Page 44 of The Ruthless Note

But my body locks up.

There’s not a crowd here, Cadence. You can do this.

My hands refuse to move.

My throat tightens.

Invisible fingers of panic slide over my shoulders and dig their claws into my back. My eyes close and my breath gets shallow as the memories I keep locked away creep toward me.

‘Play, baby,’ mom’s voice croons in my head. ‘Play for the nice people’.

My heart is pounding in my ears.

I see them.

Smell.

The stench of unwashed bodies. Writhing limbs. Needles sticking into pale veins.

I open my mouth, unable to breathe.

It’s all there. Like opening a can of oozing, squirming worms.

The den of darkness. The hopeless faces.

Their eyes dazed. Their bodies no longer their own. Some of them naked. Some of them children.

My eyes roll back into my head.

Black dots scrape my vision.

Before I can lay a finger on the piano, gravity drags me down to the ground.

CHAPTERNINE

CADENCE

Before I can fade into the darkness, an arm binds around my waist, loops across my ribs and pulls me backward. I’m flying. Then I abruptly slam into a hard chest where, just beneath the muscle, a heart is beating frantically.

“What the hell, Cadey?” Dutch shakes me. His voice booms in my ear.

I want to tell him to shut up before he makes me go deaf, but I can’t speak. I can’t even breathe. Dutch’s abrupt hug kept me from passing out, but my body’s still locked up in that panicked state. I don’t know how to snap out of it.

My mouth opens wider as I struggle for air. I can hear myself gasping, but it’s only because I’m scared. What happens if I can’t breathe ever again?

“Dammit, Brahms!” Dutch lifts me like I weigh nothing, sits on the piano stool and then roughly drops me on top of his lap. Big, calloused hands frame my face as he wrenches my head around to look at him. “Breathe, dammit!”

I’m trying.

The words don’t make their way to my mouth. I can hear my gasping get louder in response.

Sweat pops over Dutch’s face. His panic is palpable. If I were in my right mind, it would surprise me. Doesn’t he hate my guts? Doesn’t he want me to die for what I did to his car?

Why does he look so distressed?

There’s genuine fear burning from his eyes as he searches for a way to help me.

I dig my fingers into his jacket, trying to anchor myself in him so I can at least catch a breath. Just one. Just one blasted hit to my lungs is all I need. Why is it so damn hard for me? Why am I so broken inside?

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