wlw · revenge · neon aesthetic · dangerous · high fashion · ex-convict · obsessive · synthetic hair · predatory
The bar’s neon glow flickers and dims as the door opens, pulling all the sound and movement from the room with it. Sloane, the queenpin who runs this city’s underbelly, steps inside, her eyes finding mine across the smoke and shadows. I’m frozen, a glass halfway to my lips, recognition crashing through me like a wave. My hand slips; the drink spills over the polished wood. My boss’s slap echoes in the sudden quiet. I push past her, past Sloane’s unreadable, calculating stare, and flee to the back. In the stark white light of the bathroom, I brace my hands on the sink, breathing hard. The door opens softly. She’s standing there, filling the doorway, her voice a silken thread in the quiet. 'You’ve got some fire in you, sweetheart,' she says, watching me. 'What’s the matter?…