Page 68 of Hymns of the Broken

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he drawls, leaning closer, the stench of beer on his breath making me want to gag. “Girls like you don’t walk around dressed like that unless you want attention.” His free hand lifts—heading for my hip.

That’s when a voice slices through the chaos. Low. Cold. Deadly.

“She’s with me, asshole.”

Riot is suddenly there—towering, sharp edges and wild energy, eyes locked on the drunk guy like he’s already decided how to bury him.

The guy doesn’t let go of my wrist. Not yet. He just smirks and sizes Riot up, trying to look tough. “Yeah? Didn’t see your name on her. Maybe she’s just looking for someone better.”

Riot’s jaw ticks. “Try touching her again. See what happens.”

The guy grins, trying to puff out his chest. “Oh yeah? Or what?”

Riot’s smile is slow, vicious—like a wolf that’s already decided where to sink its teeth. “Or I’ll show you what happens when you don’t listen.”

The guy makes the mistake of brushing his hand down my arm, like he’s calling Riot’s bluff.

Bad move.

Riot’s fist snaps out in a blur, cracking across the guy’s jaw with a sound that makes the crowd around us go silent for half a second. The guy stumbles back, beer flying, blood already seeping into his split lip.

“Next time, keep your hands—and your mouth—to yourself.”

Holy fuck.

The other guys back off fast, dragging their friend with them, cursing and promising revenge they’re never going to deliver.

Riot shakes out his hand, flexing his knuckles. “Sorry you had to see that. Some people need to be reminded where the line is.”

I’m still stunned, heart racing, adrenaline burning in my veins. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

He gives me a look—half wild, half soft. “Anytime. Nobody touches you unless you say so. Got it?”

His hand settles at my lower back, possessive without squeezing, and my body does that traitorous lean it shouldn’t. The worst part is how my mind splits clean down the middle: half of me reaching for Jasper’s gravity, the other catching on Riot’s heat. Jasper feels like inevitability—like the moment before lightning strikes. Riot feels like ignition—spark on tinder, fast and reckless. I tell myself I can choose, but the truth is both pulls are real, and both terrify me for different reasons.

“Let’s get you somewhere safer. Stick close, Hellcat. I don’t wanna have to hit anyone else, but I will.”

For the first time, I see Riot as more than just a cocky drummer. There’s something darker there—something that makes me wonder what would happen if Jasper ever saw him like this. I brush past Riot, pretending I’m not still buzzing from the way he stepped in—like I haven’t seen worse at home, like I couldn’t have handled it myself. But watching him crack that guy right in the jaw was…distracting. Way too distracting.

He glances over at me—hat backwards, hair a mess, arms bare and inked, a fresh scrape on his knuckle. He should look like trouble. Instead, he looks like temptation with a pulse—wild, cocky, all that charge aimed right at me. My brain whispers Jasper, my body answers Riot, and I hate how true both feel.

I try to shake it off, but my mind keeps circling back:Riot in a sleeveless tee, muscles tight, cap backwards, and eyes blazing, grin sharp as knives. He looked like he belonged in the middle of a fight, born for chaos. And I liked it. God, I liked it more than I should have.

Jasper’s brand of danger lives in the quiet words he puts against my throat. Riot’s lives in his fists and his laugh and the way he blocks the world with his body. Different weapons. Same effect.

He catches me looking, and his mouth tilts up. “See something you like, Hellcat.”

I scoff, but my cheeks betray me. “Please. I was making sure you didn’t break your hand, drama queen.”

He wiggles his fingers, still flexing from the punch. “All good. But if you wanna kiss it better, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Keep dreaming, Riot.”

He leans in close, drops his voice. “I do.”

Heat licks up my spine. I push past him, pretending my skin isn’t burning, pretending I’m not already imagining what it would feel like if he said that somewhere private—if he backed me into a wall the way Jasper did, if I’d let him. The awful, honest part of me answers yes before I can swallow it.

Riot falls in at my side, grinning like he knows exactly where my head’s at. Maybe he does. Maybe they both do. Jasper feels like a cliff I’m already falling from; Riot feels like learning I can fly on the way down.