Chapter 15
SAWYER
Riot’s band crashes into their last song, lights and wild energy spilling off the stage.
The crowd is a mess of bodies, but I’m not looking at anyone except him.
Riot’s hair is everywhere, blonde and wild under the lights, backwards hat hardly hanging on, arms flexing as he hammers out every beat.
There’s a cut on his knuckle—fresh, maybe from playing.
When he catches my eye, he lifts his hand, thumb tracing a lazy, silent heart over his skin.
He grins, cocky, every ounce meant for me.
Next to me, Jasper snorts, not even pretending not to notice. “Enjoy it while I’m allowing it, Sawyer.” His arm finds its way around my waist, fingers digging in just enough to make sure Riot—hell, everyone—knows whose territory I’m on.
And I enjoy it. I enjoy the way Riot plays even harder when he knows I’m watching, the way his gaze lingers on me between every chorus. It feels forbidden, but also thrilling—like I’m something worth fighting for.
When the set ends, the crowd erupts. The guys gather their things, arguing over who won their bets and who’s in charge of finding the best carnival food later. I can’t help but look for Riot as I sling my camera back around my neck, heart still pounding.
He finds me before I even take a step—sweaty, grinning, eyes bright and reckless. “Did you like the show, Hellcat?” His voice was exhausted, but still flirty.
I roll my eyes, but my smile gives me away. “You never disappoint.”
He leans in, close enough for his breath to graze my ear. “Maybe I’ll see you at the carnival tonight. I hear the rides are wild…” his eyes drop deliberately, wicked, his voice dropping even lower, “but not as wild as the thought of you riding me.”
I choke on a laugh, swatting at his chest. “You’re bold.”
He grins wider, backing away with a wink. “Have to be with Reign thinking he’s in charge.” As he goes to walk away, he yells, “Save me a seat on the rides.”
Jasper’s hand tightens at my waist, pulling me flush against him as the group moves toward the bus. “Yeah, save him a seat,” he mutters, “but don’t forget whose lap you end up in.”
I bite back a grin, pulse hammering in my throat. God, it’s so messed up how much I love this—the way they circle, the way every look and word feels like a promise that I’ll be torn in half by the end of the night.
We make our way back to the bus, laughter trailing behind us, the air buzzing with fried food and distant music. I barely make it up the steps before Jasper’s already crowding close, fingers brushing up my spine as I hunt through my duffle for something less sweat-soaked.
I end up wearing a ripped black crop top and a high-waisted plaid skirt, with fishnet tights peeking out at the edges. I lace up my combat boots and look in the cracked mirror. It’s a bit goth, a little punk, and the way Jasper’s eyes linger says he likes it.
My camera stays behind tonight. I’ve earned a work-free night. Plus, if it got broken on one of those rides, I’d die.
Jasper changes into a worn-out, sleeveless band tee, his usual ripped black jeans, and a pair of black Converse.
His black lip ring looks perfect every time he smirks.
When I look up, he’s already watching me like he wants to stay inside and ruin me instead—and I’m sure that’s exactly what he’s thinking.
But he grabs my hand, anyway. “You ready? Carnival rides, chaos, and me. Let’s see how much trouble you can get into before midnight.”
I grin up at him, pulse racing. “Lead the way, Rockstar.”
***
We spill onto the midway as a group, but the second the lights hit us, chaos takes over.
Ash and Jace disappear immediately—something about funnel cakes and the “impossible” basketball toss. Silas gets roped into a debate with Micah about which ride looks the least likely to kill them, already eyeing the Zipper like he’s planning his own funeral.
Jasper tugs me toward the games, his fingers tight around mine, the heat of his hand a steady reminder of last night’s promises.
But when we hit the row of stalls—ring toss, balloon darts, all the usual scams—he shakes his head.
“Not wasting money on stuffed animals when I can win something better later,” he murmurs in my ear.
The lights strobe over us, pulsing blue and green. I spot Riot across the midway, already surrounded by a handful of fans, laughing too loud, wild in his backwards cap. He catches my eye from across the crowd—throws me a wink that feels like a dare.
Jasper notices and squeezes my hip. “Enjoy it while you can, Trouble. I plan to have you all to myself by the end of the night.”
I stick my tongue out at him, but my heart stutters. “Better keep up then.”
We dodge through crowds, take turns picking the wildest rides—Tilt-a-Whirl, Scrambler, the Zipper. Jasper keeps one hand on me the whole time, sometimes steadying me when I stumble off the rides dizzy, sometimes just reminding me who I belong to.
By the time we reach the pirate ship ride, everyone’s together again—Silas and Ash, squabbling over who gets the “death seat”, Jace and Micah shoving for the back row, the whole group loud and reckless like a pack of overgrown kids.
Jasper pulls me to the middle row, pulling me in beside him, his arm draped lazily across the back of my seat, and the next thing I know, Riot is squeezing in next to me at the last second—his thigh pressed tight to mine, that cocky little grin on his lips like he planned this all along.
Jasper looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “You sure you can handle this, Riot? Or do you need a hand to hold?”
Riot flashes a lazy smile. “I think Sawyer’s got it covered. She can hold on to me if you get scared, Reign.”
I laugh, but it comes out shaky as the lap bar drops into place, locking me between them. Riot’s hand lands casually on the bar, his fingers brushing mine—just once, just enough for Jasper to notice.
I bite my lip, barely holding in a grin. The ship jerks forward, swinging us up into the dark. Riot’s hand slides over mine, bold fingers tracing the inside of my wrist. “Just so you know, sweetheart, if you scream, I’ll take it personally.”
Jasper’s grin tightens. “If she screams, it’s not because of the ride. Trust me.”
The ride swings up, momentum pressing us closer.
For a second, I swear I’m floating—caught between their hands, their words, the heat crackling in every inch of space between us.
I dig my nails into both their hands, testing the waters, and they both hold on tighter.
Their eyes meet over my head—silent, possessive, daring each other to push further.
Ash howls behind us. “If you three start making out, at least wait ’til we’re not almost upside down!”
I can’t help but laugh, breathless, drunk off the adrenaline and attention.
When the ride finally screeches to a halt, we all pile off, legs wobbly. Jasper’s hand slides to my hip, holding me upright; Riot smirks, bumping my shoulder.
“Haunted house next?” Riot grins, mischief in his eyes.
Jasper pulls me closer, voice right at my ear, still smoldering. “Let’s see who screams first.”
He heads toward the haunted house, neon lights flickering above the tattered black tarp, the sound of screams and bad Halloween music rolling out into the night. A bored-looking carnie waves us forward.
Ash volunteers to go first, but Riot grins and cuts him off. “I’ll lead the way. Gotta make sure the ghosts know who’s in charge.”
He disappears through the hanging plastic; the crowd swallowing him whole. The others debate who’s next. Jasper squeezes my hand. “You sure you’re not scared?”
I grin, heart pounding, playing brave. “You wish.”
The sounds of laughter and screams echo down the dark corridor ahead.
I let a few people go ahead, then step through the curtain alone.
Darkness swallows me immediately. The air is chilly and smells like a fog machine and cheap rubber.
Shapes lurch from the shadows—screaming clowns, fake cobwebs, strobes that make my head spin.
I laugh once, nerves buzzing, then realize how truly alone I am in the maze of plywood and shadows.
My breaths come shallow and quick, the world tight and too loud.
And just when I see the silhouette of something not in costume but wearing a mask following me, a hand darts out from behind a gravestone and snags my wrist. I gasp, pulse jumping—until I see the glint of blonde hair and that wicked, shit-eating grin.
Riot pulls me behind a rotting coffin prop, pressing me up against the wall, his body flush to mine, the scent of him—soap, smoke, and faint cologne. His breath is hot against my mouth.
“I’ve wanted to do this for days, Sawyer,” he murmurs, voice so raw it scrapes down my spine. “Couldn’t wait another second.” His hand slides up my side, calloused thumb brushing my ribs, his hips pinning me, making it clear I’m not getting away.
And then his mouth crushes over mine. It’s not wild at first, but slow and claiming—his lips moving over mine like he’s got all night to savor me, tongue teasing and then tangling with mine.
His fingers find my jaw, tilting my face for better access, and I melt for him, my fingers fisting tight in his shirt, dragging him closer, chasing more.
Every touch is lightning, every kiss pulling the fear out of my chest and replacing it with a dangerous hunger.
My breath catches. His hand comes up, fingers tracing my jaw as he pulls away. He leans his forehead against mine. “You scared?” He teases, lips brushing my ear. “Or is that just your heart racing for me?”
His body’s all heat and danger, crowding out every thought but him. I can barely answer, caught between his mouth and the adrenaline. “Both,” I whisper, letting my hips rock against him, just enough to make his grip tighten.