Page 45 of The Forbidden Note

I glare in his direction. Zane Cross is the most dangerous of his brothers. He hides that wicked streak under warm charisma and a pretty smile. He lures you into feeling like a friend before he stabs you in the back.

I lick my lips, struggling to tune in to what the director is saying.

Like an idiot, I believed for a moment that Zane wasn’t half as bad a guy as he pretends to be. The way he cradled my face, calmed me down, and talked me out of my panic attack felt sincere.

But it was all a lie.

The feelings he stirred up will stay buried in that coffin.

And they’ll never see the light of day.

CHAPTERTEN

ZANE

I slam my drumsticks against the snare, listening to the deep ricochet. My sticks rattle over the worn centre, bouncing up and back down again with every flick of my wrists.

I’m sweating. Drenched to the freaking skin.

My wife beater sticks to my chest and I stop for only a second to pluck it away before I dive in again.

My music is chaos.

Just like my freaking head.

The noise bounces around the garage. Perfectly clamoring.

Drumming isn’t that complicated.

That’s why I love it.

The music pours out of me without the need for chords or fingers mashing against brutal nylon strings stretched to the point of snapping. With one boom, I set the rhythm, the pace, form the pulse of any song.

I don’t want darkness.

Miss Jamieson’s voice is still in my head, no matter how much noise I make.

Even if it hurts, I want to live in the light.

The freaking light.

It’s my freaking nightmare.

I heard exactly what she was saying. No matter how hard I try, no matter how drawn we are to each other, the two of us can never exist outside of the darkness.

So what?

Where the hell does that leave me?

The only choice I have is to move on, but I can’t do that. I’ve tried so many times and I keep coming back to her. She’s ingrained in my skin. An itch I can’t scratch. A craving that suspends into infinity.

It pisses me off.

So naturally, I want to piss her off too.

My fingers tighten around my sticks and I lean over the drums, beating out a staccato rhythm.

Trapped in the coffin, she clung to me and this inescapable feeling settled over my chest. Like she was a puzzle piece snapping in place. Like maybe she was destined to be in my life and tear it up—for better or worse.

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