Chapter 11
chapter
eleven
“Some people write love songs. Others bleed them.” – Cyrus
CYRUS
The roar of the crowd is a fucking drug. It slides down my spine and settles in my bloodstream. Lights scorch my skin, and the bass rattles my bones. Sweat drips down the back of my neck and off my jaw. For a few precious minutes, I’m not broken. I’m not sick. I’m not haunted.
I’m alive.
Every lyric is a vein splitting open. Every note bleeds not just for the crowd, but for her…Haven. So fitting that the song I’m finishing the show with is one I wrote about her, My Devastation.
Kiss me with your lies,
and I’ll swallow every sin.
Touch me like you mean it,
and I’ll cut myself open and let the light dim.
The crowd howls like wolves. The floor vibrates under my boots, and I can feel the power surge through me like I’m plugged into a socket as I belt out the chorus. The music softens, the drums and bass like an intimate kiss as I sing the next verse.
We were a car crash,
a lullaby that screamed,
and I still crave the echo
of the sound we used to be.
I saunter across the stage as the music picks up once more for the chorus.
I’m a king,
I’m a sinner,
I’m a god,
I’m a ghost.
I’m everything and nothing—and she made me both.
My voice shreds the last line as I pour everything into it. It’s all the same. The fans scream my name like I’m the second coming of chaos, and yet somehow their savior. Maybe I am. All I know is that as much as I hate being on the road and the fakeness of it all, the stage feels like home.
The lights are blinding white and gold. The crowd is so loud that I can barely hear anything else.
Vex rips into his solo. Eren’s bass hums like thunder. Ash is the heartbeat on drums. Ledger’s synths are the echoes that linger after the storm.
We aren’t a band tonight. We’re an execution.
And then I feel her. Haven. She’s been standing just off stage left, out of view. She steps forward, and the lights cast her in a soft red glow. She’s half-shadow, half-temptation, arms crossed, eyes on me. A sniper waiting for a reason to pull the trigger.
I glance her way and bite my lip. The black shirt she’s wearing with the band logo spread across her chest punches the air right out of me. Jeans hug every perfect line of her body, and combat boots with a cute heel are planted like she’s ready for anything that comes. Fuck she’s beautiful.
For a split second, I forget the next lyric. My voice catches, just enough for the band to hear, but I push through, louder, harder, meaner to finish the ballad. If Haven thinks she can break me, she’s wrong. Not tonight.
Tonight, I use the knife she left in me as a mic and make it sing. Turning toward her, our gazes lock, and I pour everything I’ve got left into the last verse. Every regret, every sin, every scar she carved.
I let her have it.
You never said a word,
just watched the lights go out.
Now every time I breathe,
I taste the ashes of your mouth.
The crowd explodes as I sing the chorus one last time. The noise is a wave, and I let it drown me and cleanse me of all the pain for a few minutes. As Vex finishes the final chord, I grin and drop the mic like a gavel. I march off the stage like I just won something.
Haven’s still in the same spot when I pass. Still watching me, chin high, pretending she’s unaffected, but I see it. There is a slight tremor in her jaw, and a storm in her eyes as she watches me. Stopping, I lean close enough for her to feel the heat coming off me.
“Did you enjoy the show, Butterfly?”
She doesn’t answer.
With a smirk, I walk on and wrap my arm around Ash’s shoulders.
We head straight to the VIP room, where we’ll spend the next hour.
It’s complete mayhem, people screaming and girls fainting.
The room is full of perfume, smoke, and laughter.
A mess of long legs and red lips, influencers trying too hard, and models draped across leather couches like set decorations.
Usually, I don’t stay long. Just sign some swag, smile, take a few selfies, and then disappear. Not tonight.
Tonight, I let it consume me. Let the girls pull me in, their arms wrapping around me. Phone cameras flash. The laughter is too loud. Someone whispers in my ear, but I don’t hear the words.
And then I feel her. I don’t have to look to know Haven’s here. Her stare burns hotter than the lights, drawing my eyes immediately.
She’s across the room, standing with her arms crossed.
Her expression has shifted. It isn’t just fury, it’s a dangerous mix of jealousy and perfectly curated control.
The kind of look that used to make me lose my goddamn mind.
And fuck it still does, but…instead of showing it, I raise my glass in a mock toast.
I grab the model closest to me and pull her into my lap just for Haven’s benefit.
The girl laughs and presses her lips to mine.
And yeah, I kiss her back, because I love that Haven’s watching.
I want her jealous. I want her angry. Because I’m an asshole and a masochist and I want her reaction like I want air.
When I pull away, the room is still spinning with noise and bubbling activity, but Haven is gone.
Fuck.
Oh no, she doesn’t get to escape that easily.
HAVEN
Of course, he has to be brilliant. Arrogant, chaotic, impossible, but fucking brilliant.
I watch him from the wings, arms wrapped around myself so tightly my shoulders ache.
The crowd screams his name, and he feeds on it like he’s starving.
It has been so long since I let myself listen to his music, let myself feel the words, and soak in the sound. I forgot how much I love it.
Cyrus Vale is every bad decision I ever made set to a beat. The lights flash, catching the sweat on his chest, the veins in his arms, the wild look in his eyes. And damn him, I still feel it—the pull. That dangerous gravity that always drags me back.
We were a car crash,
a lullaby that screamed,
He sings the words like a blade sliding under my ribs. Like he’s confessing and accusing me at the same time.
When his gaze meets mine, everything else disappears. His voice catches, not much, but enough for me to hear it. Enough for me to know he sees me, and it shouldn’t get to me, but it does…he does.
He sings harder after that. Fiercer as he stares at me like he can get me to leave if he screams loud enough. Good luck with that.
The crowd loses its mind when he ends the song. They reach for him like he’s their salvation. I know better. He’s destruction gift-wrapped in a sexy exterior, like a chocolate bar with a creamy cyanide filling.
He stops as he passes me, leaning in close enough that his breath skims my ear.
“Did you enjoy the show, Butterfly?”
I freeze. That goddamn nickname. The one he gave me the night before I left, when he ripped my heart from my chest for the last damn time.
I always look away when I see a butterfly, despite having a massive one tattooed on my back.
Which I don’t need to be analyzed to know is a whole other fucking issue.
I don’t move or give him the satisfaction of seeing that he got under my skin. I wait until he’s gone, until the applause fades into static, until the audience is filing out.
Then, I follow the band to the VIP room, against every ounce of logic I have left. Not because I want to, but because I know him. He’s a grenade with a smile, and someone has to make sure he doesn’t pull the pin on another disaster. Besides I can film some of it to use for socials.
The VIP room glows a dark green, highlighting the word Venomous projected on the wall.
There are bodies everywhere, while champagne and sexual energy flow from every corner.
I was never a fan of this part. Not that I went to any shows this size, but Patrick, sometimes invited me to watch from the wings with him.
And even back then, after the gig at much smaller venues, five to ten girls would run up to the guys and hang all over them.
It doesn’t take much to find Cy. He is being totally himself. Laughing, smirking, and letting women drape themselves on him like he’s a conquering hero. Rage burns hot in my stomach. He looks over and smiles, and I can see it in his eyes. The challenge, the push to get under my skin.
He’s doing this on purpose. I can tell by the way he keeps glancing my way. By the grin tugging at his mouth every time I tense. It is exactly what he did when we were younger. He would purposely flaunt my old friends including Patrick, his new girlfriends, and fuck buddies under my nose.
Cyrus pulls one of the random groupies into his lap. She grabs him and kisses him. Deep, open-mouthed and disgusting. I turn and leave before they finish. I’m not giving him that satisfaction.
I make it halfway down the hall before I hear him behind me, and my teeth grind together.
“Hey.”
I keep walking.
“Don’t walk away from me, Haven.”
His voice is commanding, angry, and far too familiar. I feel like I am reliving a bad movie.
“Go away, Cyrus. I have no time for you and your petty bullshit anymore,” I growl, not bothering to look back.
“You’ve got a hell of a nerve,” he says. “Showing up here and acting all high and mighty. Making it seem like I’m some villain,” Cyrus says just as we reach the dressing room.
That stops me cold. I spin around, every old wound flaring back to life.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’ve always had a problem with me. I’m not acting high and mighty. I’m just no longer letting you push me around. You have always been and will always be a total asshole who thinks he is God’s gift to the world. News flash, you’re not. At least not to me.”
I march into the dressing room and Declan is there, mid-call, eyes wide as Cyrus storms in behind me.
“Out,” Cyrus orders Declan, but he doesn’t look away.
“Cyrus, I—”
“I said get out and close the fucking door.”
“No, leave it open,” I call after Declan, but he slams it shut.
Great. I glance around and feel like I just willingly stepped into a trap.
“What the hell do you want?”
Cy stalks me, and my feet instinctively move back until I hit the wall with a thud. Like a cage closing in, a hand lands on the wall on either side of my body.
“You think you can just walk away from me? You think you can pretend nothing ever happened.”
I laugh once, and it is laced with a bitterness that I can taste on my tongue.
“Nothing happened worth remembering.”
The heat from his body is penetrating through my clothes. Damn him.
“Bullshit,” he growls. “I’m still in your head. The same way you’re in mine. Just admit it.”
The air thickens around us, and stupidly, my pulse jumps. His proximity does things to me that I don’t want to admit. It always has. I used to try and stop it every way I knew how, and none of it helped. Five years later, I thought I was past this crap.
“Fuck, you’re still under my skin.” He leans in closer and breathes in, making me shiver. “All sweet blueberries and temptation. My Butterfly.”
“That’s a you problem,” I bite out. “Now back off.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he steps in so close that our chests brush. The dark scent of his cologne still sticks to his skin and mixes with the intoxicating sin that he is. It wraps around me until I can barely think, and I hate him for it.
“Understand this, Haven…you never stopped being mine. I just let you think you got away,” he whispers, and all the hair stands on the back of my neck.
I choke out a humorless laugh. “Sure, like I believe that.”
“Careful, Butterfly.” Cy grips my chin in his hand and runs his thumb over my lower lip. “You sound like you want me to prove it. I will. I’ll bend you over that couch right now.”
What the fuck?
I try to pull my head away, but he holds me tighter. I’m tempted to hit him, but I know it will only escalate things further.
“Rot in hell, Cy. And stop calling me that.”
“So feisty…” He smirks with amusement, and my heart goes crazy under my ribcage. “I never wanted you to go to New York.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Excuse me if I have a hard time believing you. Why are you in here anyway? Didn’t you just have your tongue down a groupie’s throat, playing tonsil hockey?”
“You know why I did that,” he says, and a shadow crosses his face and turns my blood molten. I’m sure it is going to burn right through me, and I’ll end up a puddle on the floor.
“I don’t care. I stopped caring the moment I left for New York.” Liar. A little voice in my mind hisses at me.
He tilts his head, eyes gleaming.
“You’ve always been a terrible liar. I can see that you want me. You’ve never been able to hide it from me.” He leans in until his forehead almost touches mine. “You’re shaking.”
“Because I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
His voice drops lower. I can feel his breath ghost against my mouth. The air between us hums. My body remembers every inch of him, every mistake I swore I’d never make again.
“I do,” I whisper.
“Who are you trying to convince?” His tongue runs along his bottom lip. It’s barely movement, but it’s enough to short-circuit every rational thought I have left. “Why don’t we check?”
Fuck. This is dangerous. He is dangerous. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. The tension is an electric wire between us, and one wrong move will set it ablaze.
Cy grabs the front of my jeans, and I panic.
So, I do the only thing that can stop it.
“Why are you doing this now when I’m engaged,” I ask, tossing the words between us like a grenade.
The explosion is instant.
He freezes. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“I’m engaged. How do you not know that? I have been for three months, and both my father and your mother know about it.”
“No, you’re lying,” he says, like he’s calling my bluff.
I snort. “You just said I’m a terrible liar. Do I look like I’m lying? I’m engaged, Cyrus, and this…whatever you think it is…isn’t real.”
Despite wanting to remain firm, my voice cracks.
Cy looks at me like I’ve just taken a blade to his chest. The pain is bright before he shuts it down completely, which confuses the hell out of me. He releases me and steps back.
Then he walks out without saying another word. No argument or yelling. No congratulations. Just nothing. Instead, he leaves me with the haunting sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears.
I walk over and sit down on the couch. The weight of everything presses in on me. Is this a mistake? Thinking I can come back and stay detached. Thinking I can survive him again. Thinking that I won’t care what he does or says. Am I fooling myself?
Yes. The voice taunts.
My phone buzzes. My father’s name lights up the screen. Perfect fucking timing. The man who tossed me in this cage and put a lock on the door.