me that look, half-bored, half-knowing.
