Sweet Molly was drifting through the alleys, shadows sticking to her heels like old debts.
Pockets – empty. Head – buzzing. Heart – long gone. The city had its own rhythm: bar fights spilling onto the street, neon flickering, rain slicking the pavement. She wasn’t looking for trouble. But trouble? It had a way of finding her.

Then she saw it. A torn-up, grease-stained banner, barely clinging to the wall. “You’re like a donot. Too sweet to let go.”

Her eyes locked onto the word. Donot. Warm, pulsing with that dangerous kind of temptation. The kind they don’t sell just anywhere. Two blocks down, behind the warehouses, a neon glow cut through the dark.

She knew what it meant.
She knew it wasn’t for just anyone.
She knew it was only for those willing to take the risk.