Page 1 of The Ruthless Note

CHAPTERONE

CADENCE

The crescendo is my favorite part of a musical piece.

It’s like gathering electricity, the kind that builds and builds until it buzzes through your entire body. Until everywhere, from your fingers to your toes is on fire. Different from a climax, itisn’tthe peak. It’s not the part that will rip the audience’s breath from their throats or cause a tear to fall from their eye.

It’s the build-up.

And it’s special because only the musician knows it’s coming. A secret trapped in her hands, in her mind, in her piano. A shifting in the air that makes the audience nervous. Makes their throats bob and their eyes dart from side to side.

A rubber band pulling back, back, back.

No one is sure when it will snap.

No one can do anything about it.

In that moment, in the crescendo, the people who are listening… they’re under my control.

I feel that electricity when Dutch storms down the bleachers, his amber eyes hot enough to burn me to a crisp.

His boots hit the metal stands in loud thuds.Thump. Thump.Rhythmic percussions. Students jump out of his way, knowing he won’t stop. Knowing they’ll get crushed like cockroaches if they’re stupid enough to remain in place.

I watch the wave that flows and ebbs around Dutch’s descent. The air around him is charged. Musical notes pluck through my mind. The shrieking melody of an electric guitar to match the frantic pace of his footsteps. His boots land on the gym floor and he barrels at me like a bull seeing red.

For a moment, my breath clogs in my throat.

The Prince of Redwood Prep.

Dangerous.

Beastly.

Violent.

There’s a weight to Dutch that goes far beyond the wide chest and shoulders straining against his preppy vest, an intensity that has nothing to do with the slightly unhinged glint in his eyes or the hardness in the planes of his face.

Can I really do this? Can I go toe-to-toe with a ruthless king like him?

Brushing the thought away quickly, I square my shoulders. There is no other choice. He didn’tgiveme another choice.

“Do you need something, Dutch?” I ask coldly.

His eyes drill into mine with the precision of a laser. His voice sounds like it’s scraping against shards of broken glass when he hisses, “Who the hell are you?”

My heart wobbles, but I beat it back into submission. Nights ago, after dropping my defenses—and almost dropping my panties—I found out swiftly that Dutch Cross would stop at nothing to destroy me. He made the call to get me kicked out of Redwood. He didn’t give a damn about what that would do to me, to my future or to my family.

He cares about only one thing: himself.

Now that I’ve managed to scramble out of the hole he tried to bury me in, I won’t forget who put me there.

I step close to him and tip my chin up to meet his stormy gaze. “I’m your worst nightmare.”

His eyes narrow. His nostrils flare.

So much anger. It’s a flood running through his lithe, gorgeous body. I can practically see it charging in his veins and sparking from his glowing hazel eyes. Chiseled jaw muscles clench and unclench as he struggles to make sense of who I am and how he should respond to me.

“Dutch?” A voice rings through the school gym. It’s deep and husky, the kind of voice that can capture a stadium full of men and women and make them believe in love.