Page 142 of Toxic Kiss

“No, no way. I can’t…ah,” she squeals when I grip her around the waist and haul her up over my shoulder, taking her completely by surprise. “Don’t you dare. Put me down, Cy. I swear to God.”

The guys are all staring like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have. But if I’m honest with myself, it happened a long time ago. The crowd goes crazy when I step back out. I stop at the mic while Haven swears a blue streak a mile long.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” she yells vehemently.

“As you all know by now, unless you live under a rock, Haven and I are…well, we have a complicated relationship,” I say. “Everyone, say hi to Haven.”

I turn around and feel her lift her head as the crowd screams, Hi, Haven.

You cannot wipe the devilish smile off my face.

Facing the mic once more, I continue, “Well, I upset her. More than that, she is pissed.”

“Did you cheat on her?” Someone yells.

“No. But thanks for the vote of confidence,” I tease, and there is a ripple of laughter. “I did something much worse.” The crowd gets quiet, and so does Haven. I’m still not putting her down yet.

“I stole something personal and private of hers and read it.”

There are a lot of winces and boos. I wave my hand at them to calm down.

“I know, I know, I’m an asshole.” They laugh. “Here’s the thing. Once upon a time, she gave me a song she wrote and I told Haven that her songwriting sucked and she couldn’t sing any better than a dying cat.”

The collective gasp is loud.

“I just admitted that I’m an asshole, what do you expect? Point is…I was lying. The truth…I love the song, and she has an incredible voice. So, this is what I want to do with your help. We need to convince Haven to sing this song with me for you.”

The roar is beyond anything that I’ve heard all night, and I slowly lower Haven to her feet. She glares at me from under her thick red mane. Haven masks her anger like a fucking pro as she fixes her hair and turns to the crowd. She waves, and the smile that stretches across her face is genuine. A guy in the front row takes off his shirt and whips it on stage.

“Hey, she’s mine, back off,” I say, pointing at him.

I grab the mic in one hand and hers in the other.

“Sing. Sing. Sing,” I start the chant, but the audience picks it up and runs with it. Soon, it sounds like a chorus.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Haven says through her teeth as she looks up at me, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t sung in like three years. I may actually kill you,” she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

“You’ll be fine. You’re a natural. Let’s do it, Butterfly. Just you, me, and So Wrong but So Right.”

“Do you even remember the words?”

“Of course I do. I’m Cyrus Vale,” I say with a cocky grin.

Haven rolls her eyes and takes a moment to glance between me and the thousands still screaming and chanting. Her shoulders slump in defeat, and I smile.

She nods.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

I turn to the audience.

“She’s going to do it!”

The cheers shake the walls and floors. I walk over to the stand that holds my acoustic. I never use it, but I take it everywhere with me because it was Patrick’s. It helps me feel like a piece of him is always with me.

“Sit this one out,” I announce to the rest of the band. They nod, but don’t leave the stage even though this is the encore for the night. I run my fingers over the strings like it’s her body and caress every note.

You tell me it’s over