Toxic Kiss by Brooklyn Cross

I’m the voice that makes people scream. But I scream for her.

The world calls me Cyrus Vale. Rockstar. God of the stage. The man with a guitar in his hands and a crowd ready to bleed for one more song.
But Haven Gaillard knew me before the fame. Before the noise.

The night my mother married her father, I hated her on sight.
I wanted her pain. Dreamed about it. Lived for the way her eyes burned with anger as sweet tears fell down her cheeks.
Making her cry was the only thing that ever made me feel whole.

Until one day, I realized something worse.
I don’t want her pain anymore. I want her.
Her anger.
Her touch.
Her eyes on me like I’m the only thing in the room.

She tried to escape, but now my muse is back. And every song I write still sounds like my heart wailing her name.
The problem?

I don’t know how to want her without destroying her.
And I’ve never been good at letting go of things that I’m addicted to.