Page 2 of Could Be Worse

IN MINNESOTA

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YOU HAVE 24 HOURS

A sob shot into my throat, and my heart raced so fast, it would surely give out from pumping the devastation flooding my most vital organ.

All that I had talked about… fantasized about achieving in my life. All the endless practicing and manifesting.

Just like that, my entire world pirouetted out of my grasp.

Who would do this to me?

Wait.

Could Rebecca be blackmailing me?

We’d been battling for the lead in every production since our first year at Juilliard. Rebecca and I were equals in skill and talent, but I danced with more heart and passion—or so our instructors had said throughout the years—and Rebecca hated me for it.

But to send incriminating photos of my mom and demand that I quit the musical and get out of New York sounded like a horrible, low-budget movie. Sure, she was my understudy, which was the closest she’d gotten to being the lead. Should something prevent me from performing, Rebecca would step up. But could she be that hateful and evil?

No, not Rebecca. Impossible.

How would she have even found the pictures? She couldn’t possibly know about my mom’s past career in Vegas. No one but certain members of the club knew. I was almost positive none of the kids in my KLMC family had been told about her pole dancing while topless, but if they had, they hadn’t mentioned it.

The culprit had to be someone else, like an enemy of my dad’s club wanting retribution for some offense.

I couldn’t imagine how I fit into the mix. How had they gotten the images? My mom hadn’t performed on stage in almost twenty years.

I snatched my phone off the bed to call my dad, then stopped myself before I set off an unstoppable chain reaction.

If I just did as the letter said, everything would be okay. Right?

All I had to do was to quit the show and leave the state. Nothing would happen, and I would nurse my devastated heart in silence.

Calling my dad would be a severe mistake. He’d immediately come to my defense. Rally the Knights. And they’d ride their Harleys into the city like a lawless army and turn Manhattan upside down to find whoever was blackmailing me.

No. I would not be the reason mayhem ensued. Someone could get hurt. Or worse. Many people could perish, including my dad.

Yes. I’d pack up my things and head home to Minnesota, and…

And what?

Pretend like I was okay, like all my dreams hadn’t been stolen from me?

My folks knew I’d gotten the part as the Sugar Plum Fairy. The entire freaking Knight’s Legion MC knew. The whole Upper Midwest knew. My dad was the proudest papa and had told every person he knew and even strangers that his peanut was a ballerina on Broadway and the lead in the Nutcracker.

My heart seized, and the dam broke. Tears cascaded down my face like a waterfall. My dad would be so disappointed, and nothing hurt me more than to crush his dreams for me.

I sobbed like a baby, pain spreading through my graceful limbs.

I had no choice. I needed to do what was necessary for the greater good.

I was a Quinn, and nothing could destroy us unless we allowed it. I needed to pull myself together, go home with my head held high and a smile on my face.

After I cried buckets of tears, of course.

With that thought, I hopped off my bed and packed. My rent was paid up until the spring, thanks to my dad. I couldn’t have afforded to live in the city if he hadn’t taken care of my bills.

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