Chapter 21 #2
The world narrows—me, Silas, the thump of my heart, the cold weight of the gun.
BANG.
The kick jolts me harder than expected.
“You alright?” he asks instantly.
I force my eyes open, look at the target. Not dead center—but close. Way closer than I thought.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, adrenaline dizzying.
Silas lifts a brow. “Not bad.” His tone softens, almost reverent. “You were always going to survive, weren’t you?”
Something twists in my chest as I glance at him—at the lines carved deep into his face. And for the first time, I wonder how much of him has survived.
I steady my grip, fire again. Another crack, another rush. This one lands just right of center. My nerves spark, electric.
“Damn,” a voice drawls behind me, lazy and low. “Remind me not to piss you off, baby.”
I turn.
Riot struts up with that untouchable swagger—tattoos flexing under a sleeveless shirt, backwards hat low, smirk hooked sharp into his mouth. His eyes sweep from the target to me, pride radiating off him like heat.
“That grouping’s tight,” he says, giving me a look that makes my knees weaken. “Sure you haven’t done this before?”
I shrug, coy. “Silas said I’m a natural.”
Riot snorts. “Silas says that about his cat.”
Silas flips him off, but Riot’s already grabbing a pistol. Three shots ring out—chest, head, head. Flawless.
He spins the gun like a showman, lips curled in a grin. “Guess we’re both naturals.”
“Show-off,” Silas groans.
But the air changes.
I feel it before I see him. A prickle at the back of my neck.
Jasper.
He leans against a tree, arms crossed, black shirt clinging to muscle. Not watching the targets. Eyes always on me.
Slow, deliberate, he steps forward. Picks up earmuffs, a gun. No words. Just presence.
“How long have you been out here?” His voice is low, dangerous heat wrapped in velvet.
I arch a brow, aiming for casual. “Long enough to collect enemies.”
His mouth almost twitches. Almost.
And then—
“YO!” Macee’s voice slices the tension, sparkling and chaotic. “Are you people playing war games without me?”
We all turn.
She struts down the hill barefoot, oversized sunglasses on, iced coffee in hand, towel slung over her shoulder like she’s starring in a crime drama.
Behind her? Ash and Jace barrel down the slope, yelling like kids chasing the ice cream truck.
“I call shotgun!” Ash yells, tripping over a root.
“It’s not a car, dumbass!” Jace shouts back.
Macee barely breaks stride, holding her drink aloft like a queen. “Whatever’s happening, it better involve chaos or shirtless distractions.”
Riot lifts his shirt, flashing abs and ink. “We’ve got both.”
Ash skids to a stop, panting. “Do I get points if I shoot blindfolded?”
“Only if you want to lose an eyebrow,” Silas mutters, snatching the gun from him.
Jace flops onto the grass, eyes glittering at the lineup of weapons.
Macee sips her coffee, side-eyes me. “Sawyer, are you turning this into a battle of the bands or a battle of grave decisions?”
I shrug, lips curling. “Why not both?”
Laughter explodes—loud, wild, too much for a morning after the world’s shifted beneath us.
But Jasper doesn’t laugh.
He’s still watching me—heat and thunder brewing in his eyes. Mouth set in a perfect, unreadable line.
Like he’s not just looking at me. He’s seeing me.
Like I’m not just part of the game. I’m the weapon.
And for the first time, I want to be.
For him.
For Riot.
For me.
For all of us.
JASPER
Dinner was chaos.
The kind I usually have patience for.
But not tonight.
Not with Sawyer in that soft, fitted tank, the neckline low enough to make my fists curl tight under the table.
Not with Riot leaning across the plates, grinning at her like he invented sin.
And not with Ash and Jace practically killing each other for scraps of Macee’s attention—loud enough to make the chandelier rattle overhead.
By the time we file into the theater, I’m so tightly wound it’s a miracle I don’t snap in half.
I take the seat beside Sawyer. Legs spread, arm slung over the back, drink in one hand. Her shoulder brushes mine, and my jaw locks. It doesn’t matter how close I get—it’ll never be close enough.
She’s laughing at something Macee said. That sound—Christ. It unravels me every damn time.
Riot flops into the seat on her other side like he owns the spot. He doesn’t even look at me as he tosses a blanket over Sawyer’s bare legs.
“For warmth,” he says, smug.
Then leans in close, breath tickling her ear—“Mostly.”
I shoot him a glare, but he meets it head-on, holding my eyes like he wants me to swing.
I don’t give him the satisfaction.
“You cold, Riot?” My voice stays even, flat. “Want me to grab you one of those lavender-scented heating pads you probably keep stashed in your bunk?”
He grins. “Nah. Just keeping our girl warm.”
My teeth grind hard enough to ache.
Our girl.
He says it like it’s settled. Like I haven’t been bleeding for her since the second she walked on this tour. Like he’s earned something he only just wanted.
His shoulder brushes hers again, and for a split second, she shifts toward him. Away from me.
It burns.
It scorches.
But then—she comes back.
She settles right between us, her leg pressing into mine. Her hand finds my thigh for just a heartbeat. Just long enough to remind me—she’s still here. Still choosing both. Maybe… still choosing me.
That single touch grounds me. Cuts through the noise, the jealousy, the urge to tear the world apart.
Most of the worries clawing at me drop into the background.
For now.
The lights go down, blood-red letters slash across the screen. It’s some trash horror flick that Ash insisted on. Screams echo through the darkness, and Macee’s already talking shit like she gets paid to narrate chaos.
“Ten bucks says the cheerleader dies first,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Ash, never missing a chance to be gross, adds, “Double if she dies topless.”
Macee flips him off.
Sawyer laughs, snorting into her drink. Riot’s shoulders shake beside her.
But I’m not laughing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Riot’s hand slide toward her thigh.
I catch the way her breath hitches. Every tiny jolt, the way her legs shift, the shiver that moves up her body as his fingers roam. I don’t have to look. I can read every inch of her with just my ears, my instincts, my pulse pounding in my throat.
My hand curls around the armrest, knuckles white. I could break the fucking thing in half if I tried.
I lean in, my voice a low rumble just for her. “You good, Trouble?”
She glances at me, lips parted, eyes wide and shining in the flicker from the screen. She nods, whispering, “I’m fine.” But I see the hesitation, the heat in her eyes, and the way her fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket.
I don’t smile.
I know that look.
I know what she’s feeling; I know what’s happening inside her brain. Wanting to surrender to the idea of getting caught, waiting for one of us to tip her over the edge.
And if Riot thinks I’m just gonna sit here and let him be the one to do it?
He’s out of his fucking mind.
SAWYER
Riot’s hand is resting on his thigh at first, innocent enough. Until the blanket shifts and his fingers brush against mine, he doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even smirk—just stares at the screen like he isn’t tracing the back of my hand with his thumb, inching closer and closer.
My heart skips when his fingers slip beneath the edge of the blanket and land on my bare thigh.
I suck in a breath so soft only I can hear it. Or so I hope.
His touch is warm, and every stroke of his thumb feels like a dare.
But I don’t react; I just continue to try to focus on the movie… But right as the fire starts under my skin from Riot’s touch, Jasper’s hand finds me on the other side.
His palm is heavy, claiming all the space just above my knee and dragging upward, the pressure lighting me up from the inside.
I try to swat their hands away, but they just dig their fingers in as if saying, ’Nope, not going anywhere’.
My eyes snap back to the screen, pretending I’m paying attention, but the storyline has slipped away. All that’s left is heat, hands, and the tension that stretches so tight across my chest I swear I might break.
Riot’s fingers trace slow, lazy circles just above the edge of my shorts—teasing, maddening. Jasper’s touch is rougher, dragging higher until the hem feels like a joke, until my skin is lit up, every nerve sparking. I want to hide, but God, I want to be seen just as bad.
I shift, pressing my thighs together, but it only makes them bolder.
Riot leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “You doing okay, baby?”
God, that voice is a velvet threat wrapped around a promise I probably shouldn’t want. His fingers skate along the edge of my underwear, teasing, daring me to move, to react, to lose it here in front of everyone.
But I don’t even get the chance to answer. Jasper’s mouth brushes over the curve of my neck—hot, possessive, dangerous. “She’s fine,” he murmurs, the words half-growl, half-caress. “A little needy, maybe. But fine.”
My eyes flutter shut, a broken sound slipping from my throat. The movie’s still playing. Macee’s tossing popcorn at Jace. Someone’s laughing too loud. But all of that is background noise, drowned out by the feeling of being trapped between them—between fire and fury.
And I want it.
God help me, I want both of them..
I can’t seem to breathe—not the way a normal person should. My lungs are working, but it feels like I’m drowning in heat, in want, in them.
Jasper’s fingers drift higher, tracing the inside of my thigh. He pauses just long enough to make my pulse trip, then drags slow and firm right over my center—once. Just once. It’s enough to make every muscle in my body clench, like I’ve been plugged straight into a live wire.
And then he pulls back, casual, like he didn’t just set me on fire. His hand settles innocently on my thigh, as if nothing happened.