Page 165 of The Ruthless Note

“She’s not going to do anything.” I step into the hallway leading to the practice room.

“How are you so sure?” Finn baits me.

I place my card on the scanner and watch the familiar green light. It looks extra bright in the darkness.

Redwood Prep is always creepy at night, but it’s even more so after the fire. The stench of sulfur and smoke still lingers in the hallway. There’s water damage all on the walls and the lockers.

I push the door in and stop short when I see the mess on the floor. Our practice room is trashed. Pillows on the floor. Trophies in pieces. The sofa on its head. Moonlight glitters against tiny glass shards.

I rear back.

Finn walks in next to me and his eyes widen. He raises both brows when he sees the destruction. “You were saying?”

“Holy mother of—” Zane cries out. “My drums!”

I slice my gaze over to Finn, my eyes deadly serious. “Go check your guitar.”

He nods.

I walk forward slowly, as if I’m moving through water. My guitar is on the ground, strings extending out like a woman’s hair.

“She didn’t touch my drums,” Zane announces quietly.

“She didn’t touch my guitar either,” Finn says.

My brothers come to join me and we all stand around my shorn guitar like we’re at a funeral.

A muscle ticks in my jaw, but I don’t let the rage out in my voice. “She made her point.”

“What are you going to do?” Finn asks me, his gaze dark and cool.

Any other culprit and he wouldn’t be this calm nor would he be asking that question. No, if it were anyone else who dared to mess with us, Finn would have asked ‘what are we going to do’. And the suggestions would not have been pleasant.

But my brothers don’t seem all that concerned with revenge right now.

“You still thought it was a good idea not to tell her?” Finn presses.

I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and turn sharply.

“Where are you going?” Zane asks.

I stop and turn, my dark gaze sweeping across my brothers. “To take what’s mine.”

* * *

CADENCE

There’s a noise from the kitchen when I come out of the shower. My fingers tremble and I grip the hem of my T-shirt.

Back going ramrod straight, I unbundle my dirty clothes and grip the knife I took into the bathroom with me. The handle is smooth to the touch.

There’s another noise.

My heart pounds.

I take a hesitant step forward, listening for even more sounds.

The person isn’t trying to be quiet. I hear the fridge door open and shut along with the rattle of cutlery.

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