Chapter 7 #2
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.
Just the heavy presence of him brushing my airspace like a ghost with unfinished business.
I squeeze my phone in my hand, needing the distraction, but dreading what I’ll find.
I swipe up.
Blake: “What? You forgot how to answer me now?”
Blake: “I saw the end of the tour schedule go live. Don’t think I won’t show up.”
Blake: “I’m not one of your dumb band boys, Sawyer. You don’t treat me like this.”
Blake: “Fix your fucking attitude before I make it worse for you.”
Blake: “You’re lucky I haven’t told everyone what a joke you are.”
I grip the phone so hard I hear it creak.
I don’t cry. Not for him. Not anymore.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell.
I lie there, staring into nothing, counting the seconds. My mind won’t slow down, and neither will all the feelings flowing through me.
His words replay over and over.
“The only girl I give a fuck about screaming my name—is you.”
***
I can’t sleep. I’ve tried tossing and turning, but I can’t stop thinking about him.
The way he stared at me backstage. The way he said my name was like a prayer on his tongue.
The way he touched me, like he had every right to, his hand around my throat—like I was already his. Everything he said after Riot left…
I need answers.
I peel back my curtain, heart already racing, and slide down from the bunk. The bus is quiet dimly lit. Everyone’s crashed or hiding.
But I know exactly where he is, and I doubt he’s sleeping.
I move through the hallway, past the kitchen nook, the lounge, and finally stop at the back—the only space on the bus with a door.
My reflection stares back at me from the small metal panel near the button to open and close the door—eyes too wide, lips parted like I’m about to confess something I don’t even understand.
My hand hovers mid-air, fingers trembling.
Then I raise my fist and knock once; my breath is shallow, my pulse traitorous.
The silence on the other side is worse than any noise.
JASPER
The knock isn’t loud when it comes. It’s hesitant, but it’s her. I knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for the same reason I’m not able to.
I let her nerves simmer. Let her wonder if I’m going to answer.
When I open the door, I almost groan at the sight of her.
She’s standing there in her sleep shirt—short, faded black, and oversized but slipping just enough off one shoulder to make me feral.
Her legs are bare, hair mussed, eyes tired, but burning.
Like she’s been pacing in her own damn head all night, trying to decide whether to knock or run.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” I say, leaning against the doorframe like I’m unaffected.
She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at me, breathing shallow, eyes flicking to my chest.
“What do you want, Trouble?” I make sure my voice is dark and teasing, just the way she likes it.
“I have questions.”
“You came all the way back here for questions?” I tilt my head, waiting for the next lie.
She crosses her arms, defensive. “You’re the one who’s been messing with my head all day.”
I grin wider—not a lie.
She’s fire when she’s mad. I’d bottle it if I could.
“Messing with your head?” I take a step forward, close enough to watch her breath hitch. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”
She tries not to react, but her hands twitch at her sides.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” she says, “but I don’t have time for it.”
I laugh under my breath. “This isn’t a game, Little Sin, games have rules. I don’t.”
I take another step toward her, and I reach out and tug her into the room. As soon as she crosses the threshold, I tap the button to shut the door behind her. The click makes it sound final.
Now it’s just the two of us.
And all her questions?
They’re about to get answers she’s not ready for.
SAWYER
The room’s barely lit—just the amber glow of string lights draped over a rack of clothes and a TV flickering silently in the corner.
“So either you couldn’t sleep, or you just couldn’t stop thinking about me,” his tone is cocky—but his eyes give him away.
He’s not sure whether I’ll stay. Not sure what I want.
Instead, I whisper, “You’re full of yourself. You think you’re so hot, don’t you?”
He steps closer, and the oxygen gets thinner, my chest tighter, every nerve ending sparking like it’s waiting for him to touch me.
“You came to me,” he says.
He’s right. My feet dragged me here before my brain could talk me down. Ever since that backstage wall moment—his hand on my throat, his voice in my ear, his mouth inches from mine—I haven’t been able to think of anything else.
“I just wanted to talk,” I say.
“No… you wanted to feel something.”
One hand slides into my hair. Like he’s been imagining this touch for days. His other hand hovers near my jaw, fingers brushing the corner of my lips, then drifting across my collarbone, down my arm, and it stops at my hip. His hand squeezes as if he’s imprinting his hand on me.
“I watch you, you know,” Jasper says quietly. “I see the way you flinch when someone raises their voice. The way you shrink when someone moves too fast. You carry pain like it’s etched into your skin, and you pretend no one notices… I notice.”
My pulse stutters. “How long have you been watching me?”
His mouth curves, not into a smile, but something darker. “Not long, but long enough to know you’re not nearly as invisible as you try to be.”
I swallow, my voice unsteady. “Why? Why pay attention to me like that?”
“Because I know what it looks like,” he says. “My past wasn’t a white picket fence, Sawyer. It was broken locks, shattered glass, and screaming behind closed doors that never got opened.”
The admission punches air from my chest. “So… you’re saying you think we’re the same?”
“I’m saying I recognize the way you survive.” His eyes meet mine, dangerous but cracked open, raw. “I know what it looks like when someone gets good at pretending they’re fine.”
I shake my head, searching his face. “And what do you think you see when you look at me?”
His thumb traces lazy circles on my hip, patient, like he has all the time in the world to convince me. “I see the smiles you fake. I know the ones that are real.” His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering. “You don’t smile like that with him.”
My stomach twists. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t talk about—”
“Why?” Jasper cuts me off, his voice sharper now. “Because you’ll remember the way he talks to you? The way he makes you feel like a burden for breathing? Or because it’s easier to feel guilty than to admit someone else noticed what he never did?”
“And what exactly did you notice?”
“That you’re not his.” His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, holding me there like gravity. “You’ve just been—trapped.”
I force out a shaky laugh, but it dies fast. “And you think you can just… fix that? Free me?”
He leans in until his breath brushes my lips, every word a live wire. “Not think. Know. Let me be the one who frees you, Sawyer.”
It breaks something in me, something I didn’t even realize I was still guarding. My chest aches. “And if I let you… then what happens to me?”
His hand comes up to cup my jaw. “Then you finally belong to someone who sees you.”
My heart is pounding. My eyes scan the room, desperate for something to hold on to, something safe. It’s cleaner than I expected. No heels on the floor. No perfume in the air. No forgotten bra slung over a chair.
“You didn’t bring a groupie in here,” I whisper. More accusation than question.
He huffs a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. Only heat. Only truth.
“I told you, baby” he says, voice like a slow-burning fuse. “The only girl I give a fuck about screaming my name is you.”
My knees almost give out, and he’s so close I can smell him and that intoxication scent of his.
“And you did,” he says, confusing me for a second before he clarifies. “Backstage. You begged me with your eyes. You leaned into my touch like you needed it. Like you’ve been starving for it.” His fingers trail up my arm, tracing a slow line to my shoulder. My skin burns under his touch.
“You can’t lie to me, Sawyer,” he murmurs. “So don’t lie to yourself.”
My breath falters. I should say something. I should push him away. I should run like hell. But I’m frozen—spun in his gravity, and all I want to do is give in to it.
“I’m not like him,” Jasper says, “I won’t just touch your body—I’ll brand your soul.
You can run back to your boyfriend and pretend he knows how to touch you.
Pretend he makes you happy. Pretend he knows you.
” His lips hover over mine—close, but not close enough.
“But your body already chose. And as soon as you stop ignoring that, then the next time you scream won’t be backstage—it’ll be in my bed, with my hand around your throat and my name bleeding from your lips. ”
His smirk darkens as if he can see that I have to physically stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head.
“Go ahead,” Jasper murmurs, his voice sinful. “Run back to your bunk and get off on one of those filthy little books you read. Try to pretend it’s not me you’re thinking about when you’re cumming.”
Heat scorches my face. My breath catches.
He hits the button to open his door.
My choice.
I’m so close to breaking, and he knows it.
It’s not just the way he touches me—it’s the way he sees me. Like he’s reading the parts of me I’ve tried to bury.
I’ve always wanted that. To be seen.
Not for my body, or what I can do for someone.
But for me. The girl who hides behind her camera, books, and sarcastic comebacks because that’s safer than letting anyone all the way in.
And somehow he’s looking at all of me…and still stepping closer.