Page 30 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

Chapter Twenty Nine

Alix

The whiskey burns smooth down my throat, but it’s not the alcohol making my blood run hot. It’s her.

Dreya disappears into the bathroom to change, the door clicking shut with a quiet finality that seems to ratchet the tension in the suite up another notch.

Instantly, the suite goes quiet, heavy like smoke settling in a room.

I lean against the counter, swirling amber liquid in my glass, eyes flicking to the others.

Bash’s blonde hair catches the warm light, blue eyes glinting like he’s already plotting mischief. He mutters, “She’s trouble.”

Takoa stands by the minibar, dark hair falling across his forehead, light green eyes narrowed, jaw tight. He pours himself another drink, exhaling slowly.

Kaiser lounges on the velvet couch, sandy hair falling into those dark crystal-blue eyes of his, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Three weeks,” he murmurs. “Three bloody weeks, and she’s in our bones. She’s… everywhere.”

I shake my head, swirling my glass. “You’ve been brooding all day. Care to explain?”

He doesn’t answer, just flicks the ice in his glass. Bash laughs, loud and reckless, leaning back. “At least I can’t accuse anyone of being subtle.”

Takoa mutters under his breath, “Observing. Not subtle.”

And then she’s back.

Dreya steps into the room, and it’s like someone lit a fuse.

The black Sleep Token shirt she’s wearing is impossibly tight, clinging to every curve, cutting dangerously low across her chest. One shoulder slips free, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone and neck, and I swear I hear all three of them audibly catch their breath.

Her hips sway slightly with every step, hair tumbling in wild curls, eyes sparkling under the suite lights.

She stops for a moment, glances at us, and the entire room seems to inhale. Her presence steals our air. My hand tightens around the whiskey glass.

“Whiskey?” I offer, lifting the bottle.

She grins, sliding onto the couch beside Kaiser. Her thigh presses lightly against his, and he doesn’t hide the way he watches her, fingers drumming against the armrest like he’s counting seconds until he can reach for more.

Bash claps his hands suddenly. “Alright, adults. Professionals. But idiots stuck in a suite with tension so thick you could cut it with a drumstick. Truth or dare?”

Takoa raises a brow, pouring himself another drink. “Seriously?”

“Deadly,” Bash adds, tossing a bottle cap like a coin. “We need an icebreaker before we combust.”

I settle on the floor beside her, leaning close enough to feel her warmth, scent of vanilla and something darker curling around me. “Halfway there already,” I murmur.

Dreya raises her glass, eyes sparkling. “Fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on any of you.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, letting my gaze drift over the way the shirt rides slightly with her every small movement, the fabric teasing the swell of her chest, the curve of her hip, the tantalizing glimpse of thigh as she shifts.

The first round starts tame — a few truths, a few dares — but even those are loaded, each one a spark waiting to ignite.

Bash leans forward, blue eyes glinting. “Truth — ever thought about someone here… in a way you shouldn’t?”

Dreya tilts her head, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. “Depends on your definition of ‘shouldn’t.’”

Kaiser groans dramatically, stretching an arm across the couch back. “Darlin’, don’t play coy. We’ve all felt it.”

I chuckle, swirling my whiskey. “Alright, dare — Dreya, lean against me for one minute. No talking.”

Her lips twitch with mischief. “One minute? That’s cruel.”

“You can handle cruel,” I say. She slides down until her shoulder brushes mine.

The warmth radiates between us, subtle but electric.

Every inhaled breath tastes faintly of vanilla and something darker she’s wearing, and I notice all three of them—Bash’s chest rising a little faster, Kai’s smirk faltering, Takoa’s jaw tightening—reacting to the same brush of her skin.

Bash smirks. “My turn. Dare — I want to brush your hair behind your ear. Just once. Slowly. Don’t flinch.”

Her head tilts, letting him do it, the curl of her hair grazing his fingers. The sound of her laugh, low and amused, hangs between us, and I swear the air itself seems to thicken.

“Truth,” Dreya says, pointing at Bash. “Why do you always have that smirk?”

Bash leans back lazily. “Because I know exactly what effect I have. Especially on you, Little Songbird.”

She laughs, a breathy, teasing sound that makes the room seem smaller, hotter. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love it,” he murmurs.

Kaiser shifts, one arm stretching along the couch behind her. Not touching, just close enough that when she moves, her thigh brushes his. The proximity alone makes the pulse in my ears thrum. “Truth — who here do you think you could beat in a game of dares?”

Her eyes dart between us, mischief and challenge sparkling. “Depends on the stakes.”

The dares grow bolder — trace a line along her arm, whisper a word in her ear, hold a gaze for ten seconds without blinking. Each action is a tease, every touch lingering just long enough to pull the air tight.

We all react. Bash lets out an audible sigh when her hair brushes his hand. Kai’s smirk falters when she leans a little closer. Takoa’s fingers linger a beat longer on the glass he hands her, tension coiling in his jaw. I catch her glance, sharp and knowing, daring me to act, daring all of us.

She laughs at a teasing comment from Bash, throwing her head back, neck exposed, curves catching the dim light. Every inch of her seems designed to unravel us, and I feel it—the room vibrating with our restraint, the quiet anticipation buzzing through the air like static.

By the end of the first round, the tension is almost unbearable. Every glance holds weight. Every brush of skin leaves a trace. The game has turned from playful to a charged dance of intent.

We pause, catching our breath, sipping whiskey, laughing but hollowly, each of us aware of the electric pull Dreya exerts. The shirt rides just slightly as she shifts on the couch, teasing without knowing—or maybe knowing exactly—how close she’s pushing us to the edge.

And none of us want to step back. She laughs at something Bash says, tilting her head back, neck exposed.

That laugh is a fuse to the fire in my chest. I catch the faint scent of her perfume—vanilla with something darker underneath—and it makes the air feel too tight, too close.

She meets my gaze afterward, daring me, teasing me, knowing exactly what she’s doing.

And I am unraveling.

The suite tastes like whiskey and her, thick and sharp, heavy.

Dreya shifts, shirt riding higher, teasing more of her thighs.

A soft gasp from Bash makes me smirk; Kai’s exhale comes a beat later, deliberate, and Takoa’s jaw tightens as he audibly inhales when her small frame adjusts.

She steals our breath in unison, and I can feel the pulse of it in the room, in the rhythm of our own bodies.

I lean forward, forearms on my knees, voice low but cautious. “We should stop before we cross a line we can’t walk back.”

“Who says we want to?” Bash replies, smooth, teasing, dangerous all at once.

Dreya’s smile falters just enough to show the flicker of want, maybe a trace of fear, before she buries it under bold, reckless perfection.

“You think this would ruin things?” she asks, lips curling.

Bash leans forward, grin sharp and mischievous. “Not a chance, Little Songbird.”

Kai chuckles softly, warm and deliberate. “Feels more like what we’ve been circling since day one, Siren.”

A pause. Silent, heavy, electric.

She stands slowly, tugging the hem of her shirt ever so slightly—teasing, knowing—and turns toward the hallway. “I should change for bed.”

“You already look like sin incarnate,” Bash murmurs from behind her.

She pauses in the doorway, half-lit by the suite’s golden glow. “Then maybe you should pray harder,” she says, before disappearing.

We don’t move. Not one of us. Because if anyone goes after her… the line isn’t just crossed. It’s shattered.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” I mutter, running a hand down my face.

Kai snorts, a lazy, amused sound. “You’re drunk enough.”

Bash slaps a hand on his thigh, standing. “Screw it. Another round. But if she comes back in anything tighter, I’m starting a petition to ban all band shirts, Little Songbird.”

We all laugh, hollow, tight at the edges. The truth is… none of us are laughing inside.

We’re shaking apart.

And she’s the match.