Page 42 of Vengeful Melodies

“You’re not afraid of what this could turn into?” Kaiser asks finally.

“Terrified,” I admit, unapologetic. “But fear never stopped the hurt before. It didn’t stop the bruises, or the screaming. So now? I’d rather burn than bleed in silence.”

Bash lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna wreck us.”

“That’s the point.”

I rise, letting the hoodie swing against my thighs, my movements unhurried. As I pass Bash, I tuck his lighter back into his pocket without breaking stride. The gesture’s casual, but I know he feels the heat of it.

When I reach the RV door, I let the silence stretch one last time, then straighten, turning toward the door. My hand lingers on the frame, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. I glance back at them, letting my smile curve slow and knowing.

“Sweet dreams, boys. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Then I disappear inside, leaving them with nothing but smoke in the air and my words stuck between their teeth.

Because tonight, I buried the woman Bradley controlled. The woman David hurt. And what’s left is the fire they’ll have to survive.

Chapter Seventeen

Takoa

The name’s gospel in my mouth, and her body’s the heresy I’d bleed to commit.

The pen digs into my fingers, pressing scripture into paper that’s already bleeding under the ink. Every line feels like it’s coming from someplace unholy.

It’s November 26th, the rain long gone but the air still damp enough to taste.

The RV hums faintly under us, parked in Remington like it’s holding its breath.

Her scent hasn’t left — that mix of skin-warm perfume and sweat — heavy and alive, clinging to me like I’m wearing it.

Bash sits across from me, guitar against his thigh. He strums slow and heavy, the sound dragging like a funeral march. Four chords, over and over, until they start to feel sacred in the wrongway. The hymn is there in the bones of it — bent, warped, stained with the kind of worship that leaves bite marks.

Kaiser leans back in his seat, tapping steady against his leg. Not fast — heartbeat-steady — like the pulse you feel in your throat when you’re begging for something you shouldn’t want.

From the back of the RV, the faint blue flicker of the TV spills into the hallway. The door to her room’s cracked just enough for sound to slip through — a creak of bed springs, a slow shift of weight. My hand clenches around the pen. Alix is in there with her. Sleeping, probably. Or maybe not.

I start writing. The words spill faster than I breathe.

She’s the breath before the drop,

The prayer before the blade,

The altar and the sin,

The reason I stay unmade.

Bash slides higher on the fretboard, dirtier, letting the note ring until it vibrates in my ribs.

Kaiser’s still tapping, now with two fingers, locking into the groove.

Another creak from the back.

A faint exhale that’s not mine.

It shreds my concentration and feeds it all at once.

Kneel before the breaking,