Page 73 of Hymns of the Broken

His hand slides up my side, curling around the back of my neck. “You liked my lyrics? That song was for you. Every dirty word. Every fucking promise.” He leans in, mouth ghosting over my ear, voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “I meant it, Sawyer. I’m gonna make sure you can’t walk tomorrow. Gonna make sure you scream for me—let everyone on this tour know exactly who owns you.”

I shudder, nails digging into his arms, desperate and so fucking gone.

He smirks wickedly, wicked, the dark satisfaction of a man who knows he’s in complete control. “Did you drip for me out there, Little Demon? Soaking those little panties while I talked about fucking you in front of everyone?”

I’m already unraveling. His words hit like gasoline on open flame, and I swear my knees would buckle if he wasn’t pinning me to the crates.

He doesn’t just touch me—he claims me. Marks me with every word. And God help me…

I want it. All of it.

“Yeah, you did. Good girl.” He drags his thumb along my jaw, tilting my head so I can’t look anywhere but him. “You want to play games, tease me in front of all those people? That’s fine. Just remember, you started this. And tonight, you’re not getting out of here without my handprints on your ass and my cum running down your thighs.”

Someone shouts his name—distant, urgent. He ignores it, brushing his mouth over mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and hunger, then pulls back just enough for his breath to brush my lips.

“You wait for me,” he orders. “Don’t even think about touching yourself, Sawyer. That’s mine, too. When I’m done with you, you won’t remember your own name, only mine.”

He finally tears himself away, eyes promising everything filthy, everything I never knew I needed. I’m left shaking, panting, wet, and ruined before he even touches me like he wants.

And God, I can’t wait.

RIOT

Sometimes, I think Jasper was made for the stage, and the spotlight was born for him—like the universe cracked open just to let that bastard set fire to everything he touches. Tonight, he’s feral. Spitting lyrics that shouldn’t be legal, every verse filthier than the last, and all of it aimed at one person.

Sawyer.

And she fucking knows it, too. The way she watches him, lips parted, eyes wide and hungry, like she’s getting off on every promise he makes with the mic gripped in his fist. I watch her from behind some stacked equipment—catch the flush crawling up her neck, the way her knees press together. I want to grin, but all I feel is a sharp, ugly ache in my chest.

It’s a dare. Every word. And she answers with a look that says,’Come get me, if you think you can’. If it were anyone else, I’d call it a show. But with them, it’s war.

When the set ends, Jasper vanishes behind the stage. Sawyer slips after him, camera in hand, but her focus is already shattered. I know what’s about to happen. I tell the guys that I’ll be a minute, slip into the shadows, and watch the alley lights spill over them.

I hear everything.

Jasper’s voice promising her she won’t leave clean tonight. Telling her she’s his. Filthy, unfiltered—half threat, half worship. I hear Sawyer’s breath catch. She wants him to ruin her, and fuck, if I don’t want to be the next one in line.

I should leave. Instead, I watch Jasper crowd her up against the crates, mouth rough and desperate, hands everywhere like he’s trying to memorize the shape of her body by force. Sawyer melts for him, but she’s wild too—biting back, clawing, like she’ll never get enough.

And the whole time, all I can think of is,‘Goddamn, you should’ve let me play, too.’

I watch Jasper disappear, and I’m left in the dark, cursing under my breath. My dick’s already hard—just from listening to the way he talked to her, the way she sounded falling apart for him. It’s sick, maybe, but I can’t help it. With every dirty promise he made, I pictured myself in his place. Wrecking her. Ruining her.

Sawyer’s still pressed against the crates, breathing fast, skin flushed, lips swollen. She’s a fucking mess, and all I want to do is make it worse.

I step out of the shadows, a little breathless myself. “You okay, Hellcat?” My voice is softer than usual, but there’s a hunger I can’t hide. “He wreck you…or just get you started?”

She laughs, a raw, breathless sound. “Maybe both. I don’t know if I’m coming or going right now.”

I can’t help but smile, but there’s an ache underneath it. “I love seeing you like this—messy, wild, all undone. You don’t have to put yourself back together, not for me… I won’t lie to you, I was listening. Watching you and Jasper. Thinking about how it’d feel to make you beg for me instead.”

I reach out, brushing my knuckles along her cheek, then letting my thumb drag lightly over her bottom lip. “You know, if you ever need more, I can be gentle. Or I can be rough as hell. Whatever you want, Angel. I’ll ruin you sweetly…make you beg…or let you take me apart. All you’ve gotta do is say the word.”

She shivers, eyes locked on my mouth. “You talk a big game, Riot.”

I let my hand slip down, fingers tracing her jaw, then feathering across her throat, just barely touching. “No game, Sawyer. Not with you. I want to touch you until you forget anyone else’s name. Want to hear you fall apart for me—soft or filthy, I’m not picky.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, we’re both just there—caught in the space between wanting and acting. She leans in, lips brushing my ear.