Page 71 of Hymns of the Broken

Blake’s face twists—anger, disbelief, a wounded pride that used to own me. Not anymore. He spits out a curse, shoving past us. “You’re fucking sick. Both of you.”

He stalks off, jaw clenched, eyes hot with betrayal.

I want to laugh. Or cry. Or maybe melt.

A beat passes. Riot’s got his hands on me, but Jasper’s energy shifts—hotter, sharper. He steps in front of me, blocking Riot’s touch from Blake’s retreating back. Then he turns on Riot, voice as soft as a blade. “Hands off.”

Riot’s brow quirks, but he lifts his hands in mock surrender, playful and smug. “Relax, Reign. Only playing my part…unless...”

Jasper stares him down—possessive, territorial, but not angry, not really. “That’s the only time you get to touch her. You got to play your part. But don’t confuse it—she’s not a game. She’s mine, and I don’t plan on sharing.”

Riot grins, all teeth and trouble, but he steps back. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Well…maybe in my dreams.”

I let out a shaken laugh, adrenaline still thrumming as Jasper’s hand finds my waist again, this time pulling me to his side. No more games.

He kisses the top of my head, then low enough that only I hear, “Mine. You chose me. And I’ll make damn sure you never regret it.”

RIOT

The crowds are breaking up, but the electricity is still there—crackling between all three of us. I can taste it—sharp and sweet, in the space Sawyer fills between me and Jasper. The asshole, Blake, stomps off, but not before shooting me a look that says this isn’t over. I can’t help the grin that creeps up my face. Let him try.

Jasper’s got Sawyer locked against his side like he’d brand her if he could. He’s territorial as hell—and I get it. She’s fucking lightning, and anyone who gets close enough wants to get struck.

Sawyer glances over her shoulder, lips parted, cheeks pink from the adrenaline and chaos. There’s a question in her eyes—like she’s wondering what would happen if she let both of us cross the line. Like she wants to know.

“Don’t push it, Riot,” Jasper warns.

I laugh, all teeth. “No promises, Reign. She looks damn good with both of us touching her.”

Sawyer snorts, but her hand flies to my wrist, squeezing once—equal parts warning and invitation.

I press my lips to Sawyer’s ear. “He’s got claws, Hellcat. But you? You’re the fire. Don’t forget that.” She shivers, just a little, and leans into me. That’s enough to keep me thinking about her for hours.

Jasper finally breaks the standoff, tugging her away—his, for now. I watch them go, pretending I don’t care. But she looks over her shoulder, catches my eye, and for one heartbeat, I know she’s thinking about me, too.

JASPER

Backstage is a blur of cables, shouted orders, and the stink of old sweat and new nerves. I should think about set lists, gear, and what the hell we’re opening with.

Instead, all I can think about is Sawyer—her laugh still ringing in my head, the way she looked at me and then over her shoulder at Riot. Like a challenge. Like a dare.

Every muscle in my body is tight, barely contained. Riot’s words echo—‘she looks damn good with both of us touching her’. I almost put my fist through the wall. But Ididn’t. She wouldn’t want that. She’d probably laugh at me, call me out for being a caveman.

Ash breezes past, clapping me on the shoulder. “You good, Reign? Or do we need to send Riot to work out your attitude before the set?”

I give him a look that says I’m about two seconds from making this the shortest show of our career. He grins and disappears toward Silas at his drum kit.

Micah is grabbing Jace’s bass nearby, eyeing me over the neck. “Sawyer’s out there working. Don’t make a scene. She’ll get all the good shots if you keep your head.”

I nod, but the words barely land. I’m scanning the crowd, searching for the flash of her blue-green hair, the glint of her camera lens. She’s out there.

I sling my guitar over my shoulder, and let the tech drag me toward the right side of the stage. The lights drop, the crowd goes feral, and for a second, the only thing that exists is the pulse of bodies—my crowd, chanting my name.

But when I step on stage, it’s only Sawyer I’m looking for. I spot her right by the barricade, camera raised, eyes locked on me like I’m the only person in the world. That’s all I need.

Micah counts us in, and I let loose—screaming, howling, every lyric sharpened for her. I tear across the stage, every move reckless, dangerous, wild. I grab the mic, sweat running down my throat.

“How are we feeling tonight?”