I’m vigilant when I walk into school the next morning. I don’t know what I’ll do, what I’ll say, if I see Dutch again.
All I know is that I’m brimming with violence.
I need to curb that.
Be smart.
Though I’ve spent all night clawing at his face and beating him to a pulp in my dreams, the reality is… he’s much bigger than me. I doubt I’ll be able to get one punch in.
Revenge will be mine.
I’ll hurt him in other ways. Deeper ways.
It’s just about biding my time.
The sunshine is bright, but I feel like I’m dragging a dark cloud behind me. Conversations stop when I set foot in the hallway. Whispers crash to a lull and then silence.
Everyone is staring at me.
I touch my face self-consciously. Panic sets in, digging its claws into my shoulder. Did Jinx feature us again? Was it a post about that night in the treehouse?
Do they know all the depraved things Dutch did to me on that fluffy, harmless rug? Do they know where his tongue was, where his fingers were, what he said to me when he did those things? Do they know how I shuddered and whimpered and begged him for mercy and then for more?
My heart hammers behind my ribs.
Exposed, I duck my head and hurry to my locker.
Once I open it, my phone buzzes.
Jinx: Check your green pencil case.
My eyes widen.
I lift my head and whip around. Is Jinx here in the hallway now. Is she watching me?
Uneasy, I reach into my locker, unzip the pencil case and find a small, black pin nestled between my pens, pencils and erasers.
My fingers dig into the metal door. How did Jinx get into my locker?
“Hey, Cadence.”
“Ah!” I yelp and slam the locker shut.
Sol gives me a weird look. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Great.” I release a slow breath. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Okay.” I chuckle at his intensely concentrated face. “You’re seeing me.”
He just keeps looking at me with this tortured expression.
I hear more whispers as the hallway becomes crowded. Class will start soon.
“Do you know why everyone is staring more than usual?” I ask Sol.
He lifts his shoulder in a shrug, his lips tight. “Jinx wrote a post about you and Dutch.”
I jerk forward. “What did it say?”
“I don’t know. Something about him shutting down an amusement park for you.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking agitated. “I try not to read those things.”
The reminder of the amusement park makes me cringe. Dutch knew I would be soft on him after he made Vi’s day. He intentionally used my sister to get me to open up to him.
Sol presses forward. “Cadence.”
“What?” My voice is irritated.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”
I blink, waiting.
“I don’t feel right keeping the truth from you and—”
My phone buzzes again.
It’s not Jinx this time.
It’s Jarod Cross.
I stiffen. “Just a minute, Sol.”
He bites down on his bottom lip, a shadow crossing through his brown eyes.
I step away from him and lower my voice. “Hello?”
“You found something?” The rockstar’s smooth voice fills my ears.
“You were right. About that thing. I have evidence.”
His chuckle sounds pleased. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Cadence. I’ll send Lucien to pick it up.”
“No,” I blurt. Slipping my left hand into my pocket, I finger the device Jinx gave me. “I’d rather come to you.”
“Don’t you have school?”
“I can miss first period.” The teachers aren’t going to penalize me for skipping class anymore. Everyone knows that touching me means touching Dutch and no one in Redwood Prep is foolish enough to try that.
I resented Dutch for his cruel presence overshadowing me everywhere I go, but it does come in handy now.
“Meet me at my private studio in an hour.”
I hang up and whirl around to face Sol. “I have to go.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“It’s kind of private.” I ease back. “But I promise, I’ll set time aside for you when I get back, okay?”
Sol’s fractured expression is the last thing I see before I skate outside.
I didn’t bring the motorcycle—a short, Redwood skirt isn’t exactly conducive to riding that machine—so I have to catch the bus.
I’m edging on being late for my meeting with Jarod Cross, but I crash through the doors just in time.
The recording studio is brightly lit and filled with sound dampening panels. The mixer board outside looks like it costs several million. I’m nervous to even breathe in the direction of the sensitive buttons and levers.
“Miss Cooper.” Jarod Cross leaves his guitar on the stand, opens the door of the recording booth and joins me outside.
“Can we talk?” I glance at the sound engineer and the band members behind the glass. “In private?”
“Sure. Come this way.” Jarod Cross leads me down a dimly-lit hallway. Posters of him cram the length of both walls. Him at various music awards. Him meeting presidents and royalty. Him on the covers of famous magazines.
I live life so far in the dirt and the darkness that it’s difficult to see so much gold. This hallway is a brilliant reminder that Jarod Cross is no mere human. He’s as close to supernatural as a mere mortal can get.
“In here,” Jarod says, holding the door open.
“Is this your office?” I glance around the richly decorated room. There are so many trophies in here, it looks like I’m staring directly at the sunshine.
“Yes, I conduct important business in here.” He gives me a pointed look as if I should be honored to have the privilege of standing on the hardwood flooring. “Whenever I’m in the city, I spend more time in this room than at home.”
I drop my fingers into my skirt pocket and roll the small device around. Right now, I’m a pawn on three different chess boards—Jarod Cross, Dutch and Jinx.
But I’m nobody’s puppet.
I can choose which strings I want to keep and which I want to cut off. I use them, just as they use me.
Jarod Cross extends a hand. “Let me see it.”
“See what?” My heart jumps to my throat and I grip Jinx’s device protectively.
“The evidence.” He arches both eyebrows.
“Oh.” I unzip my purse, dig inside and pull out the flash drive. I saved the video on the memory stick last night.
Jarod Cross accepts the device from me and sets it on the table. “Good work.”
“Aren’t you going to check it?”
His eyes dart to the side. An imperceptible move, but one I notice.
“Yes,” he says. I guess I should check it.”
Something about his word choice nags at me. Why doesn’t he seem that concerned about his son dealing? Didn’t he hire me because he was concerned? Shouldn’t he be more frantic? More upset? Just… more?
Right now, he seems calm.
Too calm.
As if everything I’m doing, all the ways I’m acing were anticipated.
Don’t overthink it, Cadence. Just find a spot for the device and move on.
“You have a lot of books,” I murmur, sliding across the room as Jarod settles behind his desk.
“Purely for decoration.” He waves a hand, staring distractedly at the computer. “I’ve never cracked one open a day in my life.”
Bingo.
I slide my nail against the spines, finally stopping on a shelf closest to Jarod’s desk, but out of his line of sight. Turning my head slightly, I note that he’s focused on the computer.
Sweat dots my upper lip and my hands shake when I take out Jinx’s device.
I’m too anxious to be a spy.
My heart in my throat, I slip the device on the shelf and hide it beneath a book.
Suddenly, the door bursts open.
I straighten and spin around with a guilty look.
Lucien slides his shadowy eyes over me.
My heart bangs against my chest, but I force myself to remain calm. Tilting my chin up, I let my eyes slide past him to Jarod.
“I told you to always knock,” Jarod snarls.
A dark look passes through Lucien’s gaze. He frowns. “Your meeting with the TV interviewer is in fifteen minutes. We need to move.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
Lucien remains in the doorway.
Jarod shoos him with a gesture. “I need a moment with Miss Cooper.”
Lucien’s eyes slice through me. He scowls and closes the door.
“Ignore him. He’s more friendly than he looks.”
Yeah, I doubt that.
What’s important is that Jarod Cross didn’t notice me planting a bug in his room. I can only hope like crazy that there aren’t any security cameras in here and, if there are, that no one is watching. Especially not Lucien.
That guy gives me the creeps and I don’t know what he’ll do to me if he finds out I betrayed his boss.
“Thank you for helping me prove Dutch’s true colors,” Jarod Cross says, his voice thick with almost… parental concern. “Now that you’ve seen who he really is, what do you think of him?”
I find the question strange. Why does a rockstar care what I think about his son?
The answer is easy.
I want Dutch Cross to burn in hell.
But I’m not sharing that sentiment with his father.
Instead, I lift my chin. “I have never and will never care about Dutch. Isn’t that why you trusted me with this?”
Laughter pours from Jarod Cross’s mouth. He sounds smug. Satisfied.
“Just keep your end of the bargain. Get my friend back to school and we can call this deal done.”
“Yes, I think we can,” he says, his eyes scouring my face.
I jut my chin down and turn to leave.
“Now that your eyes are open, I hope they stay that way,” Jarod Cross says to my back.
I whirl around.
“Dutch can be convincing, but never forget who you’re dealing with. He’s not to be trusted.”
I stare at the rockstar, taking note of his intense eyes. There’s a nagging feeling in my gut. A muted suspicion that’s screaming at me.
What am I missing here? I feel like I’m swimming in a current that’s smooth on the surface but full of whirlpools beneath.
“Be careful or you’ll get hurt, Miss Cooper,” Jarod Cross murmurs.
And I can’t help thinking he’s warning me about himself as well as his son.
