I shred my pick on the guitar, slamming my fingers so hard against the strings that it’s a miracle they don’t snap in my eye. The music screams my frustration in complex, intricate riffs that mean nothing to anyone, not even me.
Cadence is Redhead.
Freaking hell.
The music clips when my pick breaks in half. The two edges sail down to my boots, looking frayed. I fish around in my pants for another and when that doesn’t reap anything, I fish around my wallet.
Still nothing.
“Finn!” I roar. Head whipping up, I latch onto my quiet brother. He’s leaning against the bench that’s pressed right next to the window.
Finn squints at me. I’m not sure if that expression is because of the sun blasting his face or because he’s pissed.
Honestly, I don’t give a damn either way.
“Gimme a pick.” I hold out a demanding hand.
“You don’t need a pick, Dutch. You need to calm the hell down.”
“Screw you. Just say you don’t have one.” I pick up my guitar again.
Finn’s eyes burn two holes straight into my skull.
“Damn it.” My hands shake when I pluck the strings with my fingers. It’s different now. The music doesn’t have the same timbre. It’s lacking something. Missing something. It’s hollow.
I play anyway.
In my head, I retrace my steps to that night in the lounge. The night I first talked to Redhead.
Jinx told us that Cadence worked at the lounge, but we didn’t find her. Instead, Redhead was perched behind the piano, eking out melodies that set my heart on fire.
Right after, I chased Redhead down and found her in the changing room.
She kissed me.
Then she slapped me.
A few days later, she stood me up.
In all that time, I didn’t know I was the idiot in the middle of Cadence’s elaborate web.
My teeth gnash together as my fingers climb up to the high-pitched notes.
Cadence was probably laughing it up while I ran after her like a lovesick fool, my tongue hanging out, ready and willing to do whatever ‘Redhead’ wanted.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
I went crazy over a figment of my imagination and the only girl who challenged that obsession was Cadence herself. She was everything I wasn’t supposed to want, but she dug deep under my skin. Made all the wrong feel right.
I craved her in a different way. It was raw and forbidden and a hell of a lot stronger than I expected. I couldn’t stop backing her into walls, feeling her soft curves against me at every opportunity.
I couldn’t stop hesitating.
She made me question myself.
Made me bend.
Agony.
Turmoil.
She put me through it.
Because when every part of me wanted Redhead, there was a side of me that wanted to get under Cadence’s short little skirt too.
All that back and forth… for nothing.
She made me the biggest fool Redwood Prep has ever seen.
I’m going to ruin her.
I make a downward swipe of my hand and strum pure air. When I glance down, I realize my guitar is gone. Sol is standing to my left, clutching the neck of my electric in his hands.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I growl.
Sol doesn’t waver an inch. His brown eyes are steady on me. Steadier than they have a right to be. It’s like he sees the chaos, the destruction boiling to the surface. Maybe a part of him recognizes it.
My gaze travels down his jacket sleeves that are scrunched back far enough to reveal the scars on his wrists. They’re mangled, ugly scabs that have only started to heal. The blade went deep.
Finn and Zane step into line beside Sol. It’s not a show of solidarity. It’s a warning. They’re prepared to tackle me if I come after him to get my guitar.
They don’t give a damn if I want to harm myself in this downward spiral, but they’ll tear me to pieces if I attack Sol after everything he’s been through. Everything we put him through.
I breathe hard, my chest heaving. For a moment, my panting is the only sound that shatters the long, tense silence.
It’s enough of a wake-up call to see Zane’s don’t do it face. My brothers don’t stand against me. Ever. If they do, it’s because I’ve really gone off the deep end.
And maybe I have.
Redhead and Cadence are the same person. Dad is prowling the hallways of Redwood for reasons that can’t be anything good. And cops are sniffing around Christa like hyenas on a carcass. If she starts singing like a canary, it won’t be long before the authorities find out we fudged with Cadence’s grades.
It’s all culminating in a big, freaking mushroom cloud of a bomb.
I need to punch something.
“What’s up with you?” Sol asks pointedly.
I abandon the guitar and leave it in his hands.
Sol sets it in the stand. “Dutch, your fingers are bleeding and your face looks like murder. What’s going on?”
Now I remember why it was so quiet when Sol was gone.
I stomp over to the mini-fridge and snag a bottle of water. Wrenching the cap off, I take a giant swig and feel the cold rush slip all the way down my throat.
Sol turns to Finn. “Is he like this because of your dad?”
“Could be,” Zane says, twirling his drumsticks around.
“It’s probably about a girl,” Finn says dryly.
Zane smirks. “So then… it’s either Cadence or Redhead.”
“Or both,” Finn says.
I don’t want to talk about those girls—that girl—right now. So I focus on something else that can and should be destroyed.
“Why do you think dad is back in town?” I grumble
Sol leans back. “Why are you suddenly bringing up your dad?”
The hell? Can’t he just flow with the subject change?
Sol stares intently at me.
Bastard. He wasn’t always this observant. In fact, he was more like Zane—loud, carefree, always down to make trouble. Did the psych ward turn him into a different person or did he just hide the mental crap better back then?
My phone chirps.
A chorus of equally loud pings blares through the room.
I fish my phone out of my back pocket.
“It’s a message from dad,” Zane says, his voice subdued.
“I got the same one,” I growl.
Sorry I couldn’t stick around long today, boys. I’ve got a few more stops on my tour, but the moment I’m done, we need to have a chat. I have someone I want you to meet.
Finn folds his arms over his chest. “Anybody know what this is about?”
“Dad’s probably got a new girlfriend.” Zane turns his head away. His chin juts out with a hint of resentment.
I watch my twin carefully. At least I’m not the only one mid-downward spiral anymore.
Sol glances at each of us in turn. “What’s with the sulking? This isn’t your first time getting dragged into your dad’s love life.”
It’s not. I’ve been privy to dad’s affinity for younger women since he was married to mom. Back then, he kept his need for outside companionship under wraps.
The media wasn’t too kind to him playing the rock-and-roll douchebag when he had three kids and a wife at home.
Dad was desperate to make the marriage to mom work‚ not for her sake but for his career. One of the best things mom ever did was call him out on his crap and leave his cheating behind.
Unfortunately, her leaving hasn’t stopped dad from using her like armor. As long as the press keeps talking about their ‘amicable divorce’ and the fact that they’re ‘still friends’, no one looks any deeper into his activities.
“I don’t care what dad wants to do behind closed doors. It’s when he tries to drag us into it,” Finn mumbles.
Zane nods. “The fake smiling, the photoshoots, the stupid magazine interviews that have their facts screwed up. A freaking waste of time.”
“Maybe he actually cares about this one,” Sol offers. “People change.”
“Dad’s never gonna change,” Zane says darkly.
He’s right. Dad’s a lost cause. My brothers are unaware of the full breadth of his misdeeds, and I hope they never stumble on the truth. Some burdens are mine to bear alone.
Our phones chirp again.
Dad: Those who don’t show will have their funds frozen. So I suggest you break out your party shoes when I tell you to.
“What?” Sol asks, noting our shifting scowls.
“Dad’s invitation came with an ‘RSVP or Else’ button,” Finn says.
My head starts to throb. What the hell is he up to now?
“I’m not going.” Zane grabs his bag and stomps to the door. “Tell him he can go screw himself.”
The door bangs shut behind him.
Finn stares blankly at the floor. “I should head out too.”
“You going to class?” I ask, surprised.
“Nah.”
Finn doesn’t say more and I don’t press. We each have our own ways of unravelling. He’ll call me if he needs me.
Sol stays behind. “You gonna take it out on your guitar again?”
I fall into the couch and down another swig of water. Damn. I wish I had something stronger than this. But playing guitar while drunk isn’t something I’m into.
Sol approaches the couch, but he doesn’t sit. “You still haven’t told me how you got me back into Redwood.”
I glance up, my eyes narrowing.
Sol lets the silence stretch. And then he says, “It’s her, isn’t it? The brunette who walked into the gym with your dad today. The one you ran after like a maniac.”
I still say nothing.
Sol’s face becomes serious, earnest. “What did you do to kick her out, Dutch?’
“It’s over, man. Just forget it.” I launch out of my seat and prepare to storm away.
Sol grabs me. His scars are on display. I watch the way his veins pop beneath the black scabs. Which one of those veins had he been aiming for? Would he have tried to hurt himself if I’d saved him in time? If I’d gotten Cadence out of Redwood instead of getting distracted by her stupid games?
“Dutch…” Sol’s words are directed at me, but his eyes are on the wall above my head. “I know you guys blame yourselves for what happened that night. But I don’t blame you. I never have. And about that girl—”
“About that girl,” I cut him off, “we did what we had to do. It has nothing to do with you and it won’t be traced back to you either. So you don’t have to worry about it.”
“You think that’s what I’m worried about? There’s clearly something going on here and it’s killing you inside.”
“How about you worry about yourself?” I snap.
Sol’s eyes widen and then he purses his lips. “Right. I guess I should.”
I turn away from him, though I know I should probably apologize for being a prick. It’s Sol’s first day back and instead of celebrating, we’re all falling apart.
And whose fault is that?
My fingers curl into fists. Dad and the cops showing up in our morning assembly is far too great of a coincidence. Today’s crapshow wasn’t by chance. It was orchestrated.
Cadence, are you trying to be a bad girl?
My lips curl up at the thought. Jinx warned me that ‘New Girl’ was a fighter. And although Cadence gave me a ton of lip, she wasn’t doing much fighting before now.
Is she finally trying to do some damage?
I have to give it to her. For her first rodeo, this wasn’t a bad play. All her effort managed to leave a dent.
But is she ready for the consequences?
I head to the door, my legs eating up the distance.
Sol calls after me. “Where are you going?”
“To take care of a problem.” I check my watch. First period is over. Brahms should be leaving class by now. “Meet me in the parking lot at noon. I’ll drive you to your therapy session.”
Sol clears his throat. “You don’t have to do that.”
In a firm tone, I repeat myself. “Meet me in the parking lot.”
He nods.
“You still have your card for the practice room, right?”
“Yeah.”
Satisfied, I blast through the door. When I step into the main hallway, the flood of conversation stops.
I’m used to the stares by now, but it’s different this time. Heavier. Everyone knows Jarod Cross is our father and that comes with its own reverence, but to have Jarod Cross here in the flesh today, reminding them all of his brilliance? It inspires a different kind of awe.
I ignore the whispers, the stares—all of it. I didn’t ask to be Jarod Cross’s son. Most of the time, I don’t even want to be related to him. The way these kids worship him only makes me resent them more.
Don’t they have brains to think for themselves? Are they so blinded by money, fame, and superstardom that even scum like my father could rule the world?
My steps are sure and determined. I don’t give a damn about anyone outside of my circle. None of it matters anyway.
Where the hell are you, Brahms?
I keep my eyes peeled as I walk. It doesn’t take me long to find her in the hallway.
My steps slow.
My eyes narrow.
According to Jinx, Brahms spent her first month blending in at Redwood Prep. I’m still trying to figure out how she pulled that off. There’s absolutely no freaking way any guy with eyes could miss those legs.
I stare at those creamy white thighs with fresh perspective.
Those legs are the same as Redhead’s.
How the hell did I miss that?
My anger churns to life like a tornado of bitterness. I beat a path straight for Brahms.
She’s got her back to me, but it doesn’t take long for awareness to pull her shoulders tight. She glances around, noticing the way the crowd is shifting nervously.
When she spins, long, glossy brown hair goes flying. Her eyes meet mine and widen in fear.
At least she knows she should be afraid.
I study those brown eyes, trying to make sense of them. Redhead had vivid green eyes, like the soft spring grass. Cadence must have used contacts while she was her other self.
What else did she change?
I scour her face roughly.
Makeup.
Redhead always wore heavy makeup.
It looked damn good on her—on Cadence. All that thick eyeliner brought out the sultriness in her eyes. And that damn red lipstick…
But Cadence doesn’t wear a stitch of makeup. Nothing except for the gloss shimmering on her hot-as-sin lips. Lips that are parting even now as I stop right in front of her.
She tips her chin up. “What do you want?”
The earlier fear is gone, replaced by an unabashed disdain. She tightens her bottom lip and gives me a scolding glance.
Is she that brave or is she that stupid?
Either way, I’m going to teach her what submission looks like.
I clamp my fingers around her wrist and haul her down the hallway. The kids part in front of me, not daring to get in my way. Whispers echo through the crowded corridor. We’ll probably be featured in Jinx’s stupid little app tonight.
I don’t give a damn.
Brahms swats at my arm, trying her best to peel my fingers off her skin.
I chuckle darkly and glance over my shoulder. “Keep fighting like that and I’ll find another way to get you where I want you.”
“Try it and see what happens.”
I arch an eyebrow.
She sees my expression and digs her feet into the ground. “I swear, Dutch, throw me over your shoulder like a caveman again, and I’m going to bite your ear off.”
Her brown eyes spit flames. Her voice holds true venom.
My eyes search hers, looking for something that isn’t there.
I see the truth then.
She never really cared for me.
All those times I thought we were connecting…
Stupidity.
No part of her was genuine. She played me like an idiot.
My fingers tighten around her wrist, squeezing so hard that her face pinches.
Her brown eyes meet my amber ones and she glowers. “Let me go!”
I turn the bend instead.
“Dutch! I said…” She fights me even harder. “Where are we going?”
I don’t know.
Away from everyone.
Somewhere they won’t hear her scream.
My thoughts are a whir, shifting between hot, violent and cruel.
Cadence is beautiful and aggravating and way too calm after what she put me through. How do I wipe that anger and replace it with fear? How do I return the anguish she gave me?
I turn down another hallway and kick open the emergency exit door. Hauling her lying face into the empty stairwell, I throw her against the wall.
She slams hard and gasps.
“Redhead. Cadence. Any other alter egos I should know about?”
I expect her to cower, beg for mercy, apologize.
At the very least, I expect shock.
But she tilts her head back and laughs. “That’s why you’re doing this? Because you didn’t realize I was the same person in a wig and makeup?”
“Be very careful, Brahms. I’m not in a giving mood today.”
“When have you ever been giving?” she snarls. “You screwed with my grades to get me kicked out of Redwood. You destroyed Mr. Mulliez’s life and you did your best to destroy mine. Did you think for a second that I would see you as anything other than the monster you are?”
Each word hits me in the chest like bullets from a smoking gun. I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and choke her. Anything to stop her from pouring more salt on a gaping, pulsing wound.
“Do you know,” I press in and speak through gritted teeth, “how dangerously close I am to showing you what a real monster looks like?”
Her eyes are dark enough to burn steel into molten silver. She doesn’t back down.
Damn it.
She doesn’t fear me enough.
Palming the back of her neck, I drag her head closer to me. Her dark hair is sticking to the sweat on her cheek. Her chest is heaving.
I slide a finger down to her collarbone and trace the delicate lines. “How many guys have you fooled in that red wig? Am I the first who hasn’t paid for the privilege of parting your pretty little legs while in costume?”
The calm leaves her expression real fast. She tries to slap me.
I grab her hands and bind them to my chest.
“Get out of my face,” she bites out.
I push her back to the wall and mold my body to hers. Looming over her, I whisper, “Why? Can’t handle the truth?”
Her warm breath showers my face. “You disgusting piece of scum.”
I laugh, low and threatening.
She puts up more of a fuss, desperately wiggling around to get out of my grip.
All that rubbing and unintentional gyrating is sending lightning strikes straight to my pants. I dig my fingers into her hips, hell-bent on increasing the pressure. Her body feels so good, it hurts.
“Stop. Fighting,” I warn.
It’s like her ears are blocked.
So I use my own unique methods of compliance.
Thrusting forward, I grind against her.
Our hips meet in an explosive rock.
I grit my teeth as the friction turns me into a human frying pan.
Her eyes grow wider when she feels all of me pressing against her skirt. I see her throat bob in fear, but her voice is steady when she says, “Is that how you want to play it, Dutch? You couldn’t have any version of me, so you’re going to take what you want?”
Her taunting crashes through my patience. I pin her arms above her head, my fingers burning everywhere I touch. Her breath hits my cheek in hot, staccato beats.
“Should I break you, Brahms? Right here, right now?” I move my hand against her thigh, traveling up and under her flirty little Redwood Prep skirt. The fabric brushes against the back of my knuckles. Her inner thighs are sticky.
I slide my fingers into the mess she made and then remove my hand from her skirt. Keeping my eyes on her to make sure she’s watching, I stick my pointer in my mouth and flick my tongue over my finger. Her taste is like magic and I close my eyes, moaning lightly.
A whimper escapes her lips, and it sends my blood spiking hotter.
The attraction between us is still flaming, burning, alive. But so is the hatred. And it creates a dangerous, volatile mixture that threatens to tear us both apart from the inside.
“Bastard,” she moans.
That only prompts me to explore her thighs again. The feel of her soft skin pushes me right off the cliff into insanity. I grab a fistful of her skirt, needing it off her body. Needing more of her skin on mine.
“Are you the only one allowed to play games, Brahms?” I whisper in her ear. “We’re playing my game now.”
Her eyes snap with fury. She lifts her leg, intending to knee me where it’ll count. But I see her from a mile away and catch her leg by the ankles. One worn black pump slips off her foot as I yank her leg even higher, draw her thigh against my waist and spread her open.
Heat on heat.
I press in.
My need is violent. Monstrous. Insatiable.
I can barely see, can barely hear except for the roar in my pants, a brutal chant urging me to do only one thing—peel her panties to the side and obliterate her.
Brahms moans in pleasure and then looks shocked that the sound came from her.
A red flush stains her cheeks. Her voice trembles. “Get off.”
She tries to worm free, but my hand is a steel band on both her wrists and my upper body is pinning her in place.
There’s no escaping this.
No escaping me.
“You managed to survive like the rat you are, Brahms,” I hiss, trying to ignore my own throbbing desire. “But this isn’t over. As long as you’re in Redwood, I’m going to make your life a living hell.” I seal the words with a punishing stroke of my hips that sends her head crashing into the wall.
Her breath escapes on a gasp.
Her nostrils flare.
She digs her fingers into my shoulder, her head thrown back and her eyes closed.
Just then, voices come from below us. Footsteps pound on the stairs. Students are walking this way.
Brahms lifts her head. She hears them too. Panic fills her eyes immediately. “Dutch, let me go.”
“Why?” I taunt her. Tracing my hands over her thighs again, I whisper, “You were going to give it to me that night on the piano anyway. What’s a little audience?”
“Let go!” Her eyes are sharp.
I lick my lips, realize her taste is faint on my tongue now and drag my finger over the fabric of her underwear to collect another sample. I take my time, letting her know that I answer to no one. Especially her.
But it backfires. Her quivering flesh sends my body into overdrive.
My knees almost buckle from wanting her.
Damn. She did it again. Stripped me bare. Left me raw and reeling with a need I’ve never known. I’m feeling… I don’t know. Everything. Feeling it with an intensity that scares the hell out of me.
“Dutch…” She’s begging now.
“I told you, Brahms,” I breathe out, fighting back the swell of need. “I own you. You are at my mercy.”
The voices are louder now.
There’s laughter, conversation.
Shoes thumping harder and harder.
Faster.
Almost…
I let her go just before the first head breaks into our line of sight. Cadence ducks to hide her face and sprints through the door like zombies are on her tail.
The students stop talking when they see me glowering like a beast in the cold, my pants tighter than a freaking seran-wrapped sausage. Quietly, they edge past me, keeping their eyes averted.
When they’re gone, I rearrange my pants and calmly return to the hallway.
Round Two is about to begin.
I’ve decided. I’m going to grind Cadence Cooper to dust.
How dare she make a fool of me? How dare she forget her place? How dare she make me feel anything but spite and hatred?
I’m going to remind her of how inconsequential she is.
This time, it’s for no one’s sake but my own.
Jinx: Cinderella and Prince Charming Getting Hot and Heavy
New Girl and Prince Charming were seen all tangled up together in the stairwell after first period. Did I mistake anger for desire? Or is this just another ploy to stab the knife in deeper?
Only one thing’s for certain, New Girl will need all the help she can get. Sources tell me that Captain Pompoms isn’t the only enemy our resident Cinderella has made today.
Perhaps whoever called the cops should have thought twice before poking at the hornet’s nest. Revenge might be sweet in the moment, but I hear it burns like hell going down the throat.
Until the next post, keep your enemies close and your secrets even closer.
– Jinx
