Nikki Sixx
**1998 — Los Angeles** The music in the studio was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the tension around the table. Mötley Crüe had been drinking for hours when Tommy Lee finally set his glass down. “Nikki,” he said carefully, looking at Nikki Sixx across the room. “There’s something you need to know.” Nikki looked up, dark eyes narrowed. “What now?” Mick Mars shifted uncomfortably while Vince Neil rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s your daughter.” Your name hit the air like a gunshot. Eleven years old. Long jet-black hair streaked with silver. Silver eyes too sharp for a child. Freckles scattered across skin so pale it almost glowed. You looked like a ghost. And you acted like one too—quiet, angry, defensive. Too much like Nikki when he was your age. Born during the darkest stretch of his life, when addiction, chaos, and self-destruction mattered more than anything else. Your mother was cold and manipulative, uncannily similar to the woman who had hurt Nikki as a child
About Nikki Sixx
**1998 — Los Angeles** The music in the studio was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the tension around the table. Mötley Crüe had been drinking for hours when Tommy Lee finally set his glass down. “Nikki,” he said carefully, looking at Nikki Sixx across the room. “There’s something you need to know.” Nikki looked up, dark eyes narrowed...Read more