If I had any sense of self-preservation, I would avoid Redwood Prep for a week. But my stubborn streak is alive and well. If I was going to retreat, then I wouldn’t have left that surprise in Dutch’s car in the first place.
Redwood Prep rises into view and I squeeze the hell out of my backpack straps.
Each march forward feels like I’m tripping off the edge of a cliff.
Getting revenge had seemed like a really good idea in the heat of the moment. Embarrassment lashing my chest and sweat pouring down my face, I could think of literally nothing better than shoveling trash into Dutch’s front seat and imagining his anger when he saw what I’d done.
But then I went home, fell into bed and couldn’t sleep from the horror of imagining all the evil ways he’d get me back. I kept waiting for him to bang on my door and scare both me and Vi.
This morning, I woke up sleep-deprived, grumpy and fearful.
I know how dangerous The Kings are.
This isn’t a David to Goliath story.
This is more like a tiny ant under Goliath’s boot. Any minute and its entire existence can be squashed. A life snuffed out on her end, but not even a blip on the giant’s radar.
My steps slow to a crawling halt when I see Finn and Zane lounging on the school steps. The boys are like magnificent black panthers, fleeting shadows lying in wait. Each of them over six feet. Finn with eyes like flint and a stillness that fools no one but the most utterly naive. He’s danger wrapped in tan skin, almond-shaped eyes, and quiet menace.
And then there’s Zane, Dutch’s mirror-image in everything but the eyes and hair. As sexy as a weapon, with a charming mouth that can create whatever reality he wishes, as if he were made of magic.
I’ve studied both of Dutch’s brothers during The Kings’ campaign to kick me out of Redwood. Just because Dutch was the face of their brutal punishments doesn’t mean his brothers weren’t more than capable of carrying out the dirty deeds themselves.
The traffic on the stairs is a one-way path thanks to the fact that no one wants to even walk past the brothers. Unfortunately, that makes it an easy and clear path to follow when Finn lifts two fingers and bends them toward me.
My knees knock into each other and I swallow hard before mounting the stairs. Zane sticks one of his long legs up on the wide, cement handrail. I notice a few cheerleaders checking out the area between his legs, the mere outline of which proves the rumors about him and his… assets are very true.
Finn doesn’t move at all. He continues to lounge against the stairs, his body coiled despite his relaxed shoulders and disinterested eyes.
“Get home well yesterday?” I ask cheekily. Sweat is beading on my forehead but—thanks to Dutch’s torture, I’ve gotten practice in pretending to be unruffled.
“You’re one ballsy chick,” Zane says, laughing.
“What do you mean?”
“That was a lot of trash. You must have been tired,” Finn says.
His assessing gaze makes me shuffle in place. I can never tell what he’s thinking and, somehow, that’s more disarming than Zane’s lethal sex appeal.
I go for sarcasm. “Aw. Are you worried about me? Thanks.”
His lips twitch.
Just then, Zane’s cell phone chirps. He looks down and then looks back up at me.
At once, I feel invisible chords binding around my wrist. I have a good idea who just texted him and what that person requested.
“Dutch really wants to thank you for that gift last night,” Zane says, his voice an easy, overconfident rumble.
“And he sent his brothers as escorts? I should be honored.”
Zane gives me a crap-eating grin. “You’re funny.”
“Not trying to be,” I mumble.
Finn nods to the school doors. “Let’s go.”
When the guys turn and head through the crowded entrance, I wrap my arms tightly around myself and suck in a shaking breath.
Maybe I should have stayed home today.
It’s too late now.
With no other choice, I walk behind The Kings, noticing how everyone hurries out of their way and leaves a clear road. Seems like it doesn’t matter if they’re all together or if it’s just a pair, no one wants to draw the eyes of the gods of Redwood Prep.
It must be suffocating living like that. Shuffling around like rats, always on edge, always giving deference to a group of boys with otherworldly beauty and big bank accounts.
My sense of justice stirs and I hold on to that feeling with all I’m worth. Dutch and his crew have managed to suppress everyone here at Redwood Prep, but they’ll never tame me. Never.
To my surprise, the boys lead me past their private practice room and take me to the school theatre instead.
“He’s in there,” Zane says, pointing into the darkness.
My entire body trembles, but I lift my chin. “Thanks.”
Just before I walk through the doors, Finn steps into my path. He towers over me and levels me a brown-eyed stare that’s both cold and enigmatic at once.
“Just thought you should know that your current strategy isn’t going to work,” he warns. His voice drops to a frosty degree even though I can tell that he’s trying to help me. “He loves that car. You ruined it. Find another angle.”
“He’s right,” Zane agrees. “We talked him down as much as we could, but the more you screw around with his head, the worse it’ll get.”
“Your brother isn’t a god, as much as he pretends to be. I can handle myself.” I square my shoulders and pretend I’m not afraid, even though my ability to handle Dutch is shakier than ever.
Finn and Zane exchange looks.
I make a ‘move’ gesture, mocking what they’d done to me on the school steps.
Finn looks amused.
Zane shrugs and backs up.
I step into the theatre and hear the door shut firmly behind me. It makes me jump.
A sudden hush falls.
My eyes sweep the stage until I find Dutch. He’s sitting on a piano stool, his fingers moving over a guitar. I find it weird that I don’t hear a sound until I realize he’s not touching the strings at all.
I try to swallow, but it gets stuck in my throat.
What will this monster do to me now?
I know one thing. I can’t look intimidated. He’ll exploit every crack in my armor, find every weakness and crush me.
Anger and annoyance colliding in my veins, I storm up the steps and stomp over to him so loudly that his head tilts to the side.
“Why am I here, Dutch? I have class in ten minutes. I don’t have time for your games.”
He sets the guitar in its stand and rises to his full height, long legs seeming to go on forever. My heart thunders when his burning hazel eyes find mine.
Our heavy breaths mix in with the stillness of the auditorium.
One beat passes.
Two.
“Why aren’t you saying something?” I ask snarkily. “Hello?”
Dutch approaches me slowly. His movements are calm, almost elegant. “My brothers made a call. I’d planned to corner you myself, but they insisted I should punish you in private.”
“Punish me?” I croak out a bitter laugh. “You really think you own me, don’t you?”
“Do you know, it’s impossible to get the stench of sour milk out of leather?” Dutch circles me like a shark. I can smell the tangy scent of blood too, and I realize it’s because I’m biting down so hard on my tongue that it drew blood.
His fingers drag over the back of my neck and down to my shoulders. Everywhere he touches burns. The sensation makes me both languid with heat and sick to my stomach.
Hate and lust.
Passion and fury.
Why is the line between these emotions so thin?
My heart beats a frantic rhythm. With every circle he makes around me, with every brush of his fingers, I’m being thrust deeper into Dutch’s world. I know it and yet I’m helpless against it.
I try to throw him off by saying, “You didn’t like my gift?”
He stops. His amber eyes darken a shade, the browns taking over the fierce, honeycombs. Worse than a mysterious enemy in the shadows, he’s a monster with his hands close enough to snap my neck.
He ducks close, his voice mellow and, right underneath that, velvet steel. It reminds me of his singing voice, the kind of tone that’s as warm as brandy. Smooth as it goes down. Burns when it lands in the belly.
“Cadey, Cadey, Cadey.”
I stiffen.
Dutch’s gaze sweeps over me like a brutal hurricane. “You used to be so…”
“Naive? Gullible?” I spit.
“Harmless.”
When he stares down at me, I can barely breathe. His eyes are half-hooded, his mouth hard and firm. More monster than man, a creature built of sin and destruction.
There’s a charge in the air that whispers Dutch is ready to rip the mask off my carefully constructed facade. I dig my fingers into fists. The appearance of being cold and unshaken is all I have. I refuse to let him see beneath that to the frightened, scholarship kid underneath. A girl just like all the other girls who duck their heads and make room for him in the hallways. A girl so easily destroyed by a hard gaze.
In a burst of courage, I step toward him instead of away. His eyebrow hikes.
“You won’t hurt me, Dutch,” I bluff, my voice dark and soft and sultry enough to cover my quivering arms.
He smiles, but it’s cruel and frightening. His eyes remain on my face. “Why not?”
“Because, whether I’ve lied to you or not, I’m still her.” I advance on him again, my heels clicking loudly against the stage floors. “Your precious Redhead.”
His eyes narrow slightly. It’s a testament to the ironclad control he has on his emotions that no other part of him jumps.
Finn warned me not to poke this angry bear, but I’ve got my stick and I’m plunging it as deep as it can go. If I’m going to die, I might as well take a pound of Dutch’s flesh with me.
“You wouldn’t hurt her, would you?” My words hang in the room. The air is tense enough to snap in two.
A thin, cruel smile works its way across his lips. “Then play for me,” he says. Without even raising his voice, his words are full of authority. “And maybe I’ll spare you.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” I snarl.
“You can’t, can you?”
I glare at him.
He touches a finger to my ear and then trails it down to my lips. “If you waste my time, Cadey, the punishment will be more severe.”
I shiver, but I’m not sure whether it’s from anger, desperation or desire. All I know is that I can’t let him win.
Batting his hand away, I storm angrily to the piano, drag the bench back under it and sit. My fingers poise over the keys. I start to bring my hands down, but they stop right above the black and white bed as if there’s a protective glass over the piano.
My mind is screaming at me to play.
But my body locks up.
There’s not a crowd here, Cadence. You can do this.
My hands refuse to move.
My throat tightens.
Invisible fingers of panic slide over my shoulders and dig their claws into my back. My eyes close and my breath gets shallow as the memories I keep locked away creep toward me.
‘Play, baby,’ mom’s voice croons in my head. ‘Play for the nice people’.
My heart is pounding in my ears.
I see them.
Smell.
The stench of unwashed bodies. Writhing limbs. Needles sticking into pale veins.
I open my mouth, unable to breathe.
It’s all there. Like opening a can of oozing, squirming worms.
The den of darkness. The hopeless faces.
Their eyes dazed. Their bodies no longer their own. Some of them naked. Some of them children.
My eyes roll back into my head.
Black dots scrape my vision.
Before I can lay a finger on the piano, gravity drags me down to the ground.
