Chapter 9 #2
For a while, it felt like nothing could touch us—all five of us, all caught up in the bright lights and impossible noise of being a family.
I blink, the memory fading, replaced by grass under my back, festival music in the air, and Jasper’s fingers tracing lazy circles over my arm. For a moment, I almost believed I could get that feeling back—laughter, safety, family.
***
The sunlight’s gone syrupy—pink and gold, slanting low as the festival winds down.
The group is full, sleepy, and everyone is a little sun drunk as we start the slow walk back toward the buses.
I hang behind, snapping pictures—Micah, Jace and Ash stalking around in the long shadows, Silas glancing back to make sure nobody gets left behind.
Jasper loops his arm around my shoulders, and every so often, he leans in, voice husky in my ear. “Save some film for me.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s digital, and I already have enough of you.”
But I keep my camera ready, eyes peeled for the perfect shot. As we near the main stage, the crowd thickens again, caught in the wash of pulsing lights. Riot’s band, Reckless Saints, is up, and I can feel the shift in the air, the way the crowd surges as the drums kick in.
I pause at the edge of the stage, lifting my camera to my eye. Riot is a blur of motion. His shirt clinging to his body, hair dripping sweat, and his eyes wild under the colored lights. He plays as if he’s fighting for his life, like every beat matters.
I crouch low, snapping a few rapid shots—catching the way his hair whips across his face, the gleam of the drumsticks in his hands, the veins standing out on his arms. He’s beautiful in that reckless, chaotic way some musicians are—messy, real, and impossible not to notice.
Suddenly, Riot’s eyes find mine through the lens. He grins, drumming even harder as if for my benefit. My heart skips.
Jasper’s hand finds the small of my back, grounding me. “Getting all the shots you need?” he murmurs, voice possessive. “We should get going,” he says, guiding me gently away from the stage. “Gonna load up the bus so we’re ready to leave after the rest day tomorrow.”
As we walk, I can’t help but glance back. Riot is still watching me—grinning like he knows exactly how much trouble he could be. I shouldn’t care, but the rush in my stomach says I do.
***
Back at the bus, we’re almost done packing up. With the echo of Riot’s drums still vibrating in my bones, Jasper shoves the last battered amp case into the bay of the bus. The sunset casts him in gold and bruised shadows, the air thick with the last bits of adrenaline.
He wipes his hands on his jeans, eyes narrowing just a little—calculating, constantly.
“So,” he says, his voice deceptively casual. “Did you get your shots?”
I glance down at my camera. “Yeah. The lighting was perfect.”
He leans closer, the space between us humming. “Got a lot of Riot in there, huh?”
There’s a dangerous tilt to his mouth, something sharp in the way he says Riot’s name. I shrug, feigning innocence. “He was right in front of me. Hard to miss.”
Jasper’s gaze darkens. “You know, he usually doesn’t play that hard.”
My heart thuds, and I try to keep it light. “What, am I his muse now, too?”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You aren’t his anything.”
I raise an eyebrow, testing him. “You jealous?”
He moves even closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Should I be?”
JASPER
The air’s thick with jealousy, and to make it worse, Riot’s laughter rings out behind me, making every muscle in my body wants to snap. I see red. All I can think about is how easily she gets under my skin, how badly I want everyone, especially Riot, to know she’s not up for grabs.
I move before I can stop myself, boxing her in against the side of the bus, my hand landing flat above her head. She smells like sugar and sweat, wild and tempting, like a demon I’d chase through hell.
I lean down, my lips barely an inch from her ear. My voice comes out rough, the words a threat and a promise. “Maybe I just need to remind you whose attention you really want.”
She lifts her chin, defiant as always. “I never said I wanted yours to begin with.”
“You sure about that? Because back against the wall, you were begging for it, Trouble. Do you think I’ve forgotten how you looked at me? The way you fell apart in my hands?”
Her breath hitches, and I know I’ve got her. I press even closer, my other hand sliding up her side to remind her just how easy it would be to do it all over again. “You can try to keep pretending, Sawyer. But you know exactly who you want. And it isn’t him.”
I throw a glance over my shoulder at Riot, still laughing with his band, but his eyes keep drifting back to us. It makes something feral snap inside me. I drop my voice even lower. “I think I’m done pretending I give a damn who sees.”
I press closer, my lips grazing her jaw, staking my claim right there on her skin. “Let him watch. Let all of them watch. They should know you’re mine.”
I pull back, tilting her chin up, making her eyes meet mine. “You gonna keep testing me, or you want me to really show you how reckless I can get?”
She bites her lip, challenging me with that fire in her eyes. “Maybe.”
I grin. “Careful what you wish for.”
Riot’s voice fades, and then it's just me and her. The only thing keeping me from dragging her onto the bus and showing the whole damn lot what’s mine is the thin thread of self-control I’m about to snap.
She meets my stare, heat blazing in her eyes, mouth curling into a dare I can’t resist. “If you’re so sure I’m yours—.”
Before she can even finish challenging me, my hands find the backs of her thighs and I lift her like she weighs nothing, pressing her into the side of the bus. The metal rattles beneath the impact. She gasps, a sound that makes my vision turn blue at the edges.
Her legs lock around my waist, arms flying up to clutch my shoulders.
My mouth crashes into hers, rough and claiming.
I kiss her hard enough that she has no choice but to give in, to let everyone within earshot know precisely who she belongs to.
I grind into her, just enough, and when she moans into my mouth, it’s like gasoline on a fire.
The world narrows to the taste of her, the feel of her body pressed against mine, the faint, electric awareness that people are watching—Riot especially, and I want him to see. I want them all to fucking see.
When I finally pull away, her lips are red and swollen. Her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. I let my mouth linger on her jaw, a last possessive kiss. My voice is a growl meant for her and anyone else within range.
“I’ll tell you this one more time,” I snarl, loud enough for Riot to hear. “I don’t give a fuck who’s looking. I’ll take what’s mine right in front of them.”
I set her down gently, but my grip never softens. I glance over my shoulder, locking eyes with Riot across the lot. He’s standing frozen, that cocky smile wiped right off his face.
Good.
With Sawyer dazed beside me, I tug her up the bus steps, not caring who’s watching, not caring what happens next—only knowing I’ve made my point.
She’s mine. And now everyone knows it.
RIOT
For one stupid second, I actually believed my grin would last.
She was looking at me—really looking—right until Reign slammed her against the side of the bus, his hands all over her like he needed the whole damn world to see. Like he needed me to see.
The sound of her gasp still echoes in my ears, haunting and sweet.
I can feel the drumsticks digging into my palm, my whole body tense, wired, like the music never left me.
I want to look away, but I can’t—not with her legs locked around his waist, not when she moans for him like she’s already ruined.
And he kisses her. Hard and possessive. Like he’s burning down every inch of doubt and staking his claim right through her soul.
I want to hate it. I want to turn away, spit and laugh. To pretend I don’t care, but all I can do is stare—trapped in the carnage of that kiss, watching her fall apart for him, watching him mark her as his. My smile’s gone. My jaw aches from clenching.
He glances back, just once, and the look in his eyes is a warning. But she looked back, too. Just for a second. Enough for hope to sink in.
He can try to own her.
But it’s not over.
Not for me.
SAWYER
The bus door squeaks shut behind us, muffling the last echoes of bands packing and the scattered carnival noise.
One more day in Omaha before the circus moves on. I should be relieved—extra time to breathe, to process, to pretend this all makes sense. But I already know tomorrow morning is going to be a different kind of chaos.
I can still taste Jasper on my tongue. My whole body is humming, nerves stretched tight, adrenaline tangled with something darker and sweeter.
He doesn’t say a word as we find somewhere to settle.
The bus jolts to life, engine rumbling beneath us, and soon the world outside becomes a smear of colors—carnival lights giving way to the midnight city lights.
I swipe my camera off the seat beside me, hands shaking, but all I can think about is the way he just kissed me. The way he wanted everyone to see.
He’s settled across the aisle, legs spread, arms crossed over his chest like he’s still daring anyone to challenge what just happened.
His eyes find me, and for a second, no one else on this bus exists.
Not the band, not the driver, not even Riot, who I know is somewhere on his own bus licking his wounds.
My lips still throb. I try to breathe, but every inhale drags me back to that moment—metal biting my back, Jasper’s hands rough on my thighs, the universe narrowing to nothing but us. It should scare me how much I like it. How much I want to be wanted, but mostly, I just want more.