Page 34 of Toxic Kiss

She’s across the room, standing with her arms crossed. Her expression has shifted. It isn’t just fury, it’s a dangerous mix of jealousy and perfectly curated control. The kind of look that used to make me lose my goddamn mind. And fuck it still does, but…instead of showing it, I raise my glass in a mock toast.

I grab the model closest to me and pull her into my lap just for Haven’s benefit. The girl laughs and presses her lips to mine. And yeah, I kiss her back, because I love that Haven’s watching. I want her jealous. I want her angry. Because I’m an asshole and a masochist and I want her reaction like I want air.

When I pull away, the room is still spinning with noise and bubbling activity, but Haven is gone.

Fuck.

Oh no, she doesn’t get to escape that easily.

HAVEN

Of course, he has to be brilliant. Arrogant, chaotic, impossible, but fucking brilliant. I watch him from the wings, arms wrapped around myself so tightly my shoulders ache. The crowd screams his name, and he feeds on it like he’s starving. It has been so long since I let myself listen to his music, let myself feel the words, and soak in the sound. I forgot how much I love it.

Cyrus Vale is every bad decision I ever made set to a beat. The lights flash, catching the sweat on his chest, the veins in his arms, the wild look in his eyes. And damn him, I still feel it—the pull. That dangerous gravity that always drags me back.

We were a car crash,

a lullaby that screamed,

He sings the words like a blade sliding under my ribs. Like he’s confessing and accusing me at the same time.

When his gaze meets mine, everything else disappears. His voice catches, not much, but enough for me to hear it. Enough for me to know he sees me, and it shouldn’t get to me, but it does…he does.

He sings harder after that. Fiercer as he stares at me like he can get me to leave if he screams loud enough. Good luck with that.

The crowd loses its mind when he ends the song. They reach for him like he’s their salvation. I know better. He’s destruction gift-wrapped in a sexy exterior, like a chocolate bar with a creamy cyanide filling.

He stops as he passes me, leaning in close enough that his breath skims my ear.

“Did you enjoy the show, Butterfly?”

I freeze. That goddamn nickname. The one he gave me the night before I left, when he ripped my heart from my chest for the last damn time. I always look away when I see a butterfly, despite having a massive one tattooed on my back. Which I don’t need to be analyzed to know is a whole other fucking issue.

I don’t move or give him the satisfaction of seeing that he got under my skin. I wait until he’s gone, until the applause fades into static, until the audience is filing out.

Then, I follow the band to the VIP room, against every ounce of logic I have left. Not because I want to, but because I know him. He’s a grenade with a smile, and someone has to make sure he doesn’t pull the pin on another disaster. Besides I can film some of it to use for socials.

The VIP room glows a dark green, highlighting the word Venomous projected on the wall. There are bodies everywhere, while champagne and sexual energy flow from every corner. I was never a fan of this part. Not that I went to any shows this size, but Patrick, sometimes invited me to watch from the wings with him. And even back then, after the gig at much smaller venues, five to ten girls would run up to the guys and hang all over them.

It doesn’t take much to find Cy. He is being totally himself. Laughing, smirking, and letting women drape themselves on him like he’s a conquering hero. Rage burns hot in my stomach. He looks over and smiles, and I can see it in his eyes. The challenge, the push to get under my skin.

He’s doing this on purpose. I can tell by the way he keeps glancing my way. By the grin tugging at his mouth every time I tense. It is exactly what he did when we were younger. He would purposely flaunt my old friends including Patrick, his new girlfriends, and fuck buddies under my nose.

Cyrus pulls one of the random groupies into his lap. She grabs him and kisses him. Deep, open-mouthed and disgusting. I turn and leave before they finish. I’m not giving him that satisfaction.

I make it halfway down the hall before I hear him behind me, and my teeth grind together.

“Hey.”

I keep walking.

“Don’t walk away from me, Haven.”

His voice is commanding, angry, and far too familiar. I feel like I am reliving a bad movie.

“Go away, Cyrus. I have no time for you and your petty bullshit anymore,” I growl, not bothering to look back.

“You’ve got a hell of a nerve,” he says. “Showing up here and acting all high and mighty. Making it seem like I’m some villain,” Cyrus says just as we reach the dressing room.