The Ruthless Note: Dark High School Bully Romance (Redwood Kings Book 2)

My eyes drift higher, moving from the brawny hands wrapped around my arm…

… to the ink crawling over bulging biceps…

… to the wide shoulders…

… to the chiseled chin under a mouth that’s a hot slash of menace…

And finally landing on a pair of sharp amber eyes.

“I’ll take her home,” Dutch declares, his voice so poisonous it could peel the paint off a building.

Sol does not release my hand.

He stares into Dutch’s face, calm and cool. “Don’t worry about it. You can stay here and enjoy yourself.” Sol’s eyes move pointedly to Paris before shifting back to Dutch.

“I was getting tired of this place anyway.” Dutch’s voice drops to a gravelly pitch. “Let her go, Sol.”

Both boys keep their hands around my arms. There’s a hint of defiance in Sol’s eyes.

Paris waddles up to Dutch. Her mermaid dress is dirty around the hems from where she dragged Christa into the dew-filled grass. Her eyes are shining with desperation.

She’s not even trying to hide how much she wants Dutch.

He’s her idol.

Her king.

Her everything.

I wish her luck. He’s a monster with glowing eyes, tats and poison running through his veins.

“Dutch, don’t leave yet,” Paris pleads. Her voice trembles as if she knows it’s a long shot, but she can’t stop herself. “We’re just getting started.”

Dutch doesn’t even spare her a glance.

Paris licks her lips nervously. Checking to see if everyone is still watching, she adjusts her tone to a less pleading one. “I promised I’d show you the boathouse.” She presses even closer to him. Nearly balancing her chin on his shoulder, she coos, “Don’t let Christa ruin a good time.”

I watch it all with distaste. I really don’t care about what Paris and Dutch had planned to do in the boathouse. And I really don’t care about why that annoys me.

I just want to get out of here.

“Dutch, let go of my hand.”

“I’ve got her, Dutch,” Sol says.

“See? Sol is going to take care of her,” Paris points out.

The pressure is mounting.

The silence is loud.

The entire party is watching and it’s only a matter of time before this entire drama goes up on Jinx’s app.

Vi is going to watch this.

Breeze might too.

It makes me even more frantic to move away from all these prying eyes and harsh judgements. “Dutch.”

“We’re leaving,” Dutch growls.

But he’s not talking to Paris.

He tugs me sharply and I go stumbling into his chest. I’m surprised to feel his heart pick up speed when I press against him.

I’m even more surprised that there’s not really a big, black void where his heart should be.

After righting myself using his body, I quickly remove my hands. But Dutch captures my wrist again, preventing me from walking away.

Being trapped in his clutches in front of everyone feels like another way to put me down. Is he trying to embarrass me again? Teach me another one of his stupid lessons? Prove to everyone that I’m powerless and weak? That he can break me however he wants?

Taking a step back, I snarl at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

His face remains expressionless. Blank. Cold. He doesn’t care what I have to say. He doesn’t care about anything but making sure I’m as miserable as possible.

In that moment, I wish I’d never gotten involved with the prince of Redwood. Whether it was as myself or as my alter ego, I should have found a way—any way—to stay out of his sight from the start.

“Dutch,” Sol says.

“We’re leaving. Now.” Dutch talks over his friend.

I dig my heels into the grass and ignore the way his brows crash low over his stormy eyes.

He’s really not going to stop.

I rise to my full height and declare in a strong voice, “Dutch, if you don’t drop this hand, I swear I’m going to—gah!”

Dutch bends his knee and barrels me up over his shoulder. I’m airborne for one second. Then the familiar sensation of crashing on top of his muscular body shocks the breath out of my lungs.

“Dutch, put me down right now!” I pound his chest.

My cries go unheard.

My fists don’t move him.

I flail my arms, my temperature spiking to levels that are dangerous to my health.

Paris’s jaw drops. Her eyes sharpen on me when Dutch brushes past her. That look is blistering. It’s as if, despite all the ways that Dutch has tormented me and rejected her, I’m somehow still at fault.

The crowd parts for Dutch. No one’s saying a word, but their phones collect all the evidence of him ruthlessly carrying me away as if I’m nothing but a sack of potatoes.

I don’t struggle. Instead, I conserve my energy and wait for Dutch to loosen his grip.

When we’re far away from the party, heading towards the street, his hold on me slackens. I pounce on the opportunity to get him back.

Grabbing his arm, I bend the limb backward and use his own weight against him. Dutch bellows out, his free hand drawing over the back of my shirt and yanking at my skirt to try and flick me off.

I hold on like a bucking bull and lean harder into the awkward angle until he starts bending at the knees. That’s when his grip on me loosens completely.

I scramble to the ground and glare at him.

He shakes out his hand, his face a storm of fury. “What the hell was that? Were you trying to break my arm?”

“You don’t need that arm anyway. Snakes like you only need to crawl on the ground!”

I don’t care that I’m yelling. I don’t care that this is a quiet neighborhood and that our voices are carrying into the million-dollar mansions with the fancy lawns and golden porch lights.

There’s a fire burning inside me. It’s growing more and more volatile and demands to rain down wrath on Dutch’s stubborn, egotistical, ruthless head.

“I told you that the next time you came at me you’d regret it,” I snap. “You’re lucky I had mercy on you. I could have done that in front of all your friends and made you look like the punk that you are. You’re welcome!”

Dutch looks shocked and a little turned on.

I don’t care anymore.

He’s a whacko.

And I’m even more of a whacko for feeling electricity sweep over my skin when he moves nearer and runs his fingers gently over my hair.

Damn. He’s infuriating and confusing as hell.

I just want to get away from all this.

Whirling around, I take off down the street. Persistent footsteps echo behind me. I quicken my pace, hoping he’ll give up.

He doesn’t.

I put distance between us.

But Dutch still doesn’t turn back.

I glance over my shoulder and glare at him. “What are you doing?”

He says nothing.

Moved by an anger that makes me feel both bold and invincible—a dangerous combination—I storm back to him. “What do you want, Dutch? Just say it now so we can get it over with and you can leave me alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m making sure you get home safe,” he says grumpily.

There’s a pulse in my throat and I’m wondering if my heart found a way to climb up there.

Is he joking with me?

Dutch stares straight ahead as if he’s just as angry as I am.

I breathe in deeply and damn, if I don’t breathe him in along with the scent of the stars. He’s wearing that cologne, the one he wore the night he played the piano for me.

The night his hands skated over the keys and then made their way under my skirt.

The night he kicked me out of Redwood.

I’m still attracted to him. With his blond hair, sharp face, and all those taut muscles, I’d be blind if I wasn’t drawn the way hundreds of girls are. But it doesn’t mean I have to be stupid.

Dutch spent weeks trying to drain the life out of me and take the one good thing, the first good thing, that ever happened to me and Vi.

I can’t let this ‘valiant hero’ act fool me.

Maybe he’s just biding his time to see where I live so he can torment me at home.

“This is called stalking, you know,” I snarl when he follows me down the lane. “I don’t want you to know where my house is.”

“You think I don’t know where you live?” His eyes slice through mine, cutting my confidence in half. “I read your information in the Redwood files.”

“You’ve read my files?”

Ink crawls out from under his shirt sleeve and flex along with his bicep when he folds his arms over his chest.

“What did you read?” I demand, my chest squeezing tight.

His eyes dart to mine and back to the horizon. At first, I think he won’t answer. Then he spits out. “Your middle name is Elizabeth. You’re allergic to peaches. Your mom is…” His face shifts. A flicker of humanity.

“Dead,” I say flatly. “My mom is dead.”

He glances away.

Feeling angry and bereft, I speed up and pretend that he’s not with me.

When I pass a group of women drinking outside a convenience store, they notice Dutch following me.

“Hey, girl, you know him?” one of them yells.

“No,” I say coldly.

Immediately, the women jump from their benches and make a line in front of Dutch.

“Hey, why are you following her?”

“You want us to call the police?”

“Look how tall you are. Following girls in the dark. The hell is wrong with you?”

Dutch’s expression is still cold, but there’s a crease between his brows that hints of his discomfort.

I want to keep walking.

With every bone in my body, I do.

But somehow, I can’t leave him here. Especially when the women start saying, “Call the cops. We’ll teach him a lesson tonight.”

It’s like my body isn’t my own. I whirl around. “Guys,” my voice shakes, “I know him. No need to call the cops.”

The women study my face for a heartbeat and then they release Dutch from their line of protection.

“Oh, so this is a lovers’ spat!”

“I told you we shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

One of the tipsier women wiggles her fingers at Dutch. “Young man, let me tell you a secret.” She hooks an arm around his shoulder. “Just apologize. Tell her you’ve been a jerk and that you’ll never do it again.”

Another woman points to me. “And you, pretty thing. Give him a chance to prove he’s changed.”

“Come on. You two young things should never be all upset. Life is too short for that.”

I give them a tight-lipped smile. Dutch’s gaze is heavy but, when I glance up, his eyes are a little softer than they were before.

I scowl at him, whirl around and continue walking. He remains behind me, not saying a single word.

I’m stunned when he follows me all the way to the bus stop and takes the bus, sitting in the back. I had no idea Dutch Cross could catch a bus. A part of me thinks it’s his first time.

Once we get to my neighborhood, he walks me down the dark street, keeping a few paces behind until I open my front door.

My key in the lock, I turn around.

He’s there, his eyes steady on me, burning into me like he’s touching my skin. The prince of Redwood Prep just walked me home.

I step into the house without a word and hurry to the window. Dutch heads back the way he came, the darkness swallowing him whole.

He’s asking for trouble wearing those clothes. His expensive shoes and watch will be a blaring, neon, ‘come and get me’ sign to all the thugs out here.

I feel a twinge of regret, like maybe I should care if he gets robbed. But then I harden myself against the little plume of care that starts to rise in me. There is no way I’m feeling sorry for Dutch Cross tonight.

I start to walk to my bathroom when I freeze.

An insidious fear sneaks into my heart.

I stare at the door with a sense of foreboding. I was too distracted by Dutch to pay much attention, but I’m pretty sure…

I didn’t have to turn the key to get into the house.

The front door was open tonight.

Jinx: Humpty Dumpty Had A Great Fall

It’s sad when the mighty take a big tumble, but our former head of the Pompoms truly sank low tonight. When the royal family turns their backs, it’s sure to sting.

But the real kicker is not who Prince Charming turned away from. It’s who he turned to.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Sources say that Solar System and New Girl were seen getting cozy on the back step tonight. Prince Charming better hold tight to his Cinderella before she shoots for the stars instead of the throne.

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

– Jinx