Page 219 of The Forbidden Note

I curl my fingers into fists. Dad could be lying but, from that self-satisfied smirk curling his lips, I don’t think he is.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Why would Grey tell her mother that she’s dating that guy? What the hell is going on?

I want to pull out my phone and text her immediately, but dad is watching every little move I make.

The car stops.

It’s right near the cliffs where I kissed Grey that night. The location isn’t lost on me. My eyes take in the red clay, large rocks and the dangerous cliff that leads to nowhere but air and then a rocky demise. In the light, this place looks even more desolate and menacing.

Why are we here?

Dad doesn’t do anything without an ulterior motive.

This car ride.

The creepy intimidation tactic.

It’s all carefully chosen.

As if they’d rehearsed it, dad’s goons climb out of the car. The doors slam shut and then a heavy silence drapes over us.

Something crinkles, heightening the tension.

I see dad moving an object from his left side and bringing it to his right. It’s a brown envelope.

My uninjured hand remains stiff in my lap.

“Go ahead.” Dad offers the envelope. “Open it.”

I glare at him.

Dad lifts the envelope and shoves it in my direction, insisting without saying a word.

I drop it in my lap, and peel the tab with my right hand. Dad’s eyes never leave me, almost like he’s waiting for something.

Once I turn the envelope over, a bunch of pictures come flying out.

My skin starts crawling.

It’s me and Grey at the dance. The quality’s grainy and whoever took it was probably filming through the glass panel window in the door, but that’s definitely Grey.

My lips are on her neck and she’s gripping the back of my hair passionately. The next photo is of Grey in the classroom, her head thrown back, mouth open in bliss while I’m disappearing under her skirt.

Someone was spying on us.

My eyes whip up to dad and I give him a look that’s pure hell. “You were spying?”

“You really should pay more attention to your surroundings when you’re screwing a teacher, Zane. If you can’t do the right things, at least do the wrong things well.”

I grip the photographs so tight that they crumple.

The leather chair makes a noise as dad leans toward me. “Did you enjoy it, son? Being perverse? Breaking the rules?”

My nostrils flare.

“Now that you had your fun, it’s time for the consequences.” Dad picks up a picture and shoves it in my chest. “I told you that thing in your pants would get you in trouble someday, but you never listen, Zane. I guess it’s my fault for thinking you could do better if you were warned.”

His words rake against me, each one like a sharp claw digging into my flesh. My first instinct is to go after dad, but I just keep my fist at my side and glare at him.

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