Page 119 of The Ruthless Note

Miller’s goal is revenge—it doesn’t matter if all three of us or just one of us gets hit.

Dutch’s goal is to control me and protect Sol—it doesn’t matter to him if Serena gets the short end of the stick

No matter where I turn, Serena’s going to get dragged.

Unless I do something.

And Ihaveto do something.

But how on earth do I gain the upper hand?

I can’t do it without Jinx.

And Jinx won’t do it.

Not unless you have a steamy video…

I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart burning at the thought.

“You’re up,” Breeze says. Her voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.

I stumble forward, still not finding that quiet place. That space in my head that’s just for music. There’s too much crap in the way.

The stage is set up like a cemetery. Fog rolls over the ground. Skeletons with their jaws dropped lean against large jack-o-lanterns. It’s the high-end of creepy. Like someone with a professional design background tried to ‘interpret’ Halloween decorations, stripping all the fun out of it.

I don’t look at the crowd when I sit behind the piano. They expect a show. A performance. They don’t care who I am under this wig, even if they know my name now. Even if I’m a little more of myself than I was when I played in the past.

Maybe I can do this because of Dutch.

Maybe Redwood Prep toughened me up, made me fearless enough.

But I really don’t care when the announcer calls my name and the gasp goes up from the crowd.

They’ve never heard me play.

Not as me.

Not as Cadence.

Without waiting for their applause, I set my fingers to the keys and let the first note scrape at the callous on my heart.

A#

Spreading out into a diminished chord, I press in and let the chord sustain.

D

I move into the thick of the silence, letting the heat of the moment scrape and scrape and scrape on my heart until I’m bleeding again. Until music can get through and fill the space between my soul and my instrument.

The music envelops me, sucking me into a heat that’s almost unbearable. A place that… well, it doesn’t feelsafeas much as it feels like mine. Like I own it. Like no one can take it away from me if they tried.

No matter how tainted, how dirty, how frightening, it’s still mine.

The fog swirls around my ankles as I run my fingers up the keys, eking out a song from the highest octaves. Head bent, curled over, sweat rolling down my chin.

It’s hot up here.

Or maybe it’s the heat from inside me blasting out. Torching everything within a five-mile radius.