My chest constricts. "Don't do that, Travis. Don't act like you have any right—"
"Christ, Vi," he laughs without humor, running a hand through his hair. "I have always protected you, every single fuckin’ second since the day we met. What makes you think I’m going to just stop?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Because you left. Without a word. You made a choice. You gave away the right to protect me.”
He leans in, fingers grazing my jaw, making my breath get stuck in my throat and my lungs burn. "I fucked up leaving you, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want you, Vi...”
My breath catches in my lungs. "And yet it wasn’t enough to stop you from disappearing."
He closes the last inch between us, his breath hot against my face. "I'm back now. And I'm still that same stupid kid who'd riskeverything just to be near you. You can fight that as much as you want, but it doesn’t change the facts."
My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape. "And what happens when you leave again?"
Before he can answer, Marcus stands up and claps his hands. Travis's fingers drop from my skin like I've burned him. "Ten minutes, Phoenix."
He straightens, mask sliding back into place. "Duty calls."
I stand frozen, watching him retreat, the ghost of his touch still burning on my skin. The martini trembles, untouched. Tonight, I'll watch him perform for thousands, knowing I'm the only one who remembers the boy who used to sing just for me under the stars at Chief's compound.
4
THE ARENA TREMBLESunder thunderous drums and tortured guitar riffs, but it’s Travis who sets it ablaze. He’s a man possessed, headbanging with feral intensity, voice shredding every decibel into molten gold. Shirt long gone—sacrificed to some lucky girl—his torso gleams under the spotlights, every sinew and tattooed line rippling like living art. His abs shift with each roar; his chest swells, imposing. I’ve never seen a man so dangerously hot, or so damn untouchable.
“He’s fucking unreal,” Reagan breathes next to me, but I barely hear her. My pulse pounds in my ears, a drum solo of its own, and I’m frozen, mesmerized by the way sweat beads at the curve of his jaw, the way his scars and ink tell stories I ache to know.
Then—silence. You could hear a single heartbeat dropping. My blood freezes. Light shifts, and my name cuts through the dark like a laser: “Vi, oh my God, Vi—”
I whip around. Reagan’s eyes are wide. “What?”
“Travis just—he’s calling you.”
It feels like a dream, as if I’m not really here and this is not really happening. My stomach flips. I scan the stage, find him grinning, an explosion of lethal charm aimed right at me. “Come on, Mischief. Up here.”
My cheeks burn. Every woman around me stares as if I am mad for not screaming and hauling myself in his direction. If only I could tell them what I know, what I was to him once. Instead, I shake my head. My five drinks conspire to make my limbs jelly, but adrenaline surges through the veins.
“If you don’t move,” he taunts, his voice low, “I’ll come down there and drag you up myself. What do you all think?”
The crowd roars approval. I have no choice. He vaults off the stage, landing before me with a predator’s grace. They scream, they claw at him, and he wades through them then bends to scoop me over his shoulder. I scream, hammering my fists into his back, but the world tips as he carries me back onto the stage. He sets me down, spins me to face the sea of faces.
“Everyone, meet my guest tonight, Violet, but I have been calling her Mischief since we were kids, because that’s how long this girl has had my heart.” His voice booms, and the audience erupts.
Oh my God.
I can’t breathe.
My heart hammers. I want to melt into the black floor, disappear. But he’s not done. “She’s going to sing a song with me. Or—she can kiss me. I will let her decide.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd. My mouth goes dry. “Quit it, Travis,” I hiss.
He lifts one brow, dangerously amused. “Sing or kiss. Ladies, what’ll it be?”
A chant rises, simultaneously playful and feral: “KISS! KISS! KISS!”
There’s no escaping fate. Before I can think, he’s leaning in. His lips brush mine, soft, urgent, and electrified with whiskey and smoke. My hands press against his chest, attempting to push him away, but they freeze in place. I can feel the hard planes of muscle beneath slick skin. Every nerve ignites. My heart is screaming yes, yes, ached-out years of yearning stuffed into one searing moment.
He deepens the kiss with fierce hunger; my knees threaten collapse. When he finally releases me, I can barely stand. The crowd’s screams crash around us. He laughs, dark and knowing,eyes still locked on mine. “I think she liked that. Did you like that, baby?”
“God damn you, Travis,” I gasp, voice distant. “I’m not a fucking toy.”