Page 137 of Hymns of the Broken

Jasper:“Come to my room.”

Riot:“His room. Now.”

I stare at the screen, pulse hammering, legs trembling already.

Then I shove the blanket aside, bare feet hitting the floor, moving before I’ve even decided.

I don’t bother with panties.

RIOT

He won’t admit it, but he’s just as wrecked as I am. Jasper’s standing there shirtless, tattoos biting up his arms, every muscle in his body flexed with tension. His jaw’s locked so tight I bet he tastes blood. But I know—fuck, I know—he feels her crawling under his skin the same way I do. He just likes to pretend he’s above it.

Me? I’m sprawled on the edge of his bed, bare feet on the floor, leaning back on my hands with a cocky smirk tugging at my mouth. My cock is already leaking, tenting my sweats. I don’t care. Let her see. Iwanther to see exactly what she does to us.

She’s upstairs right now—I know it—reading every filthy word we sent. Getting wetter, getting braver. Probably has both hands on that sweet little pussy, biting her palm to keep quiet. The thought makes me twitch.

“You think she’ll come?”

His eyes cut to mine immediately. “You think she won’t?”

I chuckle low, dirty. “Nah. She’s halfway there already, thinking about both of us. Can’t even decide who she wants more—you or me.”

His flinch is small, but I see it. He masks it by grabbing his phone, thumb flying across the screen. No words. Doesn’t need any. We both know we’re throwing gasoline on the same fire, daring her to burn.

“She’s not walking in here steady,” I murmur, palming my cock, squeezing hard. My voice drips filth. “She’s gonna lose it when she sees us—me laid out waiting, you standing there like you’re ready to break her in half.”

Jasper rolls his eyes, but his throat works in a hard swallow. “She already lost it. This is just us collecting the pieces.”

The room goes still. Heavy. Like thunder waiting to crack the sky.

My cock throbs, aching, every second stretching longer. Then—footsteps. Soft. Climbing the stairs.

I sit up straighter, pulse kicking. Jasper coils tighter, every line of him wound, ready to strike.

The doorknob turns. His hands flex at his sides.

And just like that—

Game on.

Chapter 22

SAWYER

My heart’s beating out of my chest by the time I stop in front of Jasper’s door. I haven’t even touched the knob, and I already feel them on the other side—waiting, hunting, plotting what they’ll do to me when I walk in.

I twist the handle with trembling fingers. The door shuts softly behind me, sealing me in with all that tension.

And then I see them.

Riot sprawled across Jasper’s pillows like he owns the bed, legs wide, cock straining against his sweats in a way that makes my breath stumble. His gaze crawls up my body, slow and shameless, drinking in every inch of skin I forgot I was showing. That smirk—God, it’s pure sin. Like he’s already replaying every whimper from the movie, plotting how to drag louder, messier sounds out of me until I can’t breathe.

Jasper’s a study in contrast. He’s on his feet, broad shoulders rolled forward, tattoos cut in shadow and gold from the lamp. His jaw ticks, but it’s his eyes that undo me—dark, ravenous, obsessed. They pin me to the floor, strip me bare, make my knees threaten to give.

“Come here,” Jasper says quietly, the command curling around my throat like a silk noose.

My fingers shake, but I do what he says.