Page 56 of Hymns of the Broken
He shifts closer, knee bumping mine, his fingers dragging higher while tracing patterns on my thigh. Every nerve in my body stands at attention.
“One more day stuck here, then it’s Midnight’s Edge. We’re there for almost a week—the festival is running six days, and management wants us for the whole damn thing,” he murmurs, his mouth close to my ear. “You ever been?”
I shake my head, breath caught in my chest—thinking the place sounded familiar. Then I remember that Blake’s family has a cabin close by somewhere. I always wanted to go, but he never took me.
“Perfect. It’s where I live,” he says as his palm squeezes my knee roughly. “I don’t care what management wants. I’m not staying the whole time, sitting through interviews and dealing with crowds, when I can have you in my house and in my bed. But for right now, you don’t have to wait to see what I can do to you.”
I can’t help it—my head tips back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed. “Jasper…” I whisper the word like a plea.
His hand slides higher, fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shorts. My breath stutters, and I glance down the aisle—nobody’s watching, not really, but the danger of being caught only makes it worse.
He nips my ear, voice dark velvet. “I want you to remember this. Every mile, every stop. It doesn’t matter who’s around—you’re mine. Say it.”
My face burns, but I don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.”
His mouth finds mine, and I melt into him, my hand fisting his shirt. He kisses me like he wants to leave fingerprints on my soul. His fingers press into my thigh, and I make a quiet, desperate sound.
He pulls back just enough to speak, forehead pressed to mine, eyes wild in the shadows. “Keep quiet, Little Sin, or you’ll get us caught.”
The lights of the city glitter beyond the glass and I forget anyone else exists. It’s just us and the threat of discovery, the thrill of his touch, and the promise of everything that’s still coming.
I let himthink he still has me—let him feel my heart pounding, my breath catch. Then, with every ounce of mischief in me, I push his hand away. Leaning in close, I whisper, “Keep your hands to yourself, Reign. I'm going to go shower.”
He blinks, surprised. I get up, head to my bunk to grab my toiletry bag from my seat, swinging my hips as I head down the narrow aisle toward the tiny bathroom. I can feel his eyes burning into my back the whole way.
Just before I duck into the bathroom, I glance over my shoulder, catching his stare. “If you want to make another claim, you’ll have to wait until later.” I flash a wicked grin as I disappear into the bathroom.
Behind the tiny bathroom door, I hear Jasper’s rough laugh. A promise, a warning, a challenge accepted.
***
By the time the water shuts off from Jasper’s shower and his footsteps thump down the hallway toward his room, I’m already curled up in my bunk, towel-damp hair dripping onto my pillow, laptop balanced on my knees. The bus is in an empty lot across from where interviews will be tomorrow, lights low, the rest of the band lost in their own little worlds.
I scroll through the hundreds of shots from today—Riot caught mid-scream behind the drums, the crowd’s faces blurred with motion and sweat, Jasper eating cotton candy. My cheeks burn every time I glimpse at him—hungry, wild, looking at me like I’m the only person who matters.
But it’s my phone that buzzes for attention.
Macee:“You alive? Miss your chaos. Send me something from the show. XOXO.”
And then…Blake.
The screen is full of his name. Missed calls, texts. The last one isn’t even trying to hide how pissed he is.
Blake:“Why are you ignoring me? You haven’t texted me since you left.”
Blake:“Are you with them right now?”
Blake:“Answer your fucking phone, Sawyer.”
My stomach tightens. I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering, unsure if I want to respond or throw my phone out the window.
I try to focus on my work, but Blake’s messages won’t let me forget. No matter how good Jasper made me feel today, I’m not free.
Chapter 10
JASPER
The bus is quiet—too quiet. Ash is snoring, Jace’s headphones are leaking some old punk, Silas is sprawled on the small sofa with a book over his face, and Micah’s shoes stick out from behind the curtain of the last bunk. I can hear the click of Sawyer’s phone. She thinks I don’t notice her—curled up in those tiny sleep shorts, bare legs, tank top riding up every time she shifts.
