Inside the Bar, Neon Humming, Blues Guitar Wailing
The jukebox growls, Lil Johnson’s voice raw and sultry, “Press my button, ring my bell...” The bar’s a sweaty inferno—smoke curling like a lover’s dare, neon pinks and blues slashing the walls, boots pounding the scarred floor. Glasses clink, voices snarl, the crowd a tangle of lust and bad blood.

“Ray, my glass is emptier than a preacher’s soul,” Mel hollers, sprawled on a barstool, her leather skirt riding high, thighs gleaming in the neon’s glow. “Pour that whiskey, or I’m looting your tip jar.”

“Mel, you’re gonna torch this dive,” Ray laughs, sliding a glass across the bar. “Who’s getting skinned tonight?”

“Jimmy Malone,” Mel says, eyes sharp as a switchblade. “Corner table, gold tooth. Swindled me outta fifty last week. I’m gonna carve his name in regret.”

“Jimmy’s a snake,” Ray warns, wiping the counter. “Guard your back, girl.”

“Darlin’,” Mel purrs, tossing back her drink, “my back’s his worst nightmare. Watch me dance.”

She slinks off the stool, hips swaying to the jukebox’s dirty beat, slicing through the crowd like a blade through smoke. The air’s thick with bourbon and broken deals. She drops into a chair at Jimmy’s poker table, the wood sticky with spilled liquor.

“Got room for a queen, Slick?” Mel asks, her grin lethal as a loaded gun.

Jimmy leans back, gold tooth glinting under the neon. “Mel, still whining over that fifty? A bet’s a bet, doll.”

“Whining?” Mel scoffs, slapping a twenty on the table. “I’m here to gut you, Jimmy. Deal, or crawl home.”

“Hot damn,” says Vince, a tattooed drifter across the table, eyes devouring her curves. “You always this fierce, Mel?”

“Fierce?” Mel leans in, voice a low, wicked purr. “Vince, I’m a wildfire in heels. You in, or just drooling over the view?”

“I’m in,” Vince grins, shifting in his jeans, his bulge swelling. “Let’s see how hot you burn.”

Jimmy deals, cards snapping like whip cracks. The jukebox moans, “I’m a red-hot mama, make my furnace glow...”soaking the room in heat.

“Raise,” Mel says, shoving chips forward. “Jimmy, you’re sweating like a chump in a cage. My curves got you spooked?”

“Keep yapping,” Jimmy growls, tossing in chips. “Call. Show your cards, sweetheart.”

“Eat this,” Mel says, flipping a full house. The table groans, bottles rattling. “That’s my fifty back, plus your pride. Pay up.”

“Christ,” Vince whistles, leaning closer. “You’re a damn wildcat, Mel.”

“Wildcat?” Mel winks, her fingers grazing his wrist, sparking heat. “Stick around, cowboy. I’m just warming up. Double or nothing, Jimmy?”

“You’re bluffing,” Jimmy snarls, slamming chips down. “I’m in.”

“Vince?” Mel teases, voice dripping honey and flame. “Got the grit to light my fire?”

“Grit?” Vince chuckles, eyes locked on hers. “Mel, you’re a volcano. I fold—but I’ll be steaming all night.”

The cards hit the table. Mel flips a straight flush, her smirk a spark to dry tinder.

“Checkmate, Jimmy,” she says, scooping the pot. “You’re done. Cough it up.”

“Goddamn vulture,” Jimmy mutters, tossing bills across the table.

“Vulture?” Mel stands, pocketing the money. “I’m a fucking goddess, Slick.” She turns to Vince, eyes promising chaos. “Grab the bourbon. Alley. Time to press my button.”

“Alley?” Vince’s voice cracks with heat. “You’re serious as sin.”

“Sin’s my playground,” Mel says, strutting toward the door, the jukebox trailing her like smoke. “Ring my bell, make it sing...”