Knox:
She walked away without a second glance.
Didn’t give me her name. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t play the game.
And f**k me if that didn’t make me want her more.
I watched the sway of her hips disappear into the darkened hall leading backstage, her black tube dress hugging every curve like a goddamn second skin. The room kept moving—music still blasting, men still laughing, drinks still flowing—but everything else felt dull as s**t in her wake.
Viv.
That’s what Riot had called her. Violet Skye onstage, Viv off it. She moved like power. Talked like a challenge. And looked like sin hand-delivered by the devil himself.
And she wasn’t having any of my bullshit.
I took another sip of beer, but it didn’t hit right anymore. Too warm. Too flat. Or maybe just too boring. After two years in a co
