Chapter 4 #3
Kelly raised a monsoon. “To new beginnings and bad bitches.”
The Uber was downstairs. And tonight, Kylee was no one’s regret. The crowd outside the venue pulsed like a living thing, people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in a sea of leather, glitter, and anticipation.
Bleeding Halos posters flapped against the building, lit up under a sky slowly turning lavender with dusk. The scent of street food, weed, and spilled beer lingered in the warm air.
Kylee stepped out of the Uber in her black mesh crop top and leather pants, bright red heels clicking against the pavement. Heads turned. A few whistles followed.
Kelly strutted beside her in a blood-red jumpsuit, sunglasses on despite the fading light, sipping the last of her daiquiri from a neon cup shaped like a grenade.
“Front row energy,” Kelly whispered, linking arms. “Let’s cause a little trouble.”
They passed the line of fans wrapped around the building and headed toward the VIP entrance.
A security guard scanned their passes, eyes widening slightly when he saw the names on the list.
“Right this way, ladies. You’ve got backstage access.”
Kylee’s stomach fluttered. Inside, the venue buzzed with anticipation. The main floor was already packed, the lights dim and moody, music thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat.
A handler met them near the velvet ropes and gestured toward a private area backstage. “Rio likes to meet his VIPs after the show, but you’ll have full access before and after.”
Kelly leaned in. “Did she say Rio?”
Kylee’s heart kicked. It had been years since she’d felt this alive, this wanted, this seen. Jake’s texts were a distant memory now, buried under the weight of pounding bass and the glimmer of lights dancing across the floor.
The opening act started. Then another.
And then, finally, the blackout.
The stage went dark, and the crowd exploded.
A single spotlight.
“New Orleans!” a deep, rough voice echoed through the venue like lightning.
Rio Riot walked out in black ripped jeans, a sleeveless shirt clinging to his tattooed chest, his guitar slung low across his hips. His long dark hair was damp, sticking to his jawline. He grinned like a man who knew he could wreck lives with a look.
Kylee leaned forward over the barricade, pulse hammering. His voice ripped through the mic, raw and electric, and for a second just one he looked her way.
She swore their eyes met. And just like that, everything in her shifted. The drums hit like thunder. The bass groaned low and dirty through the smoke. And Rio Riot commanded the stage like he owned the city.
Kylee was breathless, her body moving instinctively to the rhythm, hips swaying, mouth parted. The crowd pushed around her, but it all blurred because his voice cracked through the air like sin and salvation wrapped in barbed wire.
He prowled the stage, sweat gleaming across his tattooed arms, veins in his neck popping with every scream, every seductive growl. The leather wristbands. The silver rings. The raspy edge of his voice. It wasn’t a performance, it was a possession. And Kylee couldn’t look away.
At first, she thought it was coincidence the way his eyes kept sweeping the crowd, landing near where she stood front and center. But by the third song, there was no denying it.
He saw her.
Really saw her.
In the middle of “Crash My Name”, he stepped to the edge of the stage, gripping the mic stand like a lifeline, and stared down at her. He smirked just the corner of his mouth tilting and dragged his tongue slowly across his bottom lip as he sang. “She’s got the kind of mouth you write sins about.”
Kylee felt her whole body flush.
Kelly elbowed her. “Bitch…. BITCH!!!! That man is singing to you.”
“I think I forgot how to breathe,” Kylee whispered, laughing, dazed.
Every time Rio returned to that side of the stage, his eyes found her lingering, burning. She didn’t smile. Didn’t try to act cute. She just let him look. Let herself be looked at. Like a woman. Not a wife. Not a mother. Just a flame in the dark, daring him to reach for her.
The next song, “Saints and Gasoline”, was slower. Grittier. He dropped to his knees as he sang the first verse, dragging the mic across his lips, every lyric soaked in heat:
“Your name on my tongue tastes like fire and regret.”
“But I’d beg to burn again.”
When he looked up, it was only at her.
Kylee stood still, spellbound, her hands curled tightly around the barricade. Her heart was a war drum. Her thighs clenched.
Rio gave a slight nod before rising, like he knew. Like he felt the gravity between them, pulling tighter with every chord. He turned back to the band, shouting something that made the drummer laugh but even then, his glance flicked back once more.
And Kylee felt it.
The final song tore through the speakers like a storm “Blood on Bourbon Street.” It was wild, reckless, all crashing drums and snarling guitars. The crowd was feral now, bodies jumping, hands in the air, sweat slick and shining beneath the strobes.
Rio stood center stage, shirt half open, chest heaving. His hair stuck to his face, and his eyes burned like he was lit from the inside. He gripped the mic stand and shouted the final chorus, voice ragged and gorgeous:
“And I found heaven in a sinner’s kiss
down on Bourbon Street, baptized in bliss.”
The last chord rang out like a scream, and the lights cut.
Blackness.
Silence.
Then…explosion!
The audience erupted, thunderous and unhinged. Kylee’s heart was pounding so hard it echoed in her ears. Rio tossed his guitar pick into the crowd. It landed two feet from Kylee’s heels. One of the security guards stepped forward, picked it up, and handed it directly to her.
“Compliments of Mr. Riot,” he said with a knowing grin.
Kelly squealed. “Girl, he is going to eat you alive.”
Kylee said nothing, just curled her fingers around the pick. It was warm.
A sleek woman in all black with a headset appeared beside them. “I’m Taryn, Rio’s assistant. Come with me please.”
She led them through a side gate, past heavy security, down a narrow hall that still shook from the bass. The backstage area was buzzing with crew and laughter and empty liquor bottles. Lights flickered. Someone offered them water. Someone else offered tequila.
“Rio’s cooling off in the green room,” Taryn said. “You’ll have about ten minutes. Just a heads up, he’s... intense.”
The hallway seemed to narrow as they walked. Kelly trailed slightly behind, letting Kylee take the lead. Her heels echoed on the cement floor as they reached the last door. Taryn knocked once, then pushed it open. “Your VIPs are here.”
Inside, the room smelled like citrus, sweat, and smoke. Dim lighting. Leather couches. A few band members lounged nearby, cracking open beers, laughing. Rio stood near the back, shirtless now, a towel slung around his neck, tattoos gleaming under the soft glow of the lamps.
He turned. His gaze locked on Kylee like gravity had a vendetta. The world stilled. He moved toward her slowly, eyes raking her body like a song in progress.
“You made it,” he said, voice low and thick with post-show rasp. “Didn’t want to leave without meeting the woman who almost made me forget my lyrics.”
Kylee's lips curled, half-defiant, half-daring. “Then I guess I did my job.”
Rio stopped just a breath away. Close enough to smell her perfume. Close enough to see the flicker of nerves behind her cool exterior.
“You’ve got something about you,” he murmured. “I don’t know what it is yet. But I want to.”
Kelly cleared her throat dramatically from behind. “I’ll just... get a drink or something.”
Rio didn’t even glance away from Kylee.
Kylee swallowed hard, fingers still wrapped around the guitar pick in her pocket. She felt heat rising in her chest, in her core, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t shrink. For once, she stood tall and let herself burn.
Rio stepped even closer, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was almost physical, electric, heavy, and crackling like static.
Kylee’s pulse was everywhere. He leaned in just slightly, he smelled like weed and whiskey. “You got a name, mystery girl?”
“Kylee.”
His lips curved into a half-smile. “Kylee,” he repeated, like he was tasting it. “Fits. You don’t look like someone who belongs behind a white picket fence.”
She raised a brow, keeping her cool. “And what do I look like?”
“Like trouble,” he said. “The kind that makes a man forget his own name.”
Her mouth quivered, but she said nothing. He didn’t need encouragement. Rio Riot had never needed permission to flirt like a wildfire.
He took a step back, eyes dragging down her body again. “You liked the show?”
“Hard not to,” she said, steady. “You made a lot of noise up there.”
“And you made it very easy to lose focus,” he said, tapping two fingers over his chest. “That little look you gave me during Saints and Gasoline? Yeah. Almost missed a cue.”
Behind them, Kelly had found a cooler full of champagne and was leaning against the wall, sipping like she’d been here a hundred times before.
Rio looked past Kylee for the first time, noticing Kelly leaning casually against the wall with a champagne flute in hand. His brow lifted with interest.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked, eyes dancing with mischief.
Kylee turned slightly. “That’s my sister, Kelly.”
Rio grinned wide. “Ah. The sister.” He took a long sip from his beer and glanced toward the other side of the room where a few band members lounged. “Well, that explains a lot. My drummer hasn’t shut up about the girl in the red outfit since we walked off stage.”
Kelly raised her brows. “Is that so?”
“Yup. Said, and I quote, ‘She looks like she bites and I’d probably let her.’” Rio smirked and looked back at Kylee. “He’s got a type.”
Kelly laughed into her glass. “Tell your drummer I only bite on weekends.”
Rio chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Tonight is technically Friday.”