Page 7 of The Broken Note

My eyes bug.

“What if it wasn’t me who was following you? What if it was someone with bad intentions?”

“When have you ever had good intentions toward me?” I snap. As my mind clears and the panic gives way to embarrassment, I can’t help lashing out.

He distracts me.

Undoes me.

I’m worried about my sister and yet, with Dutch so close, my thoughts are getting cloudy.

His warm breath fans my face. Despite the anger in his tone, I sense genuine worry lurking beneath his stony expression.

“You’re killing me, Brahms,” he murmurs. To my surprise, he gently brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Damn it.”

Extra footsteps thunder towards us.

Zane and Finn sprint into view. They’re not alone.

Sol is with them too. His eyes lock on mine and something strange passes through his expression. He looks heavy. Guilty. A little unhinged.

My gaze returns to Dutch. “What are you all doing here?”

“It’s not to see the sights, obviously,” Zane says, running a hand through his hair.

“We’re here to help,” Finn adds. His voice is deep and calm as always.

Dutch steps back and allows me to detach myself from the wall. His jaw muscles clench with determination when he growls, “We’re here to find your sister.”

CHAPTERTHREE

DUTCH

I keep my mouth shut as my brothers, Sol and I flock Cadence and walk her through the dangerous south side streets.

I keep my mouth shut when I see her limping into convenience stores and computer cafes. Into high school gyms, ducking under chain link fences and crawling into graffiti-stained buildings.

I keep my mouth shut when Sol suggests we split up, and I even swallow back my words when he stupidly offers to go with Cadence.

As if I would ever let that happen.

And Cadey, smart girl, shuts him down right away.

Then she says she’ll be better off alone.

A little less smart of her.

We both know that isn’t an option.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Cadence mumbles, long legs eating up the sidewalk as she hobbles down the street.

It’s late.

Late enough that everyone who sees us coming arches a brow—not at our faces—but at the watch on my wrist, the shoes on my feet, and the dollar signs they all amount to.

We’re keeping to the main road, the one with a working lamppost and a few open bars. It’s easy to imagine what would happen if we were traipsing through dark alleys at this time of night.

Dark alleys.

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