The bass thumped through the club like a second heartbeat, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and lust. Shane Kingston leaned against the bar, whiskey glass in hand, looking like sin in leather. Her black jacket clung to her frame, her short dark hair tousled just right, and her sharp eyes scanning the room with casual disinterest. She wasn't looking for anything. She never was. And yet, people always came to her.
A woman sidled up beside her, batting her lashes. Shane didn't even glance her way.
"Can I buy you a drink?" the woman asked.
"I already have one," Shane replied coolly, her voice smooth like velvet over steel.
Rejection didn't faze Shane. She wasn't cruel, just clear. Love was a joke, romance a distraction. People fell in and out of it too easily. She had no time for games of the heart.
But then she walked in.
May Anderson.
The crowd seemed to part for her. She wore confidence like silk and a dress that clung to every dangerous curve. Her golden hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes locked onto Shane's with the kind of look that promised trouble—the good kind.
Shane's jaw tightened, her fingers curling slightly around her glass.
May made her way to the bar, hips swaying like temptation itself, and leaned in close—closer than necessary. "You look bored," she said, her voice like a slow drip of honey. "That's a shame."
Shane raised an eyebrow. "And you think you can fix that?"
"I know I can."
Their eyes held for a long, electric moment. Shane wasn't the type to be caught off guard, but something about May's boldness intrigued her. She wasn't just flirting—she was hunting.
May smiled, brushing her fingers lightly over Shane's hand. "Dance with me."
"I don't dance."
"Then watch me." May turned, sauntering into the crowd, casting one last look over her shoulder—an invitation.
Shane cursed under her breath, finished her drink, and followed.
She couldn't help herself.