thick with sweat and cheap b

n the juke joint's small stage, her voi

as the luckiest man in

that raw, electric feeling I called my "Soul Chord." It was more than just music; it was my

he region, watched from the front table, a proud smile on her face. She was

grin never fading. He was always a bit flashy, less about the music an

y love for her into the solo. This

oors of the juke

't regulars. They were a biker gang from out of town, their

he stage. Their leader po

through my skull. They dragged me off my feet. I saw Jennifer scream and Caleb duck b

felt heavy, my muscles weak and unresponsive. Something was wro

mmer in his hand. He smiled, a cold, empty

and pinned it to the spl

see abo

g crunch. Pain, white-hot and absolute, exploded from my hand. I screamed.

one I always felt the Soul Chord flow from. He took his ti

's specia

h final, crushing forc

e the one in danger. She was watching me. Her face was a mask of shock, but her eyes were cold, dista