SWNOVELS The Broken Note: Chapter 8
I dump my food in the nearest trash bin and stalk down the hallway. People press themselves against their lockers. Probably because they see the wrath on my face and know I’d step on their heads if they don’t clear out fast enough.
My blood is roaring in my ears.
Fury makes me gnash my teeth.
I’ve spent my life learning to control that rage, pouring it all into my guitar instead of being the type of bastard that punches for sport instead of necessity. Music helps with that. It focuses all my energy. Funnels it into a mess of chords and tangled notes that don’t make sense to anyone but me.
It’s much more satisfying to control the emotions than letting them rule me.
But with Cadence?
Screw that.
Whatever control I thought I had goes slipping through my fingers like sand. It’s infuriating to lose my own balance.
I’ve always been on top of the world. No one above me. No one ruling me.
But all that girl has to do is bat her eyes and I’d wage a war.
Not that she wants me to go to war for her.
The way she looked at me—like I was a freaking annoyance, it got under my skin. Even more than that, her words dug at me, unearthing a truth that bites like a million mosquitoes descending at once.
I did make it my mission to ruin her.
And I failed.
In the end, she’s the one who ruined me.
Some part of my brain is aware that I need to give her time. Time to see that we’re right for each other. Time to prove that I’m never going to hurt her again.
But why do I feel so freaking torn up inside? Why do I want to bust someone’s head off their neck?
I turn down another hallway and stop short. Lucien and Ron—my dad’s personal bodyguards—are standing outside the music lecture room.
Ron, the one on the right, is dad’s favorite meathead. He’s nothing but a big, hulk of muscle and an empty can for a head. Anything dad says, Ron does without question.
Lucien is a little slimmer than Ron, but what he doesn’t have in mass, he makes up for in cunning. There’s something about Lucien’s eyes, the way they slice into you like a knife, that’s always set me on edge. I would prefer to pick a fight with the brainless shark Ron, than to tempt fate with Lucien.
A crowd of students are in front of the classroom, eagerly peering inside. Some of them have signs.
‘We love you, Jarod Cross’
‘Marry me’
‘Jarod Cross’s Number One Fan!’
Brainless zombies. All of them. Clamoring for someone who doesn’t give a damn about them. Breathless and waiting on his every move.
Idiots.
I storm toward the classroom. The crowd goes silent and, like they did in the hallway, they move out of my way.
Ron gives me a grim nod.
Lucien doesn’t bother acknowledging me. Not until I get close.
He suddenly bars me with an arm out. The snake.
“Sorry, Mr. Cross,” Lucien rasps. “You can’t go in.”
“Try and stop me,” I hiss. Slamming his arm down, I stalk past him. Dad lifts a finger, a quick but powerful gesture to his underlings. Lucien adjusts his suit jacket and returns his attention to the crowd.
I stalk toward my father, my anger bristling in my veins. I haven’t spoken to him since that disaster of a ‘family introduction’ dinner. The one where he announced Miss Jamieson as our step-sister and crushed my twin’s heart with a freaking stone. Zane’s stopped his destructive drinking binges, but he still hasn’t recovered from that.
Maybe he never will.
“What a pleasant surprise, son. I was told you and the others didn’t often attend this lecture.” Dad’s voice is smooth. Oily. He’s made an unbelievable amount of money peddling that voice to women hungry for the fantasy. The dream that a man with everything—money, looks and talent—could be singing to them and only them.
If they knew what their dirty fantasy does in the dark, would they still worship him?
Something tells me they would.
I glower at dad. “What are you doing at Redwood?”
“I told you I’d be teaching a class.” Dad tilts his head, showing the tattoo behind his ear. “Yesterday was my first lecture. I was a little rusty, but I’ve been told I did well for my first—”
“I meant,” I step closer, “what are you really doing here?”
My eyes scour his face, searching for any signs. We both know that nothing dad does is a coincidence.
Slowly, the facade of the warm-hearted father disappears. Dad’s eyes glint with the cruelty I know lurks deep in his bones.
“I heard you’ve been talking to Miller,” he growls.
My lips quirk. “Is there some reason I can’t talk to the chairman of the board?”
“What are you planning, Dutch?”
“Nothing you need to know.”
“You’ve been getting on my nerves.”
“That was intentional.”
His eyes go dark. “Don’t force my hand, son.”
“You’ve already forced mine.” I clench my jaw. “Let’s not hold back anymore, dad. I’d like to take a proper swing at you.”
Musical chimes flood the speakers.
Class is about to begin but neither of us moves a muscle.
Through the window, I notice the crowd multiplying. Some are fans here to watch Jarod Cross from a distance, but others are students.
Cadence is among them.
I can’t see her yet, but I know she has this lecture and I know she’ll be here soon.
“Leave.” Dad steps back. Slipping a pair of thin, circle glasses out of his pocket, he puts it on like a costume. “I have work to do.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He glances over me, his tone dry and mocking. “You’re suddenly interested in school?”
“I’m sure there’s a lot I can learn if I keep my eyes on you.”
His mouth twists into a bigger smile, but his gaze is as cold and frigid as winter. “My goodwill ends here, Dutch. I’m holding myself back for your reputation’s sake, but if you insist on staying, I’ll have to throw you out in front of everyone.”
My back goes ramrod straight. I give him a look that’s pure hell.
“The teachers here at Redwood are scared of you, aren’t they? But I’m not, little boy. I’ll show you what power is,” dad’s voice is raspy and threatening. “And when I embarrass you, when I show them how weak you really are, you’ll lose all the respect these airheads have for you. Do you want that, Dutch?” Dad reaches out and fixes my collar. His thick fingers, calloused from years of playing guitar, scrape against my skin. “Do you want your kingdom to crumble?”
“Sir,” Lucien twists his neck and looks into the classroom, “do we let them in now?”
Dad’s eyes remain trained on me. “In a minute. Dutch was just leaving.”
The fury inside snaps and crackles. But he’s good for the threat.
We both know it.
My vision goes red.
My body tightens like a spring.
I pick up a desk as I leave and send it rocking over to its side.
Wood thuds and splinters.
Metal bangs.
Dad’s laughter flows eerily into my back, following the clatter of the overturned desk. I stumble outside, gritting my teeth so hard I’m sure they’ll crack.
The crowd makes room, but one person can’t step into the background if she tried. And hell, she is trying.
I stop in front of Cadence who’s hiding behind a tall guy with a giant backpack.
“Come out,” I growl.
She inches forward, her steps slow and shuffling, her eyes wide.
I stare straight ahead, not trusting myself to look her in the face. There’s no way dad has anything good planned for Redwood or for us now that he’s here. I’d rather cart her away than let her get close to him.
But I know that would be pushing it.
I can’t let dad see how much she means to me or he’ll place a target on her back.
“Meet me in the practice room after class,” I bite out.
She frowns and, for a second, I think she’s going to protest.
Thankfully, she nods her understanding.
I take off like a storm, footsteps pounding down the hallways until I get to the practice room.
I send my brothers a text.
Dutch: Miller’s on board. We just need to point and shoot.
Finn: Agreed. I’ve already commissioned Jinx. We need a secret dad can’t worm out of.
Zane: I’m in. I’ve been itching to see that old man burn in flames.
My jaw works and I reach roughly for my guitar, plopping it into my lap and running my hands down the strings. A discordant note plays, a perfect reflection of my heart.
Dad needs to go.
Redwood Prep is too small for the both of us.
Besides, he doesn’t deserve to have total control over the lives and futures of the students here.
And no one knows that better than me.