Page 40 of The Broken Note

I stare straight ahead, not trusting myself to look her in the face. There’s no way dad has anything good planned for Redwood or for us now that he’s here. I’d rather cart her away than let her get close to him.

But I know that would be pushing it.

I can’t let dad see how much she means to me or he’ll place a target on her back.

“Meet me in the practice room after class,” I bite out.

She frowns and, for a second, I think she’s going to protest.

Thankfully, she nods her understanding.

I take off like a storm, footsteps pounding down the hallways until I get to the practice room.

I send my brothers a text.

Dutch: Miller’s on board. We just need to point and shoot.

Finn: Agreed. I’ve already commissioned Jinx. We need a secret dad can’t worm out of.

Zane: I’m in. I’ve been itching to see that old man burn in flames.

My jaw works and I reach roughly for my guitar, plopping it into my lap and running my hands down the strings. A discordant note plays, a perfect reflection of my heart.

Dad needs to go.

Redwood Prep is too small for the both of us.

Besides, he doesn’t deserve to have total control over the lives and futures of the students here.

And no one knows that better than me.

CHAPTERNINE

CADENCE

“Have you thought about my offer?” Jarod Cross asks me, standing up from behind the teacher’s desk and staring me down through a pair of circular-framed glasses. With his dark hair and aristocratic face, he would fit perfectly into the country clubs where golf clubs are swung and million-dollar deals are made.

Except for his tattoos.

The ink on Jarod Cross’s skin is a physical reminder that his entire life is art. His music lives on the flesh of his arms and legs. They creep out of his neck. A walking canvas. A painting in human form.

“Cadence?”

“Uh…” I can’t help but squirm at his direct gaze. Eyes as blue as Zane’s. The ocean trapped in his skull.

His lips curl up, but as charming as he is, there’s something sharp about his smile. I picked it up the day he asked me to spy on Dutch and it’s even sharper now. A black cloud. He can’t hide it. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve seen too many shadows with these eyes of mine and now I’m finding darkness everywhere.

Either way, I know better than to blurt out a response.

I need to move carefully.

Jarod Cross slides a slender hand into the pocket of his trousers. He’s wearing a collared shirt and pressed pants that are perfectly tailored to his athletically lean frame.

“I thought,” he leans against the desk and crosses his ankles, “that you didn’t jump on my offer because you might not be interested in going to school for music. Perhaps you’d like some other kind of reward.” He arches a brow. “Maybe a more monetary gift.”

My throat bobs as I swallow. I choose my words carefully. “I’m not sure how much you know about me and Dutch, Mr. Cross, but we’re not friends.”

He chuckles. “Yes, I heard of your wild… escapades.”