The bike Jarod Cross gave me purrs between my legs. With my helmet and leather jacket, I blend into the night, sweeping past street lamps like a shadow.
I didn’t think I’d have use for this machine. Though I assured Lucien that I learned how to ride for my brief stint as an errand girl at a tech company, it’s been a long time since I rode a motorcycle. I was nervous to get on a machine this powerful.
But tonight, I have a reason to conquer my fears and tear through the streets, my sights on Dutch Cross’s truck.
I’ve decided to follow him until I get answers.
Not because of Jinx.
Not because of Jarod Cross.
Because I want to know what kind of a maniac I’m dealing with.
‘This food is for pregnant women’.
When Viola pointed that out, my mind shattered. Maybe in the past, I would have brushed everything off to coincidence, but I’m not the same, naive girl who skipped into Redwood Prep assuming people would leave me alone if I minded my own business.
Dutch and his brothers did their part to rip the scales from my eyes.
This world is a ruthless, twisted place brimming with injustice. Lies abound, and if I fell for yet another one of Dutch’s lies…
‘I don’t have protection.’
“Idiot,” I growl behind my helmet. The motorcycle engine makes a guttural sound, responding to my anger.
Was that just an excuse?
I’m not pushing off responsibility to him. I own most of the blame, since I’ll have to bear most of the consequences.
Teenage pregnancies are as common as the flu in my neighborhood. I know exactly what happens when girls don’t protect themselves, but I was stupid. I got caught up in the heat of the moment and couldn’t even imagine pressing pause.
But why the hell did Dutch send me breakfast the next morning as if I’m pregnant? As if he wants me to be pregnant.
It reeks of an ulterior motive.
One that sets my teeth on edge.
There’s a difference between us both being so ravenous for each other that we weren’t thinking straight and him intentionally setting me up just to control me…
Motivations matter.
The truth matters.
My heart hammers.
I need to know.
Who the hell is the real Dutch Cross?
His indicator flicks left, moving into an area I know scary well. My breath catches in my throat. I keep following and I see where he’s going before he pulls to a stop.
I turn my bike lights off and take cover behind a large dumpster. Shoving up my face shield so I can see clearer, I squint my eyes at the three boys who climb out of Dutch’s truck.
What are The Kings doing at Sinner’s Den?
My breath thickens as I fight back memories. The darkness. The writhing bodies. The thin, needle-marked hands reaching for me as I played piano, like ghosts trying to drag me to hell.
My throat closes up and I feel the first stages of a panic attack rolling through me.
Dutch suddenly glances behind him as if he smells my fear. I force my head down, ducking out of sight. I made sure to keep a proper distance from his car to throw off suspicion, but I’m still nervous.
He can’t see you, Cadence.
I peer up and let out a breath of relief when I see his attention is on his brothers.
Scrambling for my purse, I lift my cell phone and start recording. At first, the boys are steeped in darkness and it’s hard to make out what they’re doing, even if I zoom in.
Eventually, they step under a lamppost. Zane and Finn keep glancing over their shoulders, looking guilty and suspicious. I do a close-up of Dutch’s face. Sharp jawline. Straight nose. Lips that are harsh slashes across his face. I remember when those lips went soft. Lax. Parted as he moaned for me.
Was it just twenty-four hours ago? It feels like a lifetime.
The door opens and a man wearing a hoodie walks out. I don’t recognize him, but Dutch seems to have been expecting him because he nods at the guy.
My hand is shaking hard. The camera tilts out of focus. I adjust the angle and take steadying breaths as my gaze shifts between what’s showing on the screen and what’s happening in real life.
Dutch moves close to the guy. It’s hard to see what they’re exchanging, but something is definitely moving hands. The guy pockets a stack of money and Dutch stuffs a clear plastic bag into his jacket pocket.
Everyone disperses quickly. Like roaches.
The Kings hurry away, climbing into their vehicle and tearing out of the lot. The guy in the hoodie slips back into the den.
I end the video and rise slowly, my heart in my throat.
There it is.
The evidence I didn’t want.
Dutch is even more of a monster than I thought he was.
But what does it make me if I opened myself up to carrying the monster’s baby?
