Page 40 of Hymns of the Broken
I glance up at him, irritation curling in my stomach. “He doesn’t get to claim me like that. I’m not some—some possession.”
“No,” Ash agrees easily, flicking ashes to the ground. “You’re not. But someone should probably tell him that.”
We walk in silence for a beat before he adds, “For what it’s worth…he’s been on edge since he realized you left the bus. Couldn’t stop looking for you.”
I pause mid-step. “What?”
Ash smirks around his cigarette. “He’s not subtle, Sawyer. For a guy who’s made a career out of controlling a crowd, he’s terrible at hiding when he’s obsessed.”
The word obsessed lingers like static in the air.
I stare at the ground, my boot scuffing against gravel. “He doesn’t even know me.”
Ash bumps his shoulder lightly into mine. “You sure about that?”
I don’t answer. Because the truth is—I’m not. He seems to see me better than anybody else.
We round the corner, and the tour buses come back into view, lined up like sleeping monsters under the parking lot lights. The engines hum faintly, the smell of fuel and warm asphalt settling in the night air.
Ash slows near the bus steps. “Get some sleep,” he says, flicking the cigarette away. “And hey…if you get tired of being toyed with, just say the word. Some of us actually know how to be nice.”
He winks, grinning lazily but sharp enough to cut.
Then he disappears into the bus, leaving me alone under the harsh glow of the parking lot lamps, pulse still uneven and mind spinning with the word he said.
Obsessed.
***
I grab the book that I shoved in my bag when I packed for the tour. Something familiar. Something dark and sinful enough to distract me from the echo of his voice. I settle into my bunk as I flick on the flashlight app on my phone and open to the dog-eared page where the villain has the girl pinned against a wall. Fitting.
I hear the bus door open and shut. Then the footsteps come, and I recognize them instantly.
The curtain whips open without warning, and there he is. Leaning on the edge of my bunk like a demon that manifested in human form. His gaze drops to my hands, to the book.
“Oh, this is rich,” he drawls, plucking it right out of my grip. His thumb skims the pages before he catches on a highlighted passage—his smirk sharpens. “What’s this? Some dark romance where the guy ruins her until she’s begging for more?”
I snatch for it, but he lifts it just out of reach. “Give it back, Jasper.”
He grins. “Why? I wanna know what gets you all hot and bothered when you’re hiding in here.” His eyes flick over the page. He hums low and filthily. “Oh, yeah. This is dirty. He’s got her on her knees already.”
My face heats. “That’s not why I read it.”
“Sure, Little Demon. You like the plot.” He leans in, voice dipping. “Tell me—when you read this part…” He taps a line with one long, ringed finger. “…will you picture him? Or me?”
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And you’re flushed.” He smirks, glancing back down. “What’s this? ‘His fingers slide under her waistband, teasing her until she’s shaking—’” His eyes flick up, dark and sharp. “You like that, huh? You like being teased until you break?”
“Jasper,” I warn, low and dangerous.
He chuckles, that sinful rasp making my stomach flip. “Careful. You keep reading this shit, and you’ll end up comparing them all to me.” He drops the book back into my lap, fingers brushing my thigh just long enough to light every nerve on fire.
Then he steps back, slowly, like he owns every second I’ll spend replaying this.
He walks on, like he didn’t just leave me burning.
No lingering glance.
