Page 53 of The Darkest Note

“Why’d you run last Friday?” Dutch asks, his eyes intent on me.

I stop struggling and stare up at his handsome face, sure I’ve heard wrong. “What?”

“I thought our sources were off, but you really do have stage fright.”

“Sources? You’re talking about Jinx?”

This is getting creepy. How did that anonymous number know about my stage fright?

“Remember, Brahms,” he grips my cheek to force me to look at him, “I ask the questions.”

His grip isn’t harsh but it’s firm. I shake him off. “Why do you want to know?”

“You’re Mulliez’s special pick. Why the hell are you studying music if you’re scared of it?”

“I’m not scared of music, you buffoon.” I glare up at him. “I’m scared of crowds.”

I have no idea why this conversation is happening and I especially have no idea why it’s happening when Dutch is half naked and soaking wet, but it looks like I’m stuck.

He narrows his eyes and it’s clear that he’s waiting for more.

Maybe it’s stress or maybe I’m still too flustered from what happened in the cafeteria, but the words come pouring out.

“When I was a kid, my mom traded music for drugs. She’d drag me into dens with creeps and crackheads and sit me down at the piano. It was dark, smoky and there was something dangerous about it.” I shudder. “Something off about the music I played there. It tainted me. Tainted everything.” I huff. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

He gives me a thoughtful look. I don’t know what it means and I, honestly, don’t want to know.

Which is why I’m grateful when I hear voices coming our way. A group of students are approaching from the direction of the quad.

Dutch’s hands loosen on me as his attention turns to them. I take the chance to slip his wallet out of his back pocket. By the time he sees what I’m doing, I’m already hopping away with a five dollar bill.

His eyebrows hunker low over his amber eyes. His voice is a deep warning. “Do you really have a death wish, Brahms?”

Before he can pounce, the students see us.

“Dutch, we didn’t know you were… occupied.”

I can’t imagine what a picture we must make. Dutch is shirtless and glaring at me. My entire top is soaked through with water. I’m pretty sure they can all see through to my black lace bra.

“Are… should we leave?”

Dutch makes a sound deep in his throat.

“No, you can stay.” I toss his wallet into the sinks and grin when it drops like a rock. “Happy fishing.”

“Cadence!” Dutch yells.

It’s the first time he’s using my actual name, and I don’t stick around to hear the words that follow it.

Sprinting away, I skate into the cafeteria and blend in among the other kids.

I hope I ruined his wallet.

I hope I ruined his entire day.

That’s just a taste of all the hell I plan to bring on him. Dutch Cross is going to wish he never messed with me.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN