Chapter 6 #5
Rodeo Drive shimmered like a dream, glass storefronts glowing in the morning light, high-end mannequins frozen mid-strut, and fashion assistants darting around like stylists on a movie set.
Kylee wandered through the boutiques in a daze, brushing soft silks and inspecting wild, expensive garments she’d never dare try on back home.
Then she saw it.
A black leather bodysuit, skin-tight and sculpted like it was built for a femme fatale. It was bold. Untamed. Magnetic.
Kylee stepped into the fitting room with a nervous flutter in her chest. The zipper slid up with a hiss. She looked in the mirror, and for a second, she didn’t even recognize herself.
Power. That’s what it looked like. She added a pair of sparkling, knee-high boots with red glitter and thick heels. The outfit hugged her body like a second skin. Daring, dangerous, defiant.
She was still admiring herself when her phone rang.
Private number.
She hesitated before answering. “Hello?”
A calm, polished female voice responded,
“Hi, Mrs. Riot. Mr. Riot gave us your number to contact you.”
Kylee blinked. “I’m sorry….Mrs. what?”
“Mrs. Riot. Mr. Riot made a same-day appointment for you here at Electric Karma Salon. Hair, makeup, nails. Everything. We’re expecting you in thirty minutes.”
Kylee stared at her reflection. She didn’t know whether to be more stunned by the words Mrs. Riot or the idea of an entire luxury spa day curated for her.
“I…wow. Okay, um… I’ll be there.”
“Wonderful. Just give your name at the front. Everything is taken care of.”
The line went dead, and Kylee stood there frozen, clutching her phone to her chest.
She ran a hand down the curve of the leather suit and whispered to her reflection,
“What are you doing?”
But she already knew.
She was slipping deeper into Rio’s world… and loving every second of it.
Electric Karma Salon looked like something out of a dream. Floor-to-ceiling windows let the L.A. sun pour in over sleek marble floors and softly humming crystal chandeliers. A gold-plated sign with her name Mrs. Riot sat at the front desk like they’d been expecting her forever.
She walked in, still a little breathless, and gave her name. The receptionist smiled warmly. “Welcome, Mrs. Riot. Right this way.”
The name hit her again. Mrs. Riot.
Was it a joke? A slip? Or something Rio had said on purpose just to mess with her head?
She didn’t have long to wonder within minutes, she was ushered into a private VIP suite lined with plush white leather chairs and walls of glimmering mosaic tile. A full glam squad was already waiting.
First came the hair. A stylist with silver rings stacked on every finger gently ran his hands through her strands. “Let’s bring out your wild side,” he said, winking.
They gave her a fresh cut, long layers with volume and soft, tousled waves that made her look like she’d stepped off a music video set. Then came the deep shine gloss that left her hair gleaming like molten chocolate under the lights.
Makeup was next, dewy skin, a sultry smoky eye with flecks of shimmer, and a rich, fire-colored lip that made her feel like she could burn a man alive with just a kiss.
Her nails? Long, sculpted almond tips painted in a glossy black lacquer and studded with tiny silver stones, edgy, but elegant. Rock star wife material.
By the time they turned her around to face the full mirror, Kylee hardly recognized herself. Her breath caught in her throat.
She looked dangerous. Desirable. Alive. No one has ever done this for me, she thought. As she stepped out of the salon and slid into the sleek black car waiting at the curb, she checked her reflection one last time in the rearview mirror.
“Mrs. Riot,” she whispered. And for the first time, it didn’t sound so crazy.
The car pulled into a private back entrance of the venue, guarded and cordoned off from the buzzing chaos of L.A.’s nightlife. The sun was just beginning to dip, casting streaks of gold and purple across the skyline as her driver stepped out and opened the door.
As Kylee stepped out of the car, her glossy, freshly styled hair cascading down her back, the sun caught the glitter on her knee-high boots.
The skin-tight leather bodysuit hugged every curve like it was made just for her and in a way, it was.
The anticipation of the night ahead shimmered in the air like static.
Rio turned the corner from the dressing area, mid-conversation with one of his crew, but the second he saw her, he stopped cold.
“Holy shit…” he muttered under his breath, eyes wide. He took a few slow steps forward, his gaze sweeping from her heels to her lips like he didn’t know where to look first. “You look…fuck, Kylee.. You look beautiful.”
She smiled, trying to steady the heat rising in her cheeks, playing it cool. “They called me Mrs. Riot at the salon, any idea why?” she said casually, her voice teasing.
He grinned, stepping closer until there was barely a breath between them. “It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” he said, his voice low and rough.
Kylee’s breath caught in her throat as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re gunna be the sexiest thing in this building tonight,” he said. “And that’s saying something because I’m in it.”
Backstage was buzzing with energy, staff with clipboards darting around, techs adjusting sound levels, and makeup artists doing last-minute touch-ups.
But for Kylee, the chaos felt distant. She had a seat just off to the side of the meet-and-greet area, clearly marked “Reserved,” tucked near the shadows but in perfect view of the action.
Rio had placed her there intentionally.
She crossed her legs, slowly, feeling the leather of her bodysuit tighten just a bit, as she watched him move through the crowd of waiting fans.
He had changed into his pre-show outfit black ripped jeans, boots, and a distressed band tee with the sleeves cut off.
Sexy without trying, confident without arrogance.
What struck her more than his appearance was the way he handled the meet and greet.
It was nothing like hers in New Orleans.
He kept his distance from his female fans.
He shook hands, quick, polite, impersonal.
No hugs. No flirty smirks. No whispered compliments.
Certainly no hand grazing across a waist like he had done with her.
These girls were ecstatic just to be near him, and yet he didn’t even glance their way the way he had once looked at her.
Rio’s eyes found Kylee through the crowd more than once, and every time they did, it was like a silent conversation passed between them. A look that said: This is different. You’re different.
A blonde in a tight top leaned in a little too close for a selfie, and Rio subtly stepped back. He gave her a casual smile, but his eyes flicked toward Kylee again, almost like he was making a point.
Kylee felt it in her stomach, the power, the tension, the shift. She was no longer the fan. She was the one he made space for.
As the last fan moved on and the room cleared, he made his way straight to her like she was the only thing that mattered now. Rio turned toward Kylee, his eyes gleaming with purpose and something deeper.
The pulsing bass of his walk-out song started to rumble through the floor beneath them. The crowd outside roared like thunder, their chants of “Rio! Rio!” echoing in the wings of the arena.
Rio reached out his hand.
“Walk me to the stage?” he asked, his voice low and intimate like this wasn’t a show, but something sacred.
Kylee hesitated for half a second, then slid her hand into his.
His grip was warm, sure, and grounding. The noise of the world faded behind them as they walked the narrow corridor toward the blinding lights of the stage entrance.
Right before they reached the edge, Rio turned, leaned close, and whispered, “Wish me luck, Mrs. Riot.”
Kylee’s breath caught in her throat. Before she could reply, his assistant appeared. “Kylee? This way, please,” she said with a bright, knowing smile.
Reluctantly, Kylee let go of his hand and followed the woman to a private suite overlooking the stage.
It was glass-walled, luxurious, and filled with chilled champagne and roses.
The view was perfect, but Kylee couldn’t sit.
Her skin burned with all the tension from the day, the glances, the touches, the way he made her feel like the only woman in the world.
Then the lights in the arena dimmed.
The crowd erupted.
Rio took the stage like a god descending from thunderclouds, owning every step as strobes flickered and guitars ripped through the air. But when he reached the mic, he didn’t go right into the last song.
Instead, he lifted a hand, quieting the crowd just enough.
“I wrote something new,” he said, his voice husky and electrified, eyes flicking up toward the suite. “It’s not out yet, but... I wanted to play it tonight. For someone special. She knows who she is.”
A hush fell across the audience.
“The name of the song,” he continued, “is Idaho Sunshine.”
The first chords rang out raw, aching, tender and fierce all at once.
Kylee, standing alone behind the glass, felt her knees nearly give out.
Her eyes stung, her chest swelled. Her fingers dug into the glass as her heart thundered against it, trying to decide if it wanted to break or fall completely.
The lights dimmed further as the band shifted into something slower, sultrier. The melody was haunting, a little dangerous, and unmistakably about her.
Rio gripped the mic with both hands, his eyes never leaving the suite where Kylee stood frozen. His voice dipped into a velvet rasp that wrapped around her like smoke.
"Idaho sunshine, in my darkest sky,
You smile like sin and make halos cry.
You walk like secrets dressed in gold,
Torn between what's yours and what you hold."
Kylee’s hand flew to her mouth. The lyrics weren’t vague. They weren’t poetic guesses. They were pointed. Personal.