Page 68 of The Ruthless Note

His eyes dart to mine and back to the horizon. At first, I think he won’t answer. Then he spits out. “Your middle name is Elizabeth. You’re allergic to peaches. Your mom is…” His face shifts. A flicker of humanity.

“Dead,” I say flatly. “My mom is dead.”

He glances away.

Feeling angry and bereft, I speed up and pretend that he’s not with me.

When I pass a group of women drinking outside a convenience store, they notice Dutch following me.

“Hey, girl, you know him?” one of them yells.

“No,” I say coldly.

Immediately, the women jump from their benches and make a line in front of Dutch.

“Hey, why are you following her?”

“You want us to call the police?”

“Look how tall you are. Following girls in the dark. The hell is wrong with you?”

Dutch's expression is still cold, but there's a crease between his brows that hints of his discomfort.

I want to keep walking.

With every bone in my body, I do.

But somehow, I can’t leave him here. Especially when the women start saying, “Call the cops. We’ll teach him a lesson tonight.”

It’s like my body isn’t my own. I whirl around. “Guys,” my voice shakes, “I know him. No need to call the cops.”

The women study my face for a heartbeat and then they release Dutch from their line of protection.

“Oh, so this is a lovers’ spat!”

“I told you we shouldn't have gotten involved.”

One of the tipsier women wiggles her fingers at Dutch. “Young man, let me tell you a secret.” She hooks an arm around his shoulder. “Just apologize. Tell her you’ve been a jerk and that you'll never do it again.”

Another woman points to me. “And you, pretty thing. Give him a chance to prove he’s changed.”

“Come on. You two young things should never be all upset. Life is too short for that.”

I give them a tight-lipped smile. Dutch’s gaze is heavy but, when I glance up, his eyes are a little softer than they were before.

I scowl at him, whirl around and continue walking. He remains behind me, not saying a single word.

I’m stunned when he follows me all the way to the bus stop and takes the bus, sitting in the back. I had no idea Dutch Cross could catch a bus. A part of me thinks it’s his first time.

Once we get to my neighborhood, he walks me down the dark street, keeping a few paces behind until I open my front door.

My key in the lock, I turn around.

He’s there, his eyes steady on me, burning into me like he’s touching my skin. The prince of Redwood Prep just walked me home.

I step into the house without a word and hurry to the window. Dutch heads back the way he came, the darkness swallowing him whole.

He’s asking for trouble wearing those clothes. His expensive shoes and watch will be a blaring, neon, ‘come and get me’ sign to all the thugs out here.

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