The Broken Note: Dark High School Bully Romance (Redwood Kings Book 3)

“Have you thought about my offer?” Jarod Cross asks me, standing up from behind the teacher’s desk and staring me down through a pair of circular-framed glasses. With his dark hair and aristocratic face, he would fit perfectly into the country clubs where golf clubs are swung and million-dollar deals are made.

Except for his tattoos.

The ink on Jarod Cross’s skin is a physical reminder that his entire life is art. His music lives on the flesh of his arms and legs. They creep out of his neck. A walking canvas. A painting in human form.

“Cadence?”

“Uh…” I can’t help but squirm at his direct gaze. Eyes as blue as Zane’s. The ocean trapped in his skull.

His lips curl up, but as charming as he is, there’s something sharp about his smile. I picked it up the day he asked me to spy on Dutch and it’s even sharper now. A black cloud. He can’t hide it. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve seen too many shadows with these eyes of mine and now I’m finding darkness everywhere.

Either way, I know better than to blurt out a response.

I need to move carefully.

Jarod Cross slides a slender hand into the pocket of his trousers. He’s wearing a collared shirt and pressed pants that are perfectly tailored to his athletically lean frame.

“I thought,” he leans against the desk and crosses his ankles, “that you didn’t jump on my offer because you might not be interested in going to school for music. Perhaps you’d like some other kind of reward.” He arches a brow. “Maybe a more monetary gift.”

My throat bobs as I swallow. I choose my words carefully. “I’m not sure how much you know about me and Dutch, Mr. Cross, but we’re not friends.”

He chuckles. “Yes, I heard of your wild… escapades.”

I’m alarmed by the thought. How much is he aware of? “I’ll need some time to think about it.”

“If it’s because you’re afraid of Dutch—”

“It’s not that.”

He pops an eyebrow.

“When I commit to something, I go all the way. I need to make sure this… job is something I can do properly.”

He rubs his chin and looks at me, pleased. “You’re a smart, young lady, Miss Cooper. I think you’ll go far… if the right doors are open for you.”

“Thanks,” I wheeze out.

Jarod Cross looks me over, scanning me with his otherworldly blue eyes. My breath gets trapped in my throat until he finally nods.

“Alright. I’ll give you another day to think about it. I’ll need an answer soon.” His eyes flash and the cold undertones in his voice make me shiver. “Since I’m waiting this long, the answer better be one I want to hear.”

Is he threatening me right now?

Fear makes me tighten my fingers in my skirt.

He straightens off the desk and saunters out of the classroom. His bodyguards—two big, fierce-looking men—stand to attention. Jarod Cross leaves without a glance back, but one of the guys turns and stares at me.

A shudder runs down my spine.

Something isn’t right about any of this. Just like I knew the first time mom dragged me to that opioid den and forced me to play, I can feel it in my bones. Like I’m brushing close to death. To the devil himself.

After they’re gone, my phone buzzes.

It’s Dutch.

Class is over now. Where are you?

I grit my teeth and contemplate throwing my phone across the room. That annoying, obnoxious bastard. What does he want now?

I don’t have time to run at his beck and call. I was planning to go and visit Serena this afternoon before I head home to see what disaster mom has made of our apartment.

Plus, I need to tell Rick mom is back.

Somehow.

I am not looking forward to that conversation.

“Deep breaths, Cadence.” I coach myself the way the therapist at the free clinic once taught me. “Just take one step at a time.”

Twisting my neck, I unzip my backpack and open it wide. The ring box is nestled inside, perfectly safe.

Thankfully, I was smart enough to remove Dutch’s ring before mom could get her grubby hands on it.

Might as well return it to him now.

It’s not just because mom might steal it if I take it back home.

I need to end things with Dutch once and for all.

The walk to the practice room feels longer than usual. With every step, I remember the night when I snuck into Redwood with a baseball bat in my hands and vengeance in my heart.

The bitterness I felt when I thought Dutch had set the fire nearly tore me in two. I ended up being wrong, but that doesn’t change the fact that Dutch isn’t a good person.

I can’t afford to fall deeper into him than I already am.

If I do…

I won’t ever find a way out.

My fingers tremble as I pull them into fists and knock on the door.

The lock clicks.

The knob turns.

It opens immediately.

Dutch leans against the door, his big body filling the doorway, hands in his pockets and eyes on me. When our gazes collide, my world rocks a bit.

I shudder like I’m standing in the rain.

Dutch Cross is not just a bad boy.

He’s a natural disaster—a force of nature that can level cities.

And he’d been waiting for me.

I freeze, but my heart doesn’t follow suit. It’s pounding like a war drum.

“Come in,” Dutch says, stepping aside.

I move into the practice room, stunned to see everything is cleaned up and set back in its place. His guitar has new strings. I know better than to point that out.

Instead, I ask, “Where are your brothers and Sol?”

“They were tired from all the excitement last night,” Dutch says plainly.

Guilt squeezes my lungs. I stare at the ground. “Last night was… tell them I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered them.”

Rough fingers brace my chin and lift my head. I meet Dutch’s fierce gaze. “We make our own choices and we own the consequences. It’s no one else’s burden but ours. So drop that look. You did nothing wrong and I won’t stand here and let you pretend like you did.”

His words are sweet, but his tone is so freaking harsh.

I snap my chin out of his hands.

He lets me back away, but his eyes remain fixed on me, studying my every move.

If we were something close to friends, if he wasn’t a possessive lunatic, I would take this last chance to ask him some questions. About his friendship with Sol and how they got close enough that Dutch would torture me just to save him. About his dad and the tension I saw between them in the classroom. About music and if he feels any closer to an answer than he did before.

Instead, I say nothing.

The only sound in the practice room is the rip of my zipper as I tug my bag open. I dip my hand inside and emerge with the ring box.

Dutch’s eyes flick to the box and return to my face. There’s a hopeful gleam in his gaze, almost as if he thinks that I’m here to accept.

The crazy thing is… I probably would.

In another life.

In another world.

The connection between us is undeniable, but it isn’t enough to survive in this life.

And I can’t be distracted right now.

Mom is a full-time job. Even worse, she brought a killer with her.

Although I don’t believe all of her story, I know that a woman as self-absorbed as mom would never leave her life behind over nothing. She did see or uncover something that was big enough to make her run.

But why come back?

That question needles at me. If the matter was really over and done with, mom would have shown up on her own and made things clear. She was sneaking around instead. The only reason she bothered to show her face was because I changed the locks and she couldn’t get into the house to steal.

My instincts are screaming that whatever she’s involved with isn’t over.

Viola’s still in danger.

And by accepting mom back into our lives, we might have just invited the killer to our house.

Dutch’s shoulders get tense and he touches my cheek. “What’s wrong? Did my dad say something to you?”

I shake my head.

The gravity of the moment falls heavy on me.

I open my mouth, but no sound escapes. Damn. Why is this so hard?

I hate Dutch.

I hate him… right?

Yes.

I do.

But I don’t. Not as much as I should.

And it’s been that way since the beginning.

The push and pull.

Hate and want.

Lust and loathing.

Nothing with him is ever simple. Did I think that pushing him away would be simple too?

Since words fail me, I simply extend the ring box to him.

His eyes drop to the item I’m offering. He doesn’t say a word, but I can tell he’d rather destroy the box with a hammer than take it back from me.

“This was ridiculous, Dutch. We both know it.” I set the ring box on the arm of the sofa, since he won’t accept it from my hands. The words burn like hot cigarettes, branding my esophagus. My hands are trembling and I clench them into fists. “I don’t want to marry you. I can’t even stand the sight of you.”

Silence rings out while the words hang in the air, dark clouds full of toxic rain and hail.

“I will never forget what you did to me, and I don’t want anything to do with you,” I whisper hotly.

He tilts his head up to the ceiling and I can’t see his expression but, when he glances down again, he looks contemplative. “Prove it.”

“What?”

His face remains stoic. His blond hair catches the sunlight and burns like gold. I watch him sink into the couch, eyes never leaving mine. He motions to me. “Come and sit in my lap.”

I choke. “Why would I do that?”

“You said you can’t stand the sight of me. You want nothing to do with me.” He tilts his head. “Then it won’t matter.”

“The hell is wrong with you?”

He looks unruffled. Totally in control. “Are you that scared of how I make you feel, Brahms?”

My mouth purses. “Screw you, Dutch.”

“We both know you walking in here and making demands isn’t going to stop me. You want me to leave you alone?” He arches an eyebrow. “Prove that you don’t want me.”

My lips fall into a firm line.

This is a risky game, but the one thing I hate more than Dutch Cross is walking away from a chance to shut him up.

Don’t go over there. Don’t go.

I ignore that tiny voice in my head.

I must be insane, but I want him to eat his own words. I want him to know that he doesn’t control me and if I have to think about new-born kittens and C-sections and boogers to win this dare, I will.

Dutch Cross will not have the satisfaction of being right.

Jinx: Will This Fight For The Throne Draw Blood?

The moment our OG Bad Boy announced he’d be serving a royal term at Redwood, the streets were flooded with whispers. In a battle of the royals, who will stand on top—the ruler with experience or his young, impulsive son?

Today’s first round was fought in front of a crowd and the votes are in. Prince Charming was made to bow before his more powerful father. But he made sure to leave a mess in his wake after walking away.

Even more intriguing? The OG Ruler took Cinderella aside again today. Does the Prince know what his father and his princess are cooking up? Something tells me there’s a chaos brewing in the kingdom.

Until the next post, keep your enemies close and your secrets even closer.

– Jinx