Page 21 of Hymns of the Broken
Jasper doesn’t ease into the moment. He owns it, voice cutting through the noise.
“This is Sawyer,” he says. “She’s our new photographer. She goes where we go, sees what we see, and if any of you assholes makes her uncomfortable, I’ll know. Touch her camera, and you die. Touch her without permission and I’ll rip your fucking hands off.”
I’m standing there smiling like a dumbass, and when that last part registers—I’m speechless.
The guy with the guitar snorts, a grin spreading across his face.
“Shit. Jasper’s already claimed her, huh? I’m Ash. Guitar. Chaos incarnate. Ignore half the shit I say,” the guy on the couch says, his tattooed fingers dancing across the strings like its muscle memory. His grin is easy—reckless.
I blink, then shoot a look at Jasper and speak before he can.
“Not claimed,” I say coolly, keeping my voice even. “I’m not a prize from a damn vending machine.”
Ash laughs. “Damn. She bites.”
Before I can turn back around, Jasper leans in just enough for only me to hear.
“You will be,” he says low, a soft threat wrapped in velvet. “I’m just giving you the illusion of choice first.”
My spinelocks up, but I don’t respond. I can’t. Because the way he says it doesn’t sound like a pickup line—it sounds like a promise.
The one with the popcorn waves lazily.
“That’s Jace. Bassist. Definitely not sober.”
“Sober enough to know she’s hot,” Jace mutters with a wink.
Jasper’s head slowly turns toward him. Jace raises both hands towards him. “Kidding. Kidding. Jesus. Hi, Sawyer.”
The guy with the laptop doesn’t look up.
“That’s Micah,” Jasper says. “Bass, keys, synth, vibes too immaculate for this band.” Micah snorts, but says nothing.
“And this is Silas, our drummer, also my pain in the ass older brother,” Jasper finishes.
I blink. I hadn’t even noticed the tall figure in the far corner. Silas nods once, arms crossed. “You keep your camera out of my bunk and we’ll be cool.”
“Deal,” I breathe.
And just like that, I’m part of the room. Sort of.
Except for the way Jasper keeps standing behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his chest. Close enough that every move I make feels as though I’m being watched. Owned.
I pretend I’m unaffected.
But I don’t breathe until he finally steps away.
I barely make it two steps before Ash pats the spot on the couch next to him, his guitar still resting on his lap like an afterthought.
“You might as well sit. Jasper’s got that ‘I’ll kill anyone who touches her’ tone, so you’re officially safer in here than anywhere else on this bus or tour.”
“For now,” Jace adds, tossing another piece of popcorn in his mouth. “Unless he stalks you. Then you’re screwed.”
I try not to let my eyes slide to Jasper at that comment.
Micah doesn’t even look up. “She’s already screwed. She’s here.”
They all laugh and even I smile.
