Page 21 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

Chapter Twenty One

Bash

Kaiser’s hands move expertly over the cutting board, slicing through grilled chicken with a practiced ease. The aroma of garlic and charred skin fills the bus’s living area, mixing with the low hum of Alix’s drum taps.

I lean against the counter, flashing my signature crooked grin. “You think Dreya’s dreaming about us right now? Or maybe just me? Gotta keep my title as the tour’s sexiest band member on and off stage.”

Kaiser shoots me a slow smirk, one brow arching. “You wish, blondie. But when I’m done with you on stage, you’ll be begging me to shut the fuck up.”

I laugh low and filthy. “Please, Kai. You’re lucky I’m distracted by that tight ass — otherwise I’d have you screaming for mercy before the first chord.”

Alix snorts, drumsticks tapping a slow, ominous rhythm on the counter. “Save the dirty talk for the show. Our fans get off on the way you two pretend to hate-fuck each other on stage but clearly want to rip each other’s clothes off backstage.”

I grin wider, eyes flashing. “Careful, drummer boy. If you keep talking like that, I might just come up there and grind against you mid-set. See how your precious rhythm holds up.”

Alix’s smirk deepens, eyes glittering with dark amusement. “We’re all fucked if that happens. You know they ship us hard — me as the dominant, you as the willing bottom.”

“True,” I say, voice dropping to a low growl, “but at least I’m a messy bottom with style.”

Kaiser laughs, tossing a piece of grilled chicken onto a plate with a sharp snap. “You think your jokes save you? I know exactly how to push your buttons—and it ain’t all playful.”

“Funny’s the only thing stopping me from snapping my own neck,” I mutter, the weight of it tightening like a noose. “Keeps the demons locked in the cage… at least for now.”

Alix’s smile fades, a flicker of something darker flashing behind his eyes. “We all got that demon riding shotgun, trying to wrestle the wheel away.”

“Yeah,” I say, voice tight as steel wire. “But some days, the demon’s got control—and I’m just hanging on for bloody dear life, praying I don’t crash.”

Kaiser’s hand lands on my shoulder, rough and grounding. “Then maybe it’s time to grab the wheel and grab the demon by the throat and crush the bastard. No more letting it drive.”

I nod slowly, the weight of his words settling in the pit of my stomach. “Yeah… maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to stop letting the darkness steer and start fighting back.”

The crooked grin creeps back, but it’s softer this time — less a mask, more a promise.

The smell of garlic butter and charred chicken hang heavy as we move around the bus, the weight of the night ahead settling like lead in my gut.

“Alright,” he says, “time to wake Sleeping Beauty.”

I lean over, voice low and teasing, careful not to startle her too much. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up—dinner’s waiting and so are the nightmares.”

Dreya blinks up at me, still tangled in sleep, hair wild like a storm just passed. Her eyes catch mine for a beat too long, and something tightens inside me—a mix of protectiveness and something I don’t want to name.

Kaiser’s chopping vegetables in the kitchenette, sharp and focused. “She’s been out cold since Takoa left. Can’t let her sleep through the best meal we’ve had on this damn bus.”

Alix taps a steady rhythm on his small practice drum, soft but insistent. The song we wrote last night hums beneath everything, like a heartbeat reminding us all what’s coming.

Dreya stretches, slow and deliberate, the dimple in her cheek flashing with a tired smirk. I grin back, stepping away to let her sit up. “Don’t think you’re getting out of eating with us just ’cause you were off in dreamland.”

She smirks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “I’m counting on you to save me the best bite.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fight Kaiser for the last piece,” I joke, nudging her shoulder. “Better bring your game face.”

She laughs—a real, soft sound—and I swear I hear the others soften around the edges. Kaiser shoots me a look that says, Don’t mess this up , but it’s laced with something almost like hope.

Alix smiles, the tension easing a little as he keeps tapping out that rhythm, the song a pulse in the cramped space. “That track we hammered out—it’s bleeding all of us. Broken, but real.”

Kaiser nods. “It’s the kind of song that could break or save us. Depends on how we play it.”

Bash—that’s me. Hiding behind jokes while the demons gnaw at my insides, reminding me this fight isn’t just with the crowd out there, but the storm raging within. It’s the fear of losing everything—of losing her —that’s finally forcing me to take back my happiness, no matter the cost.

Dreya steals a glance at me and I flash my usual crooked smile, but inside? It’s a mess of wanting to protect her from the darkness that fame brings and wanting to keep her close, even if it kills me.

Takoa’s absence is a ghost in the room, his quiet presence missed like a steady anchor.

We circle around the table, plates piled high, the bus rocking gently beneath us—the endless road stretching toward a show that’s more than just another gig.

And in this cramped, shaky world, with broken kings and a beauty who doesn’t want to choose, maybe, just maybe, we’re finding a kind of family.

The soft clatter of plates and the low murmur of voices fill the wide living area of the bus.

Takoa moves smoothly around the kitchen island, sliding a plate toward Dreya like it’s second nature—careful, precise.

It’s a quiet kind of control, but you can feel it.

She looks up at him, tired eyes flickering with gratitude.

Alix strolls over with a glass of water, setting it gently in front of her. “For the queen of the night,” he says with that sly smile, then settles nearby, tapping a steady rhythm on his small drum pad resting on the counter.

Kaiser moves between the open-plan kitchen and the dining table, making sure everyone has plates, forks, napkins—checking in with quick, subtle eye contact before slipping into the seat beside Dreya on her right.

I take the spot on her left, close enough for our arms to brush lightly as we reach for the food spread out before us.

Her hair shifts, and the soft glow from the LED strip lighting overhead reveals a faded scar curving along the side of her neck.

I catch myself watching—the way something so raw and unpolished hides beneath her softness.

Her lips part just slightly as she inhales deeply, like she’s swallowing down a nervous tremor beneath the surface.

Freckles sprinkle her cheeks, catching the gentle light, and the subtle scent she carries—earthy and faintly spicy, mingled with the clean freshness of the hoodie wrapped around her—wraps around me like a quiet magnet.

“You okay?” I murmur, keeping my voice low, just for her.

Her eyes meet mine. There’s a flicker of vulnerability mixed with something fierce. “Trying to be.”

Around us, the others chatter about the show—about the song we hammered out late last night still simmering in the air. There’s a buzz of hope and tension woven through every word.

I lean toward Kaiser with a smirk. “Hey, you saving me the last piece of that hellfire chicken or what?”

He grins, tossing me a look. “Golden retriever might be loyal, but I’m not sharing dinner, Bash.”

The room fills with laughter—easy, genuine, but layered beneath it all is something fragile. I keep stealing quick glances at Dreya—the way her fingers trace the rim of her plate, how she leans just enough into the moment while shadows swirl behind her eyes.

Takoa sits across the room, calm and quiet, watching like he’s cataloguing every breath and word.

This is our family. Raw, broken, tethered by something fierce.

And it’s not just the show I’m worried about.

It’s her.