Chapter 11: The Forbidden Note: Chapter 11

The motorcycle almost topples over from my powerful thrusts. Tonight’s distraction is noisy. Which I typically like. Yet, in the moment, I find her annoying.

She grips the handlebars, holding on for dear life and screaming loud enough to scare a flock of birds. The sound of beating wings rolls over the wilderness, but it’s drowned out by the chaos of skin slapping skin.

My grunts and her moans mingle together. A crude, animalistic song rolling across a vast expanse that seems to go on forever.

The wind picks up as if my lashing hips can control the weather and I’m whipping up a storm.

The shadows are thicker than cream out here. When the sun is high, the mountains chop up the sky with ragged cliffs and sharp peaks. Tonight, the darkness swallows them whole, turning the hills into stark, ghostly outlines.

I increase the pace, closing my eyes and wishing I didn’t see that face behind my eyelids.

But she’s freaking there.

Brown skin. Pert nose. Full lips.

The bane of my existence.

In my head, I’m holding her.

Touching her.

Sinking deep into her.

It’s enough to send me right over the edge.

My partner twists her neck and smiles, thinking she’s the one responsible for that.

Dammit.

I step back, feeling annoyed more than satisfied.

“Zane, that was amazing.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, zipping up. I’ve been messing with this chick off and on. She doesn’t expect anything more than a good time and that’s pretty freaking hard to find in a girl at Redwood Prep.

“We should,” her fingers slide down my chest, “do this more often. Can I call you when I’m the one who needs to let off some steam?”

I smile, not giving her an answer.

Her phone rings.

She rolls her eyes and shares even though I didn’t ask, “It’s Vanya having another identity crisis. I swear it’s so stressful being cheer captain.” She pulls her skirt back up. “After Dutch de-throned Paris, the team fell into my lap and now—”

“Baby,” I cut her off because I really don’t care, “I gotta head back. Band practice.”

Her eyelashes flutter.

She looks pleased.

Poor thing has no idea that ‘baby’ is just a placeholder since I sometimes mix up the names of the girls I’m with. Nothing cuts a good time short like looking down at the girl I’m riding and saying the wrong name.

Lipstick smeared and eyes glinting, she leans forward to kiss me.

I push her back. “You know the drill.”

Sighing, she folds her arms over her chest and pouts. “You never let me kiss you.”

“I gave you plenty more than kissing.” I grab my helmet and nod at her. “Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Zane.”

I send her a backward wave, wait until I see her get safely in her car and then head home.

The motorcycle rumbles between my legs, a powerful thrum that roars down the road. The wind batters my face and makes my eyes sting.

In the past, I wouldn’t go out of my way to screw a chick in the wilderness, but since our lives have become the spotlight of Jinx’s app, I’m more conscious of where and who I’m hooking up with.

The last time I got clumsy, my bare butt was plastered all over the app.

The motorcycle rumbles.

I push faster.

The mountains blur and the road morphs into one, long stroke of asphalt.

My chest aches even though my body’s spent.

I got what I set out to get tonight, so why doesn’t it feel like I made any progress?

Dutch might still move away.

Miss Jamieson is still untouchable.

Dad is still…

Here?

I’m a couple meters away from home when I see dad’s sleek black town car.

I get closer and notice Ron is waiting outside.

Ron is dad’s muscle. The fact that dad refers to him as his assistant means absolutely nothing because anyone with eyes can see that dunce is no executive.

Ron’s fitted black suit strains against his giant body and does jack squat to lessen the edge of violence steeped in his expression. The guy has eggs for brains, but I guess that makes him easier to control.

I don’t see dad’s right-hand man Lucien around. Lucien is thinner and more conniving. Less muscle and more evil villain support.

Between Lucien and Ron, I prefer the latter.

Lucien always gives me the creeps.

Fingers turning clammy, I ride up to the driveway.

The moment I get close, dad winds his window down.

To the world, Jarod Cross is a deity. People line up in droves to attend his concerts. They tattoo his name and song lyrics on their bodies, making him a permanent part of their lives, baking him into their skin.

They worship him.

If only they knew…

Or maybe it wouldn’t matter if they knew.

No, I don’t think it would.

Devout worshippers don’t ever say their god is flawed.

I stare at him in the twilight, cold and closed-off. The shaggy hair. The long neck. The fingers bearing too many silver rings. He looks like he’s posing for Elle magazine, not coming to visit his sons.

Dad originally wanted to move in with us. We barely stopped him by calling mom to our aid. Now, he lives in the hills, just outside the city, but it’s like he’s on Mars.

“What do you want?” I growl.

Dad twists his head and hits me with a frigid stare. “Get in.”

I contemplate ignoring the instruction. The last thing I need after the day I’ve had is a round alone with dad. I’m exhausted and restless. I was looking forward to crashing in bed and maybe playing a few video games before signing off for the night.

But Ron cracks his knuckles.

The sound of bones snapping sends anger swirling through my stomach.

The hell?

Is this what we’ve come to, dad?

Annoyance mounts inside me, but I don’t let it show. That’s my superpower.

I don’t scowl and grumble like Dutch.

I don’t keep my thoughts hidden like Finn.

I… laugh.

“Your bones are a little tense, Ron. You should consider yoga.” I grin. “Really loosen that up for you.”

Stark silence meets my quip.

Ron isn’t amused.

“What is this about, dad?” I tilt my head to the side. My smile is as sour as vinegar. “Wait… is this the apology tour? I heard you haven’t said sorry for throwing Dutch in jail yet.”

“I’m not going to ask twice,” dad growls.

A low buzzing starts in the base of my skull and drops to my toes. I swing off my bike, kick the stand and lean it on the side.

The wind goes dead as I stomp to the car.

Clouds thicken the star-lit sky, choking out the moon.

Even the night knows it’s better to hide from dad than to face him.

I wrench the door open and throw my bulk into the backseat. The leather is slick. My knees almost slam the back of the chair as I slide down the seat.

Grabbing the headrest, I hoist myself up. “There are nicer ways of saying you miss me.”

He scoffs.

Dad’s relationship with us is as varied as we are.

Dutch is the golden-boy. Literally and figuratively. My twin thinks fast on his feet and always has a solution. He’s sharp and decisive. It’s why he’s the leader of our band and the one we defer to when we make any big decisions.

To control him, dad had to jump through crazy hoops. Setting Dutch up to look like a drug dealer. Manipulating Cadey. Sending Dutch to jail. He put in vast amounts of effort because he sees Dutch as the brother most likely to squirm out of loopholes.

Finn, on the other hand, is harder to pin down, which is why dad seems the most nervous around him. It’s uncanny the way he shuts down when Finn enters the room.

Finn might be the kid dad adopted when he needed a PR boost but, in an ironic twist, I think he and Finn are the most alike. Both are quiet. Calculative. Sly. You never really see what their end game is until it’s too late.

With me…

It’s different.

Dad doesn’t fear me the way he fears Dutch.

He doesn’t respect me the way he respects Finn.

To dad, I’m a joke.

Easily pinned under his thumb.

While he made complicated plans to subdue my twin and didn’t even bother trying to put shackles on Finn, he only did one thing for me.

One massive thing.

And it freaking worked.

“Is it just me you want to talk to?” I ask sarcastically. “I can grab Dutch if you need to plant drugs on him and call the cops again. Or am I the one you want to falsely accuse this time? What will it be, dad? Coke? Pills? Or something more creative?”

Dad doesn’t even blink. The lamppost sprays the side of his face in silver, making him look like a robot.

It suits him.

Unfeeling. Frigidly objective. Programmed to take over the world.

“I want an update,” dad says calmly.

My shoulders stiffen. “On what?”

“The Cooper girl.” His voice is soft but threaded in iron. “Is she pregnant?”

A puff of air escapes my lips. I should be surprised, but I’m not.

“You think I’m just going to tell you that?”

Dad turns slowly. I meet his eyes. They look obsidian, as cold as the night sky devoid of stars. The way he watches me isn’t like a father. It never was. He’s all cold businessman, any familial loyalty washed away by his thirst for power.

After his long, calculating stare, dad lets out a chilly breath. “She isn’t.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re a little too anxious. If she was pregnant, you would have been smug.” Dad takes out his cell phone, reads a message and sighs. “Get out. I have things to do.”

The buzz in my veins makes me feel like I’m sitting on top of a hill of explosives. One little match and everything goes boom.

Dad sees I’m not moving and looks back with an impatient glare. As a child, I would have mourned this twisted, manipulative father-son dynamic. There were many times I cried alone, wondering why it felt like my dad didn’t love me. I never told Finn or Dutch. Neither of them seemed as impacted by dad’s callousness as I was.

Now, at eighteen, I don’t feel sorrow.

I feel lashing, poignant fury.

“I almost want to ask if you’re not ashamed of yourself. But that would be a waste of breath. Because you’re not, are you, dad? You don’t feel shame. You don’t feel anything because you’re dead inside.”

One corner of his lips curls up.

I grit my teeth. “Don’t even think about coming after Dutch again. I will make it my personal mission to see that you never touch my brothers. I’ll make sure you never win.”

There’s nothing more to say.

I twist around and grab the door handle.

Dad’s voice crawls behind me like black goo. “How?”

My jaw clenches and the handle snaps back into place.

“What will you do to me, Zane? No, a better question is what can you do to me?”

I face him, my whole body burning.

“Drum on my car? Sleep with my wife?” He scratches his chin. “Because that stick in your pants seems to be your only weapon.”

For a brief moment, I consider grabbing one of my drumsticks and beating it over his face.

Dad leans forward, eyes glinting black. “This is why you will never be a threat to me, Zane. This is why you will never amount to anything.”

My nostrils flare.

“You explode with emotions. You can’t control yourself, which makes it so easy to see your self-destruct button.”

His words are like poison, coiling around me and choking me with a smoky, cloying insistence.

He reaches for something at his feet. A moment later, he throws a box at me.

“A gift,” dad says.

The bottom of my stomach drops out.

Condoms.

“Don’t misunderstand. It’s not because of the inheritance.” I can practically hear him hissing, like the snake inside is coming out to play. “This is for your own good. I don’t want you to ruin some girl’s life the way you so easily ruin your own.”

My chest pumps up and down.

The box of condoms remain in my lap, singeing through my jeans to my skin.

“You can never have what you want, Zane,” dad whispers. “Those little girls at Redwood might be blinded by your looks and talent, but a sensible woman will see right through to what you are—irresponsible and unreliable.” He juts a finger, calloused from years of playing lead guitar, at the box. “So you’re better off trying to minimize the consequences of your reckless actions.”

Crazed laughter rams into my chest, fighting to pour from my mouth. It feels like an invisible hand is grabbing my heart and pinching hard.

I blink away the angry tears stinging my eyes. Dad will misinterpret it. He’ll think I’m crying because I’m hurt when, in reality, I’m crying because the other option is to choke him.

Dad winds the window down. “Ron.”

The giant stomps around to my side of the car and opens the door. He gives me a pointed look that says ‘are you going to get out or do I need to escort you out?’

I storm out of the car and the condoms drop to the ground.

Ron picks it up and hands it to me.

I grab the box and hurl it inside the car. Silver-wrapped packets pop from the lid and explode over dad’s head like confetti.

Dad’s eyes widen in shock and he bats the latex down in rough, frantic movements.

It’s satisfying to watch.

So satisfying that I know I want more.

More of that shock in his eyes.

More of that feeling of victory.

My lips curl up in a show of dark confidence and I lean against the car to speak through the window. “You’re right, dad. I’m the son who flies off the handle without caring about the consequences.”

Dad sneers at me.

I smile at him. “I’ll show you what it feels like when I lose it.”

I walk inside with a new determination.

Dad thinks I’m a screw-up.

So freaking what?

Everyone likes an underdog.

It’s time I show dad the hell someone like me can rain on his kingdom.