Page 125 of The Ruthless Note

His fingers brush my bare back as the dress peels open and I suck in a sharp breath. Fighting my own weakness, I push his hand away.

“Turn around again,” I demand.

He remains still and, for a moment, I think he’s going to argue with me. But Dutch pulls his lips in and complies.

I shrug out of the dress, letting it pool to my feet. The cool air hits my exposed flesh and sends goosebumps flaring. Quickly shucking out of my shoes, I search for somewhere to set up my phone. The only place is the pool chair.

“Brahms, what are you doing?” Dutch asks, starting to turn around.

“Don’t look!” I yell. With no time, I set my phone on the chair and then bunch my scarf and dress around it so it doesn’t look too obvious.

My heart jackhammering, I patter to the shallow end of the pool and get into the water. Dutch hears the splash and his eyes find mine, quick, cool and devastating.

He takes one step.

Two.

Three.

And then the prince of Redwood Prep gets into the water with me.

CHAPTERTHIRTY

DUTCH

She thinks I don’t know about the phone.

If I were in a better frame of mind, I’d punish her right away for trying to film me without my permission. I hate girls who play games like that, but I’m a little off tonight.

The bomb dad dropped at dinner was enough to tear the fabric of Zane’s world and promise more trouble for all three of us. It bothers me that I don’t know what he’s planning and until he makes another move, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

After dinner, I went straight to my guitar. The helplessness made me feel like I was dangling on the edge of a cliff. But no matter how hard I strummed, the world kept moving out of focus.

Then I saw a post from the school account with the line-up of tonight’s concert.

Cadence’s name was on the list.

I had to be there.

I had to hear her play.

If I missed her performance by a second, I would have grabbed someone by the throat and demanded they get her up there again. That’s how unhinged I was, how desperate for relief.

But I got here in time to see her take her place behind the piano, drowning in light. Her head was bent over the keys, making my breath catch, making my chest tight.

And her music…

Damn. Every second was worth it.

Every note.

Every chord.

Every detail.

She’s so honest when she plays. My eyes slide to the phone again. Maybe that’s why she’s such a bad liar.

“Let’s stay over here,” Cadence says, releasing her death grip on the bar to indicate a circle. It’s an area that is, coincidentally, in perfect view of her phone.

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