Chapter 25: The Broken Note: Chapter 25

I’ve got my back to him, but I can feel Dutch watching me as I step into the middle of the gorgeous treehouse. This place looks like a five star resort hoisted into the air. It took everything in me not to gawk, and I think I failed that mission.

But how could I not marvel?

My whole life, I’ve lived in my crappy neighborhood, seeing crappy sights. My head was bent toward the ground, nose to the plough as I tried to eke out a living. I had no time to look up, much less point my gaze to such extravagant heights.

If not for Redwood Prep, I wouldn’t have the chance to sniff the air up here.

Every lavish experience I’ve had these past three months—playing piano at expensive parties, doing a private concert for Jarod Cross, and today, my sister getting first-class treatment—it all happened because I got the opportunity to study there.

But Redwood didn’t give me those things without taking its pound of flesh.

I had to suffer.

I had to clamor for survival.

And he was in the center of the torture.

Dutch Cross.

The dangerous, prowling, ruthless boy who became the center of my universe. He took that spot without asking and demanded it without apology. The last thing I want to be is trapped in him. Especially when I don’t really know who he is.

But I plan to find out tonight.

“The rules are simple,” I say, sliding my purse over my head and tossing it into the hammock. There’s a basket of M&Ms and snickers between the pillow forts. A candy wonderland.

Vi would have loved it.

“I ask you a question. You answer it. Honestly. If you don’t, you strip.”

“How will you know if I’m being honest?” I feel him behind me. The warmth of his chest. The coolness of his breath. The air changes. An all-consuming darkness that I both despise and desperately crave at the same time.

It gets hard to swallow, but I pretend that I’m unaffected. “I won’t.”

He’s silent.

I turn and find him staring down at me with that dark, animalistic gaze of his.

“But if I feel like you’re lying, you’ll get a penalty,” I add.

“What about you?” His voice is low and seductive.

“Same game. Same rules.”

“I decide the penalty?”

I peel my eyes away. “Yes.”

Why do I keep finding myself here, playing dangerous games with Dutch Cross? Why does it excite me rather than terrify me?

I would have preferred truth or drink. That way, none of my clothes would need to come off, but I’m willing to dance close to the fire to get answers.

“Deal.” Dutch sticks out his hand.

I stare at it. Slowly, I reach out. He clasps on, his fingers swallowing mine whole. My breath catches as he tugs me forward. I can smell him, the expensive mint scent. All male. All Dutch.

His eyes narrow slightly. His stare is edged in violence but, when he speaks, his voice is gentle. “You started this, Cadey. Don’t even think of backing out later.”

I know this is his extension of mercy. His last act of kindness. The tension between us is thick and we’re both still fully clothed.

He’s telling me to step back now if I don’t think I can handle it.

But that only stirs my competitive spirit more.

“Worry about yourself,” I hiss. “If I catch you lying to me, my penalty won’t be a joke.”

His eyes slide down my dress until they return to my face. “Looking forward to it, Brahms.”

Heat spreads from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes, which are curling in Vi’s borrowed wedge sandals.

I whirl around and step into the middle of the room, right in front of the projector screen hanging from a wooden beam.

Dutch shrugs out of his jacket.

I frown. “What are you doing? I haven’t asked a question yet.”

“I’m hot.”

“And?”

“I plan on telling you whatever you want to know.” He lifts one corner of his mouth in a smirk. “It’ll take too long before I get to strip.”

My nostrils flare. Cocky piece of—

“You want to go first or should I?”

“I’ll start.” I face him, arms limp at my sides, eyes tracing every muscle of his face. “Have you ever done drugs?”

His eyebrow jump is telling. He’s surprised by the question. “No.”

My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “Have you ever sold drugs?”

He tilts his head, trying to figure me out. “That was two questions.”

I realize I was overeager. I nod and gesture for him to go.

“But the answer is no.”

I exhale sharply.

Dutch stares right into my eyes. “I don’t do or sell drugs. Who told you that?”

“No one.” That’s a lie, but he doesn’t call me out on it.

My mind is whirring fast. Dutch seemed genuinely puzzled by my question. He could have lied about the drugs, but I don’t think he could fake that perplexed expression.

The knots in my stomach loosen a bit.

But that brings up other issues.

Like why would Jarod Cross tell me that Dutch sold drugs? Was he genuinely mistaken or is there something bigger I’m missing?

Annoyed by the mystery, I motion to him. “I took two turns. You have another question.”

“What was it like that night? Being touched that way for the first time?”

I freeze.

Dutch stares at me, a challenge in his eyes. Waiting.

I think of his fingers sliding down my back. His lips on my neck. His bruising caresses.

This heavy, penetrating heat sweeps over me. It’s sticky on my skin. Like rain. The kind that presses your clothes into your body and makes you want to open your mouth and drink.

Dutch’s gaze tempts me to do bad things. Very bad things.

I shrug out of my jacket, glad to rid myself of the layer.

I’m getting hot too.

He studies my every move, looking for something in particular.

I won’t give it to him. Whatever he wants. Whatever he’s searching for. He’ll never have it from me.

“Your housekeeper, Martina, was at Redwood the day of the fire. Did she really not see anything?”

Dutch’s lips press into a thin line. He slips his shirt over his head and tosses it aside.

I’m surprised. Does he know something about the fire?

The thought gets blurry when I slide my eyes over his inked skin and abs.

Dutch notices me drooling and cocks this annoying grin that makes me want to punch him.

I quickly drag my eyes away.

“Why did Vi run away that night? The real reason. Not the B.S. one you gave me.”

My heart pounds. I’m not telling him about mom. He doesn’t need to see that side of my brokenness. I won’t let him touch those shards.

Reaching down, I try to remove my shoes.

“You’ll take those off last,” he commands.

My eyes burn as I glare at him.

He stares back at me, daring me to defy him.

I’m shaking, but it’s not from anger.

It’s need.

Pure, white-hot desire.

I want to undress.

I want to see his eyes, the way they glint, the way they darken.

Letting him look but not touch.

Letting him want but not have.

It’s enough to turn me into smoke.

Slowly, I grab the zipper at the back of my dress and slide it down. The metallic teeth unlatching inch by delicious inch makes a noise that swells through the room.

Dutch’s face is taut. He holds himself tensely, fingers fisted at his sides, need hot and evident on his flushed skin. Sweat drips down the back of my neck and I see perspiration dotting his forehead too.

The dress pools around my ankles. I step out of it. Flick it away with my shoes.

Bra. Tights. Panties. Shoes.

That’s it.

All that stands between me and his greedy, brutal eyes.

“Is there something you’re not telling me about the fire?” I demand quietly.

A muscle in his jaw flexes. The sound of his zipper coming down turns my insides to mush and I bite hard on my bottom lip. He undoes his pants and shucks it off, eyes never leaving mine.

I refuse to dip my gaze past his V-line. Refuse to let temptation get the best of me. Refuse to admit that the heat in my core has anything to do with the fact that he’s one piece away from being naked.

“Careful, Cadey. Once it’s off, the game is over,” Dutch taunts.

“Game is over when I say it’s over,” I snap.

He laughs, this dark, twisted sort of chuckle that promises pain and pleasure in equal measures. It’s a sound that scares me. Sends a full-body shiver up my skin.

“My turn.” His entire face is darkening, eyes burning me to crisps. “Did you find the person who pawned the ring and left cash under your bed?”

Another question about mom.

I reach behind me to unsnap my bra, my body clenching in anticipation.

Dutch takes a giant step forward, trapping my wrist beneath his huge, calloused hand. The smell of him tightens around me like a rope. Amber eyes peer into my own, sending traitorous currents lashing through my veins.

He’s turned my own body against me. Where did seventeen years of self-control go?

“I’m going to take this off you,” he breathes. Quiet. Calm. Yet he’s staking his claim. Demanding ownership.

When I speak, my voice is rough and broken. “That’s not the rule—”

“You get one more question, Cadey. One more question before my self-control runs out and I mark every inch of this body until sitting down, standing up, taking a damn shower makes you think of me.”

I shiver, feeling my pulse pick up and my lungs constrict.

His eyes are two pools of dark promises, his mouth a harsh slash of threats and heat.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I croak. “Why me and not some girl from your world?”

The smile he gives me is arrogant and absolute—Dutch knows that I’m his for the taking and he doesn’t have to answer that honestly for me to anticipate what he’s about to do next.

But he still takes a second to think about his reply.

“You have something to protect and I have something to destroy. You escape into music and I’m trapped there. You hid from me and I still found you. Where you end, I begin.” He wraps long fingers around the back of my neck. “We may not be from the same world, Cadence, but we’re made of the same freaking soul.”

“Dutch.” It’s all I can say before he slips his mouth over mine and sips from my lips. Slow and luxurious. Like he’s tasting expensive wine. Something to be savored, not rushed.

My hands twine in his hair and all the blood in my body rushes between my legs, making my head spin.

Dutch’s kiss is pure torture, a promise ripped from the pages of a fairytale. Right there in the villain’s chapter where he swears he’ll burn the world down.

Wrong prince.

Wrong story.

It should hurt. It should frighten me, but it feels so right.

It feels so freaking good.

And if this were a different story, a different night, a different life, I’d step into the eternity trapped in this moment and call it something I’ve never truly believed in.

Love.