Page 121 of The Ruthless Note

A respect that’s separate from his father’s fame or his band’s rising star power.

It’s a yearning to be close to someone like him. Because he has thatthing.The thing that makes people want to be his friend or his lover or his family. That wants his approval because it’s hard-won and only a select few can be on the receiving end of it.

I’ve seen it happen over and over again. Dutch enters a room and people sit up straight. Take notice. Fall into line. He doesn’t have to open his mouth to be bigger, to take up more space.

It’s ingrained.

A part of him.

Power.

I curl my fingers into fists, glaring at him despite the rising heat in the atmosphere. Even when my anger keeps rocketing to new heights, curdling under my skin, I don’t give in to it.

A steamy video…

It’s the only chance I have.

The only option.

“When did you get here?” I ask. My voice travels in the quiet night. There’s someone else performing on stage, but the music is stifled by the closed door.

Dutch watches me, unperturbed. Still as a tree on a windless night. His silence is frightening. I wish he’d snap at me. Say something stupid and arrogant so I could lurch at him. Use my words to hurt him.

My chest rises and falls.

Just then, the doorknob starts rattling. My eyes widen.

Breeze is probably looking for me. I can’t fulfil Jinx’s requirement if she catches me.

Grabbing Dutch’s arm, I drag him around the corner of the building. I see the gym, a giant light in the dark sky, and take off in that direction.

We crash through the doors and skid to a stop in the tiled lobby.

The gym is already fancy enough, but the renovations have turned it into a professional sports center. I gawk at the sky lights, the giant banners and the information desk.

When I feel a pressure on my fingers, I glance down and realize I’m still holding Dutch’s hand. I drop it like it’s a raw flame.

Turning, I peer out at the field. Breeze is stepping just beyond the corner of the musical theatre building. Her phone is to her ear.

A moment later, mine starts buzzing.

I bite down on my bottom lip, but I don’t pick up.

“Why are you hiding?” Dutch asks me, his voice dark and deep and raft with shadows. He doesn’t move any closer to me, but there’s a charge in the air that says he’s keeping a tight hold on his restraint for my sake, not his.

“Breeze hates you. I can’t let her see us together.” The words rush out in a whoosh.

My hands are shaking.

The carefully constructed facade of ‘girl who doesn’t give a damn’ has been demolished by my performance.

I’m always left vulnerable after a music piece.

I always leave a little too much of myself on the stage.

Dutch advances on me. I can feel his hot gaze on my skin like a summer storm. When he turns me around to look at him, I can barely breathe.

The thin line between hate and lust is about to be crossed in a big way tonight. Why does that excite me? Why doesn’t it terrify me?