Page 63 of Vengeful Melodies

Kaiser glances toward the front. “You were watching her?”

Takoa doesn’t answer. Just keeps driving like the question never happened.

Bash whistles low. “Damn.”

The silence creeps back in, but it’s heavier now. Loaded.

I try to breathe past the lump in my throat. My fingers tighten around my phone—promo drafts half-finished on the screen, a still frame of Kaiser mid-scream frozen like a confession.

And then Kaiser speaks again, voice softer this time. “It’s weird, right? Three weeks. We barely know each other.”

“But it feels like…” Bash trails off, shaking his head, exhaling like the thought costs him something.

I don’t look at either of them.

Because I feel it too.

That pull.

The same one I keep trying to ignore but can't shake. The one that coils tighter with every look, every lyric, every moment I breathe them in like they’re already under my skin.

“You okay, Siren?” Kaiser asks gently, nudging my knee with his.

I nod once. “Yeah.”

Bash leans closer, voice playful but lined with something quieter. “You sure? You look like you’re about to jump out the window.”

I smirk. “That obvious?”

They both laugh. The tension breaks just slightly—but not completely.

Takoa makes a turn, pulling onto a road lined with tall palms and shuttered storefronts glowing under neon light. The hotel isn’t far now. The world outside rushes by in a blur, but in here? It’s slow. Molten. Like time’s holding its breath along with me.

In the front seat, Alix glances back, ash glowing at the tip of his cigarette. “We writing a new song or a fucked-up love triangle back there?”

“Quadrangle,” Kaiser corrects, grinning.

“Pentagon,” Bash throws in, pointing toward the front. “Don’t forget Mr. Broody at the wheel.”

Takoa says nothing.

But I swear I catch the slightest smirk tug at his lips in the rearview mirror.

And me? I just sit there—heart thudding, pulse wrecked—realizing I’m already too deep.

And I haven’t even stepped foot in the hotel yet.

Silent prayers for liquid courage from the alcohol I found with a note from Wren, without his room number in case of emergencies scratched in a messy scribble.

Always the greatest wingman.

The SUV jerks to a stop in front of the towering Hilton, neon lights casting flickering halos against the black paint. Before I can even unbuckle, the back door swings open and Kaiser’s voice hits me like a dare. “Time’s up, sweetheart.”

I yelp as he scoops me up, arms strong beneath my thighs and back, holding me like I weigh nothing. My head falls back in a burst of laughter, the sudden rush of being lifted making my heart stutter against my ribs.

“Put me down, you maniac!”

"Nope,” he grins, hoisting me tighter to his chest as Bash cackles and jumps out behind us. “Presidential treatment, remember? Little Songbird.”