Page 71 of The Broken Note

Zane offers me a bottle of water and I frown at it. He arches a brow. “Would you like a beer instead?”

I take the bottle he offers, my fingers trembling.

Dutch’s twin gestures to the sofa. “You snore.”

“I do not,” I snap, my face flushing.

“He’s kidding,” Sol says, folding his arms over his chest. “You didn’t snore, but you looked really tired. And worried. Even in your sleep.”

Finn nods. “That’s true.”

Dutch is the only one who says nothing. He leans against the wall, watching me intently. He’s not explaining my presence at all. Probably because he wants to see how I’ll handle myself. A king throwing a gladiator into the ring and waiting to be entertained.

I scowl at him and scoot to the edge of the sofa.

They all watch me as if I’m a curious animal who wandered in during a rainstorm. I can’t help but shudder under their heavy gazes.

Predators.

That’s what they remind me of. A pack of lions, all strong, glorious and capable of killing for a meal.

The thing is, I’m no one’s freaking dinner.

“Did you guys like how I redecorated the place?” I gesture to the trophy case and the empty space where the coffee table should have been.

Finn smirks.

Zane shakes his head. “You really are fearless, aren’t you?”

Dutch watches me with those honey eyes of his. From this distance, it’s hard to see the golden flecks that swim in their depths. But I know they’re there.

I glance away and twist the cap of my water. I’m thirsty.

“She’sthe one who trashed the place?” Sol asks, his voice climbing in surprise.

“They didn’t tell you?” I set the bottle down and tilt my chin up. “I cut the strings on Dutch’s guitar.”

Sol doesn’t respond, but his eyes dart immediately to Dutch.

Zane laughs. “Damn it, Cadence. You really want to fight.”

“At this point, you don’t scare me.” I glance at him and then at Finn. “What more can you boys possibly do to me that you haven’t already?”

“A lot,” Dutch says finally, straightening away from the wall. “There’s a lot we haven’t done to you, Cadey.”

A shiver goes down my spine when he flashes a sharp look in my direction. I wonder if I imagined the Dutch who held me tenderly and whispered that I could rest with him. Did I dream it? Were those pancakes drugged?

Wait, but I didn’t eat anything.

So what happened? Why does Dutch look so intense now?

He drags a chair away from the table, drops it in front of the couch and takes a seat like a king on his throne. He leans forward, full of confidence.

I scowl at his lofty expression. Even more annoying is the fact that his arrogance is earned. He’s a guy who can summon a private cleaning team at will and bend the arm of the principal to get me out of work service. Power. Near unlimited power. He can have whatever he wants—so why does he insist on torturing me?

My nails dig into my skirt.

“Start talking.” Dutch drops his feet to the floor and leans his elbows on his knees. All he needs is a cigar dangling from his lips and he would pass for a gangster. Easily.

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