Page 19 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Dreya

I don’t sleep. Not really.

My head presses hard against the cold bus window, the glass slick with the faintest drizzle of early morning rain. Outside, the world blurs into streaks of gray and neon—street lamps flicker dimly in the fog and twilight. Wet asphalt flashes beneath the tires, swallowing everything behind us.

Inside, the bus is still. Quiet except for the soft hum of the engine and the rhythmic creak of tires rolling over pavement.

Jack lies curled against my legs, warm and steady.

I pulled the oversized blanket around us this morning, hoping it would shield me from the cold creeping in and the relentless spinning inside my head.

But blankets don’t hold back memories. They don’t drown the taste of him still lingering on my lips.

I brush my fingers across my mouth. The faint mint of toothpaste can’t erase the sharp tang of last night—his mouth on mine, the rough scrape of stubble against my skin, the heat that refused to quit long after we pulled apart.

My skin still aches, raw in places I’d forgotten existed—fingers, thighs, ribs—traces of him marked me like a brutal confession. Those scratches weren’t accidents. They were promises made with teeth and nails.

I breathe deep, tracing invisible lines my mind keeps redrawing. I’m supposed to feel victory—he chose to stay with me last night, held me close in the dark after the chaos, after everything.

But all I feel is chaos clawing at my insides like a feral animal desperate to break free.

The bus jolts slightly and I squeeze my knees tighter to my chest, pressing my forehead into my shins. I want to run, disappear into the empty spaces between the seats, slip out the back door, vanish into the cold morning.

But Jack’s quiet breathing pulls me back. He’s the only thing steady—his furry warmth pressed against my ankle, reminding me that somewhere inside this mess, I still belong.

Soft footsteps on metal make me freeze. The sliding door opens with a whisper.

I don’t look up. I don’t have to.

Takoa sits a few feet away, careful not to crowd me. Legs stretched out, elbows resting on knees, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. The faint scent of chamomile drifts to me, soothing in a way I didn’t know I needed.

Always quiet. Always watching.

Jack doesn’t stir. Silence curls around us—fragile as glass, ready to shatter.

“You weren’t in your bed,” Takoa says softly, voice steady.

I shrug, staring back out at the rain, watching the world blur into a watercolor wash of gray and black.

He doesn’t push. Just sips his tea slowly.

“You left Alix.”

Finally, I glance over. “Keeping tabs now?”

“No.” His voice stays calm. “Trying to understand.”

I want to tell him there’s nothing to understand. Last night was just heat, adrenaline, chaos—all the things swirling when you’re on tour, living in stolen moments between cities and songs.

But I don’t.

“There’s nothing to understand,” I say brittlely. “Just heat. Tour adrenaline. Nothing more.”

Takoa tilts his head, eyes unreadable.

“You sure about that?”

My mouth opens, then closes. The words get stuck in my throat, tangled in fear and hope and everything I don’t want to admit.

I’m not sure anymore.

Not about anything.

Especially not why I keep chasing men who’ve already seen the darkest parts of me—parts I thought I’d hidden forever.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “Any of it.”

He nods like he expected that.

“That’s okay,” he says gently. “We’re not asking you to.”

I laugh—short, bitter, sharp like broken glass.

“Aren’t you though? You gave me this job, this chance to be here. You don’t owe me anything. But I owe you everything.”

My breath stutters as I try to hold myself together.

They have so much power over my life—over what comes next. We’ve barely been on the road a day, and I’m already tangled in something too sharp, too fast, too everything.

What if I ruin it? What if I’m reading it all wrong?

We barely know each other—strangers, really. And yet my soul feels like it remembers theirs. Like it’s been waiting for this collision my whole life.

But what if I don’t belong? What if I fuck it all up and end up alone again? Surrounded by silence where something beautiful should have been?

My throat tightens until I can barely breathe.

“What if I’m not the right fit?” I choke out. “You guys have so much at stake, and I…” Words fail me. “I don’t even trust myself right now. How can you?”

“No,” Takoa says softly. “We’re not asking you to be sure. We’re hoping you’ll stay. And maybe, when you’re ready—you’ll give yourself the faith you deserve.”

My eyes sting. Damn him. Damn his patience. His eyes like dusk and understanding.

“I don’t want to be a mistake,” I whisper, hating how small I sound.

“You’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re the reason we’re still here.”

The lump in my throat swells and my voice cracks.

“I’m scared.”

He doesn’t reach for me or try to fix the broken pieces.

He just leans forward, elbows on knees, voice steady and low.

“Then let’s be scared together. Take it slow. No more lines blurred unless you draw them.”

I look at him. Really look.

No seduction in his eyes. No hunger ready to devour me.

Just want.

Steady. Patient. Present.

“I don’t want to break this,” I murmur.

His smile is small and fragile—like glass ready to shatter.

“Then don’t. Just… build it differently.”

I let those words settle like an anchor instead of a weight.

For the first time in forever, I breathe.

The bus shudders as the miles pass beneath us, wet asphalt stretching out in front.

Takoa opens the worn book— Beast of the Briar by Helen Elizabeth—its cover softened by time, the pages whispering secrets.

“You ever read this?” he asks softly.

I shake my head, fingers tracing the spine.

“It’s a dark retelling of Beauty and the Beast, ” he says, “but with a twist. It’s a why choose story—a reverse harem, where the beauty doesn’t have to pick just one beast. She’s pulled between multiple kings, each with his own darkness and desire.”

The idea settles over me like smoke curling around a flame.

Because it’s not just Alix I want.

There’s Bash—the wild fire that could consume or save me.

Kaiser—the steady shadow holding all the chaos together.

And Takoa—quiet, patient, watching like he’s waiting for me to catch up.

I swallow hard, the weight of it all pressing down.

“What if I want them all?” I whisper, barely daring to speak it.

Takoa’s eyes don’t flicker.

“Then you don’t have to choose.”

The truth hums between us, fierce and raw.

The music from the living room bleeds through the cracked studio doors—the haunting rhythm of drums, the scrape of strings—telling stories of broken kings and the beauty brave enough to hold them all.

I’m standing in the fire, surrounded by beasts, knowing that sometimes the greatest power lies in burning every rule.