Chapter 4
SAWYER
The second my foot hits the first step, the door slams shut behind me with a hiss of pressure and finality.
No turning back now.
The tour bus is chaotic. A rolling tomb of mismatched cushions, wires, laughter, and worn leather that smells like cigarettes and body spray.
In the distance, I can hear there’s already a fight over who drank the last Red Bull, someone’s blasting music too loud, and the scent of pizza and weed is clinging to every inch of the stale air. It feels alive. Loud.
“Well, well…”
My heart stutters.
He’s standing at the front like he’s been waiting for me. Jasper leans against the built-in counter, arms crossed, watching me like he’s already peeling layers off my skin.
“That was quite the show your boyfriend tried to put on back there,” Jasper says. His voice is a blade sharpened on the edge of mockery. “Shame it was fake.”
Heat crawls up my throat. I open my mouth to deny, but nothing comes out.
Was it really that obvious?
He pushes off the counter, closing the space between us with one measured step. The air shifts, thick with his presence, and the bus suddenly feels a lot smaller.
“You let him walk you in like you were on his leash,” he murmurs. “If you enjoy being controlled, if that’s what gets you off…” His gaze drags over me, slow and unhurried.“…what color leash should I buy for your pretty little neck?”
My breath catches audibly, and his gaze dips to my throat like he’s already picturing it there.
“Cute fantasy. You rehearse that in your head before I got on the bus?” I toss it out like it doesn’t send heat straight down my spine.
But it does. And I hate that it does.
The way he said “leash”, the way his eyes dragged over me like he was already fitting the collar himself… It shouldn’t affect me.
It shouldn’t make my mind flicker with the image of his fingers at my throat, of control disguised as care. But now it’s there. Coiled like smoke under my skin.
I shrug like I’m immune. Like my legs aren’t buzzing with nerves and my mouth isn’t dry from trying not to picture what it would feel like.
“Keep dreaming, Reign. I don’t beg.”
Not yet, anyway.
“Come on,” he says smirking as if he knows I’m pretending. “I’ll show you around.” He turns to walk off, and I suck in air as if I were drowning.
The hallway’s narrow, barely wide enough to brush past people without touching them. He gestures as we go, his voice casual.
“Bathroom. Don’t go in there after Jace. He’s got…issues. Kitchenette. If someone says they made coffee, assume it tastes like garbage. Storage—off limits unless you want your stuff stolen, or worse, ‘borrowed’.”
Next, he stops in front of a small stack of narrow bunk beds.
“This one’s yours,” he says, tapping the middle bunk. “Unless…” He leans in closer, “you’d rather crash in my room. I don’t snore, but I bite.”
My brain forgets how to come up with a comeback. His mouth curves like he knows he just set my entire bloodstream on fire.
I’m still trying to catch my breath when Jasper nods towards the lounge at the back of the bus.
“C’mon. Time for introductions.” I hesitate—just for a second. But of course, that’s all he needs. His head tilts, and that smirk returns.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, voice close to my ear. “They don’t bite.” Pause. “Unless I tell them to.”
My stomach flips. Goddamn him.
He disappears into the lounge, and I follow, heart pounding.
There are three guys scattered around the room.
One’s barefoot on the couch, strumming an acoustic guitar like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.
Another’s throwing popcorn at the one playing guitar.
The third has a laptop open, headphones slung around his neck, and a scowl like he’s allergic to fun.
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 spine locks 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.
Ash glances at the battered whiteboard stuck to the wall. “You picked a great week to join, by the way. We’re in Omaha for three nights—two shows, then a day off in between for interviews and not dying.”
Jace sighs dramatically. “Band ‘rest days’ are code for being forced to talk to radio guys who hate us and drinking gas station coffee until we forget our own names.”
Ash grins at me. “Sometimes tour moves so fast you forget what state you’re in. Sometimes you get stuck in Omaha pretending it’s a vacation.”
Jasper adds, “You’ll learn to love the chaos.”
Ash leans his head back against the cushion, eyes on me. “So, Sawyer…wedding photographer to rock-and-roll chaos tour? That’s a hell of a jump.”
“Right?” I say, letting out a small breath. “I figured if I was going to start over, I might as well do it somewhere loud.”
That earns me a few nods.
Jace raises a soda can in a mock toast. “To loud, then.”
“To not dying,” Ash adds, clinking his water bottle against the can.
“To surviving Jasper,” Micah mumbles from behind his laptop.
“I can still hear you, asshole,” Jasper calls from the kitchenette.
Another round of quiet laughter ripples through the lounge.
For a moment, I almost forgot what was waiting for me outside this bus. What I’m still dragging with me like a ghost.
Eventually, I feel the ache creeping into my spine. The weight of the day presses behind my eyes.
I stretch. “I should get settled,” I mumble. “Still haven’t unpacked. Haven’t even…”
“Picked a side to sleep on?” Ash grins. “Top bunk or bottom?”
“Not hers,” Jasper calls again, voice dripping with teasing steel. “Unless you want to lose fingers.”
More laughter follows me as I slip out of the lounge before I smile too hard.
I make my way down the narrow hall, back to my bunk, and pull the curtain open. Middle bunk. Small space. There’s a strange comfort in the coffin-like dimensions. It’s just big enough for me and my thoughts, and right now, both feel too loud.
I toss my camera bag up first, then crawl in after it, pressing my back to the wall. The hum of the engine is soft under my spine. The chatter from the lounge is now muffled by distance and the curtain.
Finally.
Quiet.
I unzip the bag, fingers brushing across metal and glass, and pull out my camera. I always feel better when I’m looking through the lens—like the world can’t touch me if I’m the one looking through it. Like I can hide and still see everything.
I flick through the shots I took the other day. The venue. The band. The chaos. Jasper.
My thumb pauses on one photo—it’s blurred, unintentional. But it’s him. Offstage, just behind the curtain—shirt clinging damp to his chest, hair wild from the set, mouth parted like it was made to be stared at. Eyes locked on the camera. Locked on me.
Arrogant, asshole. I think to myself as I blink, stomach twisting tight.
My phone buzzes against my thigh.
Blake: “Shouldn’t have left. This job will ruin you. I saw the way he looked at you. If you let him touch you… if you leave me for him… you’ll regret it. You’re not good enough for this.”
You’ll regret it. The words land like a boot on my sternum. This job will ruin you. Of course he goes for the one thing that finally feels like mine. You’re not good enough. My chest believes it before my brain can argue. Heat drains from my hands. Pins and needles crawl up my arms.