Page 56 of The Ruthless Note

She shrieks.

“What about now?” My eyes dip to her lips. “Better?”

“You narcissistic ego-maniac!”

“Call me what you want, Brahms. You like these little games or you wouldn’t have gotten so good at playing them.”

She glares at me. “What kind of sick, cruel person thinks torturing someone is a game?”

“How about you answer my question?”

“How about you mind your own business?”

I get up, grab each end of her desk and whisper against her ear, “Fine. Then at least tell me if that guy at the diner was really your boyfriend. And if he is, does he know how much you like my hands up your—”

She slaps her textbook closed. Her eyes spit furious sparks. “Get the hell away from me.”

I arch a brow.

“I have a strike on my record now thanks to you. Plus I’ll be late for work duty and that means I won’t get to my shift on time. Frankie’s going to chew me up and spit me out.” She tilts her chin up. “Whether Hunter’s my real boyfriend or not has nothing to do with you. Whatever new trick you’re playing by acting all interested in me, you can shove it.”

A low, dark laugh rumbles in my chest. For some reason, looking at her shaking and angry fills my body with this strange energy surge. It’s like someone just dropped a plugged-in toaster into my bathtub. I’m frying like fish in a skillet and its glorious.

“You’re not dating him.”

“That’swhat you got from what I just said?”

“You could have said yes. You’re screwing him. You like him. Whatever. But you didn’t.” I plant a hand on her desk and toss her a confident smirk. “You don’t even think about him when you’re with me.”

She scoffs. “Did you come out of the womb this self-absorbed or was it recent?”

I lean closer, my eyes on her lips. “I was born like this.”

Her eyes flick to my mouth too.

I ease back before I kiss her, noting the disappointment that skates through her eyes. She’s skilled at acting like she hates me, but I’ve got evidence that her body sure doesn’t.

I could take advantage of that, but what she said in the theatre, about me not hurting her because she’s Redhead, sunk deep into my brain. I think there’s some truth to that.

If it was only revenge I wanted, I would have crushed her by now. But something keeps stopping me. There’s a sharp craving underlining my need for her destruction. It pokes its head out whenever she gets vulnerable. It makes me want to protect her instead of torture her.

Those conflicting needs—to possess and to destroy, to protect and to devour—they pull against each other. It’s all levels of confusing.

I fall back into my chair. The magnetic attraction I feel for Brahms is getting a little harder to control. I need the distance.

“It took guts to get Christa arrested. It took a serious level of dedication to move trash into my car. And stealing my clothes? Gutsy. But what I don’t get is how you got my father involved. That’s above your pay grade.”

“I have connections too.”

I scowl. Dad wouldn’t have just let her waltz back into Redwood Prep without having a plan. Something feels off.

Cadence’s fingers dig into the desk. “Since this is an interrogation—”

“Who said it was?”

“You think I don’t have questions too?”

I shrug and gesturehave at it.