SWNOVELS The Darkest Note: Chapter 17
It feels like all of Redwood Prep watches in silence while Dutch basically kidnaps me. I hang like a limp rag doll, my arms and hair pointing to the ground and my butt hiked at the ceiling.
My body’s tense and my fingers are closed into fist. I’m waiting impatiently for a chance to be put down so I can unleash my fury.
Finn stops in front of the practice room and swipes his card over the scanner. It lights up neon. There’s an audible click as the locks slide apart.
Zane gestures to Dutch. “Ladies first.”
“What a gentleman,” I grouse. My words hit Dutch’s rear end, but it’s aimed at his obnoxious twin.
Zane laughs, looking handsome and mischievous. Today, his Redwood Prep uniform is a plain white button-down and khakis. The simple look fits him like a tuxedo. It really is no secret why he’s got so many followers on social media. His dashing good looks, even from upside down, are lethal.
Dutch takes me inside the practice room. Zane and Finn follow.
The nerve of these jerks. Do they think they can steal an entire person and get away with it? Or do they, wrongfully, assume that I’ve been putting up with their crap because I’m a weak person? Hell no.
I’ve managed to survive in Redwood Prep this long because I go down swinging. And that’s exactly what I plan to do when my feet hit the carpeted floor.
“Now, Brahms,” Dutch’s muscular arms constrict around my back, “I’m going to put you on your feet now. And I need you to promise me that you’re not going to aim for my face.”
“That’s the money-maker,” Zane says.
I stay silent.
Dutch runs a hand over the back of my thigh. “Cadence?”
I shiver, unnerved by his touch, but I refuse to let Dutch’s attractiveness get the best of me. Screw my stupid hormones. I’m locked in a room with three big, intimidating rockstars. They can do anything to me and I wouldn’t be able to run.
That’s not a turn on. That’s a dangerous situation.
And these are dangerous people.
Just because they’re all sexy doesn’t mean I can let my guard down.
“Fine,” I grumble.
The moment he sets me down, I launch at him.
Dutch easily snaps my wrist and pulls me into his chest. I’m locked against him, his front to my back. The feel of his body reacting to mine sends a heatwave launching through my skin.
“Brahms, you promised,” he says, his tone similar to a parent scolding a child.
Zane chuckles.
“I swear, Dutch, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make your head roll across the front lawn like a basketball.”
“Ooh. Graphic,” Zane teases, taking a seat behind his drums.
Finn’s brow quirks exactly the way Dutch’s would and it reminds me that even if he and Dutch aren’t biologically related, they’re brothers.
Dutch is behind me, so I can’t see his expression, but I can only assume he’s grinning.
I glare at the massive hands bounding me in place. “You better let me go. Now.”
“Not before you understand that you don’t have a choice here,” he insists. “As long as you’re enrolled in Redwood Prep, you belong to me. I own you.”
Each words sends my temper spiking higher and higher.
He leans down. His lips brush my ear and send a shiver of goosebumps running over my skin.
“There’s only one way out, Brahms,” he whispers.
“And if I don’t take it?” I breathe, turning slightly toward him.
His fingers slide up my arm and settle around my neck. “Then I’m going to show up at your house.” He lightly squeezes. “And I’m going to show up at your work. And I’m going to keep showing up in front of you until you know that there’s nowhere you can run that I won’t hunt you down.”
My chest tightens and I realize that, beyond any shadow of a doubt, I’ve never hated anyone the way I hate Dutch Cross.
He’s a menace here at school, but I refuse to let him and his band of unruly brothers anywhere near my sister. I would die for Viola before I let her face this hellish treatment.
Fighting the urge to bite his hand in case it gives me some kind of disease, I relax. “Fine. I accept.”
Dutch startles with surprise.
Finn and Zane exchange looks.
Dutch slowly releases his arms and walks around to face me, still looking suspicious.
“I’ll work for you,” I spit out the words. “Five grand is about two weeks salary if I’m working eight hours a day. If I’m working twenty-four hours, that’s eight days.” I lift my fist and he quirks a brow in warning. But I don’t swing. Instead, I raise my hand. “I’ll pay you back for the wallet.”
Dutch narrows his eyes. I can feel him trying to tear me apart, trying to get in front of whatever I’m planning. I offer him a resigned nod and that seems to put him even more on edge.
“You win,” I say.
“You’re leaving Redwood Prep?”
I scowl. What is his obsession with kicking me out of school?
“No, I’ll…” I can’t seem to say ‘be his servant’, “be your assistant until the debt is paid. You happy?”
Dutch grunts.
Finn waves to us. “Now that that’s settled, can we practice for the dance tonight?”
“What dance?” I ask.
“None of your business.” Dutch fishes in his pocket, produces a wallet that looks like the red version of the one I trashed, and hands me a card. “Get us three coffees from the cafeteria.”
“Make mine with foam, please!” Zane adds in his order. The only reason I’m not fuming is because he said please, which shows a politeness that Dutch has not yet revealed to me.
I turn my gaze to Finn. “What about you?”
“Whatever’s fine,” he says, fitting his bass guitar on his head. Sunlight streams behind him, creating a halo around his brown hair.
I turn sharply. “And you?”
Dutch still looks unnerved. “Extra sugar.”
I’m surprised. I thought he’d take his coffee as black as his soul. “Sure.”
“Give her a card to get in the practice room,” Zane suggests.
Dutch stiffens.
I try to hide my smile.
“Not going to happen,” Dutch mumbles. “I’ll go with her to the cafe.”
“We need to practice before first bell,” Finn reminds him.
“Fine.” Dutch takes out another card. “Bring it right back in the exact condition.”
“I’ll think about it,” I mumble.
He leans in close and I swear his jaw tightens. “Don’t test me today, Brahms.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I snarl back.
His eyes drag down to my lips and a flicker of confusion is in his expression. After it passes, he seems even more pissed off than before.
I snatch the card from him and wave it around. “I’ll be right back.”
On my way to the cafeteria, I inspect the practice room card and then take pictures of it. There’s a guy in my neighborhood who makes fake IDs. Something tells me he’d be able to make a fake pass too.
Standing Dutch up on Saturday wasn’t enough. I want him to know that the pain that’s been inflicted is coming from me.
As I’m walking, someone steps into my way. I bounce against a bony shoulder and glance up.
Christa’s in my path, glaring at me. She’s in her full cheerleader regalia today, complete with short, flouncy skirt and a tubed top.
“Can I help you?” I ask, not bothering to hide my disdain. I haven’t forgotten what she did during music class.
Her eyes drop to my hand and she pounces forward. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” I quickly hide it behind my back.
Her gaze slides up to me and her expression twists with horror. “Did Dutch give you a card to his practice room?”
I’m about to deny it vehemently when I realize that this is a prime opportunity. Christa has everything in the world—except Dutch’s true affections. Sure, she might screw around with him, but it’s no secret that he has no interest in her. Not the way he’s interested in me.
Well, the other version of me.
I flutter the card around, making a show of fanning my face with it. “He wants me to have access to him. At all times.”
“Give me that.” She swipes for it.
I snap it out of reach. “Ah-ah-ah. This is for people who actually mean something to Dutch.” I step closer to her and lower my voice. “What do you mean to him, Christa. I mean, apart from being the one he calls when he needs an itch scratched?”
Her face reddens. Trembling with rage, she lifts her hand and tries to slap me.
Fortunately for me, I dodge out of the way just in time.
Unfortunately for Christa, she loses her footing and face-plants against the locker.
The hallway rings out with a metallic bang.
I wince. “Are you okay?”
An ear-shattering scream pierces the hallway.
I cringe. “Guess you’re… not okay.”
“Christa!”
“Oh no!”
Her dance team minions rush around her, forming a circle. With their help, Christa scrambles to her feet. I gasp when I see all the blood rushing down her chin.
It’s coming from a split in her plump lips.
“No, no, no!” She wilts as if she’s got a broken leg instead of a minor lip injury. “I paid so much for this.”
I’m not surprised by that statement at all and it just goes to show how much Redwood is already changing me.
“You!” Christa’s voice is a growl. She crooks a finger at me and, with her pale skin, blonde hair and all that blood pouring down her chin, she looks like a zombie. “You did this!”
“Me?” I stick a finger in my chest.
“You… ow!” Christa cups her mouth and moans pathetically.
Her minions give me sharp, daggerlike looks. They can’t seriously believe that I pushed her into the locker, can they? I mean, a part of me wishes I did, but I didn’t even touch this girl.
“Christa?” High heels clip against the floor and a soft voice rings out. “What’s going on here?”
“Miss Jamieson!” Christa bawls. Big, crocodile tears leak down her cheeks.
The beautiful Lit teacher saunters into view. She’s wearing a hip-hugging purple pencil skirt, black pantyhose and ruffled blouse. Her curls are in a high ponytail and her thick coils cascade down her back.
“Christa, what’s wrong with your face?” Alarmed, Miss Jamieson hurries over. She inspects Christa for a second and then frowns. “Girls, take her to the nurse.”
“This isn’t over.” Christa’s voice is low and muffled due to the giant gap in her bottom lip.
The cheerleading team captain launches an arm around the shoulders of her friends and together, they hobble off. I’m pretty sure a busted lip shouldn’t prevent her from walking properly, but I figure exaggerating is right up Christa’s alley.
Not going to lie. There’s a tiny part of me that feels justified. If Miss Jamieson weren’t staring at me, I’d probably high five the locker that’s still got Christa’s bloody lip print on it.
Eyes stern, the Lit teacher gestures, “Miss Cooper. A word.”
Oh no. Am I in trouble now?
I follow her urgently into a classroom. From the writings on the board, I’m guessing she was preparing for first period.
Miss Jamieson closes the door. “Sit, Miss Cooper.”
“I really didn’t push her, Miss Jamieson. You can check the cameras.” I jump to my own defense before I’ve fully settled into my seat.
“It doesn’t matter whether you pushed her or not. The truth is that you cannot afford to make a single mistake, Cadence. Scholarship recipients are held to a higher standard at Redwood.”
“I know that.” This stupid school would let people like Dutch, Finn and Zane raise hell in their hallways. But the poor, defenseless scholarship kids are the ones who get sacked for the tiniest infractions.
“It might not be fair, but it is what it is,” Miss Jamieson says as if she can read my mind. Clear brown eyes sear me. “One bad move and you can lose your scholarship.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Miss Jamieson leans dark hands across the desk. “Cadence, Mr. Mulliez had so much faith in you and your journey here at Redwood Prep. He was willing to risk his reputation for it.” She swallows. “And although he’s gone to pursue further studies in Europe, he still asks about you. I don’t want to tell him that you’re no longer in school. Do you understand me?”
I lower my gaze. The reminder of Mr. Mulliez makes me feel heavy.
“If you ever need to talk, about anything,” she slides a business card with her personal number written on it across the desk, “I’m here.” She tilts her head and smiles prettily. “I was a scholarship kid here at Redwood too. So I know a little about what you’re going through.”
I stare at her stunning face. I seriously doubt she has any idea what she’s talking about.
Miss Jamieson was probably the most popular girl at Redwood with looks like hers. And I bet there was no Dutch rampaging her world either.
I smile wearily. “Okay.”
“Great.” Her eyes sparkle.
Whether she’s going to be of any help or not, it’s enough to know that I’ve got an ally if I need one. It’s a relief that she’s in contact with Mr. Mulliez too. It feels like he’s still here, watching over me.
The beginning of school chimes ring through the hallway and kids start pouring into the classroom.
“Get to class,” Miss Jamieson says.
My phone vibrates while I’m on my way to first period.
Dutch: Are you growing coffee beans? What’s taking so long?
I grit my teeth and mime throwing a punch. If only Dutch would walk into a locker and save me some trouble.
“Was that for me?”
I whirl around, stunned to see Dutch approaching. The hallways are empty and his footsteps thud against the floor.
My gaze flickers to his and I see the darkness lurking just beneath the gold.
“Did you follow me?”
“I’m here to make sure you don’t spike our coffees with bleach,” he says in a totally serious tone. “Zane’s got a weak stomach.”
“If I tampered with your drink, trust me, you wouldn’t be able to tell.”
The threat hangs between us, like the eye of a hurricane.
“Might want to be careful with your words, Brahms.”
“You might want to not be so paranoid, Dutch. It was a joke.”
It was not a joke.
If I’m getting their coffee every day, then you bet I’m going to slip a laxative in Dutch’s.
His eyes sharpen on me, but before he can say anything, footsteps clop down the corridor.
“What are you two doing out of class?” a teacher asks, hands on his hips.
“We were just about to head there now,” Dutch says. Taking my hand, he drags me in the opposite direction.
I stumble behind him. “My class isn’t in this direction.”
“We still haven’t gotten our coffee yet.” His voice is low and steady.
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“One thing you’re going to find out, Brahms. We don’t kid about coffee.”
We get to the cafeteria, which is empty because everyone is in class—as we should be. But I guess the Cross brothers play by their own set of rules.
Dutch leads me behind the counter where the food is kept in warming pans. I notice someone peeking through the window and wait, almost gleefully, for them to scold us.
Instead, the door bangs open and a hefty cafeteria woman barrels out, throws her arm around Dutch’s neck and kisses his cheek.
Dutch gives her a soft smile. “Maria, don’t tease me if you’re not going to leave your husband.”
She laughs and scrubs his jaw free of the lipstick stain. “Thank you for what you did for—”
He winks, cutting her off. “Don’t mention it. You got what I need?”
“Oh baby.” She does a hip roll. “I have everything you need, but you were late today. I can’t give you any extra love.”
“It’s okay.” He nods at me. “She’ll make the coffee herself.”
I bristle.
Maria’s eyes sparkle at me. “You have a little girlfriend, Dutchy?”
He leans close and whispers to her, “Maria, you know I only have eyes for you.”
The older woman swats him firm on the rump and laughs loudly. “Go make your coffee.”
Confused and a little disarmed, I follow Dutch into a small room. It’s got a counter, black and white frames on the wall, and sacks of premium coffee beans.
“What is this place?”
“Maria’s workroom. She makes all the coffee for Redwood Prep.” He arches an eyebrow. “Haven’t you tasted a cup yet?”
I refuse to tell him that I haven’t been able to afford anything outside of sandwiches, water and orange juice.
Instead, I shrug.
He points to the machine, unbothered. “I’ll watch.”
“You really think I’m going to poison your drinks?”
He levels me a flat look.
I pretend to be offended even though I’d one hundred percent slip a laxative in if I had one.
Dutch stops me when I reach for the machine. “You do know how to make coffee right?”
I cut him a sharp glance. “Yes. I used to make coffee for my mom all the time.”
“Used to?”
I stiffen and then I clamp my mouth shut.
He leans against the counter where I’m working, his eyes intent on me.
Squirming beneath his scrutiny, I snap at him. “Can you back off? I’m trying to make your stupid coffee.”
“Is your mom a touchy subject, Cadence?”
His use of my actual name takes me aback. I blink rapidly, fighting the unease in my chest with the only weapon I have—anger.
“Tell you what,” I lean in to him, my eyebrows lowering, “I’ll tell you about my mom if you tell me why I need to look for that redhead.”
Flames burst to life in his eyes and though I didn’t get to see the disappointment and annoyance kick in when I stood him up on Saturday, this is the next best thing.
His jaw clenches. “You don’t need to ask questions. Just do as you’re told.”
“Are you embarrassed, Dutch? Is there another girl out there who sees you for the despicable human being you really are?”
The flames in his eyes turn to hellfire. It’s almost alarming the way I feed off of his fury. It’s like the part of me that’s broken and numb comes alive when I push his buttons. And maybe that’s what happens for him too. The shards in me push into his soft places and make him more monster than man.
His nostrils flare and we stare each other down. I don’t shift away as usual. My chest is a whirlwind of emotions. Dutch cracked open that drawer marked ‘mom’. It’s one I always keep closed for good reason.
The heady mixture of anger and hurt is a tumultuous combination.
Taunting him, I ease closer. “What did she do, Dutch? Did she take off with your car? Or your wallet? Or maybe your black hole of a heart?”
His lips are thinning out and steam is rising from his preppy shirt. Alarm bells go off in my head, screaming bloody murder.
I keep going because, apparently, I love poking angry lions. “Or,” my chest brushes his, “did she find out that you’re a scared little boy who plays games and trashes lockers instead of having a conversation about what the hell he really wants.”
The space between us is suddenly eliminated. Calloused hands slam against either side of me, trapping me in place. I choke on my own breath, the heat in my heart sweeping down to touch my fingers, stomach and all the way to my toes.
I must be disturbed because I don’t hate the way Dutch’s hard, sculpted body feels against mine. And I don’t hate the way he smells either—like sandalwood and sunshine and something dark. Like angsty music.
I breathe in, remembering the taste of him. The explosion of cinnamon. The softness of his hair on the back of my hand. The grunt he made when I raked his scalp.
I want his pain.
But I need that grunt again. Need it more than I can say.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but a twisted side is ready to come out and play. It grows stronger the more Dutch glares.
Because the truth is that Dutch Cross owns everything in Redwood Prep, but he can’t ever own me. Not the ‘me’ he really wants. And it’s such a power trip that I’m practically tripping out of my skin.
The amber hues of his eyes are like tiny sunbursts, taking on an almost supernatural glimmer. An angry slant to his hot, full lips, he stares me down.
Heat burns in the sliver of space between us, making me sweat. I refuse to touch him, refuse to be the first to give in to the wickedly hot tension simmering between us. Even though I’m throbbing with lust and desire, I will not be the first to cave.
“Who are you calling a little boy?” Dutch presses forward until his head is right against mine. The big bad wolf getting ready to blow a house down.
The sound of his sharp, rapid breath is all I can hear. It drowns out the thudding of my heart and the roar in my body. It makes my legs tremble like a new-born foal.
Unable to stand, I grab hold of his shoulder when his tongue flickers out against the shell of my ear.
“You want to see fear, Brahms?” he taunts.
I whimper, digging my fingers into his shoulder and arching my back. All the blood is pooling to right between my thighs and it’s all I can do to keep myself from bursting into flames.
“Tell me,” Dutch presses.
“N-no.”
And then he smiles. Evil. Sadistic.
“Keep pushing me and I won’t just destroy you,” he whispers. “I’ll destroy everything you care about.”
Immediately, the tension slices in two and I wrench away from him. He lets me go, but the flush in his cheeks and the tightness of his pants tells me I wasn’t the only one affected by… whatever that was.
Stumbling on shaky legs, I push past him and hurry to the door. Dutch is my nightmare-come-true, but my body’s still roaring for his touch.
I hate myself for being so weak.
Because after everything he’s done and all the ways he’s ruined my life, I just can’t help that I’m drawn to him.