Page 28 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

Chapter Twenty Eight

Dreya

I push the dressing room door open, keys jingling in my hand, Jack padding confidently at my heels like he owns the venue. The smell of sweat and alcohol hits me first—followed by the haze of something else I can’t quite name.

I step into it anyway.

Four pairs of eyes find me almost immediately.

Alix’s hand stills mid-stretch, like I caught him doing something far more intimate than just reaching for his drink.

Bash’s cocky grin returns like a mask snapping into place, but there’s something softer in his eyes, something searching.

Kaiser’s gaze lingers longer, slower, as if he can’t decide whether to tease me or swallow me whole.

And Takoa… he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches me like I’ve pulled the floor out from under him again.

I hold the keys up with a small, amused raise of my brow. “You boys forget we have a hotel waiting? Or are you too famous now to care about things like check-in times?”

Bash chuckles, low and hoarse. “We were… celebrating.”

“Clearly.” I glance at the array of emptied bottles and the dazed heat clinging to the air. “You look like the cover of a very tragic rock ballad.”

Alix leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking me like I’m part of a dream he hasn’t woken up from. “Where’ve you been, Darlin?”

“Finishing the promo edit. Feeding Jack. Breathing,” I say, my voice dipping quieter on the last word, too aware of the way Takoa is still watching me like I might vanish if he looks away.

I tuck the keys in my back pocket, pretending I don’t notice the silence settling over the room. But I do.

I feel it crawl into my chest. I feel it in the heat licking up my spine every time one of them looks at me like that—like I’m something they didn’t know they were starving for.

It’s only been three weeks.

six shows.

But I’m not blind to the current running between us. I feel it. I’ve been feeling it since Remington. Since that first moment on the bus, since Takoa’s voice wrapped around a song that wasn’t even about me but somehow still was.

They don’t know me.

But it doesn’t stop the want from bleeding through their skin like static.

And maybe I’m not sure I want to stop it either.

Kaiser shifts on the couch, giving me his signature crooked smile. “You wear that band shirt better than any of us, Siren..”

I glance down at my makeshift crop top, tied just under my ribs, sleeves rolled and collar widened. “Perks of having scissors and too much time.”

Bash lifts a brow. “You should wear it on stage next time, Little Songbird.”

I smirk, walking toward the mirror near the corner to check my lip gloss, pretending not to notice the way the room tracks my every move. “I’m not the one being screamed at by thousands of people.”

Alix mutters under his breath, “You should be.”

And for one stupid, dangerous second, I wonder what it would feel like—to be theirs. All of them.

To be in the center of their storm, the way they’re crashing into mine.

Jack barks once, breaking the spell, then trots back toward the door.

I clear my throat, schooling my features before I say something I shouldn’t. “Come on. Let’s not keep the Hilton waiting.”

But even as I walk out, I feel them behind me. All that want. All that chaos. All that almost.

Like a tether I never agreed to—but can’t bring myself to cut.

The blacked-out SUV hums low as it slices through LA’s night streets, tinted windows casting everything in a muted, surreal haze.

Takoa’s at the wheel—stoic, focused, his tattooed hands gripping the leather like the road owes him something.

He hasn’t spoken much since we pulled away from the venue, but then again, he never needs to.

His presence always speaks louder than most people’s shouting.

Alix is up front, riding shotgun, lazily flipping through his phone with the window cracked just enough to let the smoke from his cigarette curl out into the darkness.

And in the backseat—me.

Wedged between Kaiser and Bash.

Bash sprawled comfortably to my left, one leg kicked up, arm slung behind me, head turned just enough to flash me that shit-eating grin he’s always wearing when he’s up to no good.

Kaiser’s to my right, warm and golden and way too close, his knee pressed against mine like we’ve been doing this forever. Like this is normal.

It’s not.

My heart’s doing its own thing—fluttering, thudding, skipping like it doesn’t know what the hell to do in this pressure cooker of a car.

No one says anything at first.

Then Bash sighs, dramatic as hell, and tilts his head to look at me. “So, songbird… do we get a post-show review, or are you still stuck on the part where we screamed about bleeding to death and made you feel things?”

I laugh under my breath. “I plead the fifth.”

Kaiser chuckles beside me. “Oh, she felt it. I saw the way you looked during ‘Burial Ground.’ Eyes glossy. Lips parted.” He leans in a little closer, voice low, teasing. “Don’t worry, it wrecked me too.”

“Wrecked is one word for it,” Bash adds, nudging my other side with a wink. “I’d say possessed is more accurate. I don’t think I blinked once while you were watching us.”

I roll my eyes, but the heat in my cheeks betrays me. I sink a little deeper into the leather seat, the tension pulling tight between us like a wire ready to snap.

Takoa’s voice cuts through the quiet. “You did blink,” he says calmly, eyes still on the road. “Right after the bridge.”

I freeze. So does everyone else.

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.”

Takoa’s already out and rounding the vehicle, Alix lighting a cigarette with a lazy grin like he’s watching the best chaos unfold.

A roadie rolls two luggage carts past us, Jack padding proudly beside him on a leash like the prince he is.

Another cart follows, overloaded with black duffels, instrument cases, and tangled cords.

Kaiser takes off toward the hotel doors with me still in his arms like we’re escaping something—or chasing it.

“Let’s go, rockstars,” Alix calls, flicking ash and strolling behind us with infuriating calm. “The chaos suite awaits.”

The Hilton staff doesn’t even blink as four tattooed men, a girl half-laughing in one of their arms, and a dog-on-a-leash parade through the lobby like a walking band poster.

The elevator doors slide shut with a soft chime, locking us in a narrow metal box that smells faintly of leather, cologne, and the last curl of smoke from Alix’s cigarette. Kaiser sets me down, slow like he’s savoring it, and even when my feet hit the carpeted floor, he doesn’t step back.

He’s close enough that the heat of his body brushes mine, close enough that the cool mirrored wall behind me feels like the only thing keeping me upright.

Bash leans in on my other side, his voice low, laced with something that makes my skin prickle. “You liked that. Being carried. Admit it, Little Songbird.”

I try to smirk. “No comment.”

Kaiser’s gaze drags over me, slow and unapologetic, before flicking to Bash. Without warning, he leans in and kisses him—slow, deliberate, tongues just barely meeting before they break apart.

It’s not long. But it’s enough to make my pulse stumble.

Bash turns his attention back to me with a smirk, eyes glinting. “You jealous?”