Under the Grit

Taste

Evangeline pulled into the gravel lot behind Trelawny's, her headlights sweeping over the familiar back entrance of the bar. The building looked quieter than usual, the warm glow of its windows barely cutting through the deepening twilight. There was no music yet-no hum of amplifiers or faint drumbeats vibrating through the walls. It was early.

She parked her car near the far edge of the lot, the crunch of tires on loose gravel loud in the still evening. Turning off the engine, she took a deep breath, her fingers lingering on the steering wheel for a moment longer than necessary.

Her parents would be here later. The thought sent a twist of unease through her stomach. They had insisted on coming to see her sing, and while a part of her was touched by their support, the larger part was overwhelmed by the idea of them stepping into her world-a world so different from the one they knew.

And then there was the band. She hadn't heard much from the guys over the past week, their usual chatter in the group text reduced to short, functional messages about setlists and timing. Even Arthur, who had been a steady presence in her life for the past few months, had been distant. She told herself it was probably nothing-just the usual pre-show busyness-but it didn't stop the gnawing feeling in her chest.

Sighing, she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. She was still wearing her regular clothes: a pair of dark jeans and a fitted black turtleneck that hugged her frame comfortably. Her stage clothes were tucked neatly into her bag-a strapless mini-dress she'd chosen specifically for these performances.

The dress was sleek and eye-catching, crafted from a shimmering ivory fabric that hugged her figure and stopped mid-thigh. Intricate beading and embroidery adorned the bodice, catching the light with a soft, elegant glimmer. The hemline was trimmed with delicate lace, adding a vintage-inspired touch that softened the boldness of the strapless silhouette.

Paired with simple nude heels and understated jewelry-a thin silver bracelet and matching earrings-the outfit was tasteful yet striking, designed to make her feel confident under the stage lights. It was a far cry from her usual wardrobe, but something about it made her feel powerful, even as nerves simmered under the surface.

Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, Evangeline brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face as the cool evening air prickled her skin. She'd change into the dress closer to showtime, but having it tucked safely away in her bag made her feel a little more prepared for the night ahead.

She locked her car with a sharp beep, slipping the keys into her bag as she made her way toward the back entrance. The quiet crunch of gravel under her boots was the only sound in the lot, a reminder of how early she'd arrived. She reached for the door handle, her hand hovering over the cold metal, when she heard a voice call out behind her.

"Hey! You!"

Her stomach twisted, and she froze, the voice unfamiliar yet somehow unsettlingly familiar. Slowly, she turned, her eyes scanning the dimly lit lot. At first, she didn't recognize the man standing a few yards away. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a faded jacket and jeans. A scruffy beard covered most of his face, and his eyes were sharp, glinting under the faint light from the bar's windows.

Something about him made her chest tighten. There was a shadow of familiarity in the way he stood, the way his gaze pinned her in place. And then it clicked-he was the man from the alley. The bigger, bearded one.

Her heart skipped a beat, panic already creeping into her chest as he started walking toward her.

"Thought I recognized you," he said, his voice low and gravelly, with a rough, nasally, edge that immediately set her nerves on edge. His tone carried a certain cocky drawl, the kind that made it sound like he was used to getting what he wanted, even if he had to use force to get it. "You're Morgan's girl, right?"