Dangerous Melodies

TORI

I hurried down the dim sidewalk, my pulse thudding in my ears. Panic surged through me, the city closing in, thick and suffocating. My breath came fast, shallow.

I shouldn’t have done that. Why the hell did I think I could walk away from this?

The night wasn’t just dark, it was smothering.

Earlier that day, meeting Mr. Kincade had been a mistake from the start.

His condescending tone grated on me, and the moment he opened his mouth, I felt it: that voice. Commanding, like thunder on a summer night. It cracked the air and made my bones ache.

“Look at me when I talk to you,” Kincade growled, his voice low and unyielding.

His voice was a command, cold and unyielding, and my pulse quickened. I swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to look away. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I held his gaze, daring him to break.

I locked eyes with him, daring him to see any weakness.My jaw clenched, eyes locked onto his, daring him to see just how far I’d go. No way I’d show him fear. He didn’t blink.

The moment I stepped on stage at the company event, I knew I’d gone too far. The notes of "ABCDEFU" rang out, and every beat of the song felt like a dare to him. 

I wasn’t just singing. I was declaring war. The tension in the room was thick, palpable, like everyone was waiting for something to snap.

Fury bubbled in my chest. At my coworkers for setting me up. At myself for letting them. And, worst of all, at Kincade for making me feel anything at all.

I hated that I let him get under my skin, but it was too late now. Every nerve screamed to run, but I couldn’t.

His eyes never left me. Cold, calculating, like he could read my every thought. And damn it, my heart raced anyway.

I finished the performance, but it felt like I was still on stage. The spotlight didn’t just burn, it scorched. My anger mixed with something else: a sick thrill, maybe. A little fear, a little pleasure.

I couldn’t turn back now. My nerves screamed for escape, but every step forward felt like I was falling deeper into the fire. 

Then I quit. Just like that. No hesitation. Just a sharp “I quit,” and I dropped the mic like I was done. But something in Kincade’s eyes made me second-guess everything.

The room went still, the silence thick with disbelief. I could hear the murmurs and gasps behind me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t there for them. I was there for me.

I strode into the cool night air, my heels clicking on the pavement. I saw a taxi in the distance and raised my hand. 

The city lights twinkled all around me, all bright and noisy. But I wasn’t looking at them. I was thinking about the fire I’d just started.

Then came the shout, sharp and too close. My heart slammed into overdrive.

Shit. He’s following me. Don’t look back. Don’t.

I glanced back anyway, even though every nerve screamed not to.

His gaze locked onto mine across the lot. Wild. Unhinged. A predator zeroing in on his target. His nostrils flared. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven bursts, like he was barely holding himself together.

The taxi rolled to a stop. I stayed frozen, torn between the instinct to flee and a reckless pull daring me to stay. I held his gaze, absorbing the fury he no longer bothered to hide.

The power of it, the danger, fueled me.

A slow smile curved my lips. Kincade stilled, his approach faltering for the first time.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a second glance. Just threw him a grin, kissed my middle finger, and let it fly as I dropped into the cab and yanked the door shut.

The car jolted forward, tires squealing against the pavement.

Then came the shout, loud, angry, close. A heavy thud hit the trunk a breath later, like he’d tried to grab the car with his bare hands.

The city rushed by, headlights flashing through the rain-soaked streets, the faint scent of exhaust filling the air. Neon lights flickered against the wet pavement, a blur of color that couldn’t drown out the pounding in my chest.

A laugh slipped free, fueled by reckless exhilaration.

For a moment, it felt good.

The high faded quickly, replaced by a creeping, cold dread. The echo of his roar stayed lodged in my ears, raw and unrestrained.

Did I go too far?

Kincade’s face flashed across my mind, twisted with pure rage. My stomach twisted hard. Another memory rose, darker than anything tonight, dragging me backward whether I wanted it or not.

The last time I had defied a powerful man, my father had beaten me for it.

I remembered my father’s hand, each strike branding me with his unyielding expectations. That pain, that control, had been the price of disobedience. 

I unlocked my apartment door with shaking hands and stumbled inside. I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the couch, my body finally surrendering to the crash.

The phone vibrated against the cushion. I glanced down, dread rising up my throat.

Social media had exploded. Clips of my performance flooded every feed, comment sections blazing with speculation and rumor.

One headline cut through the noise, bold and damning.

Kincade Industries Expands as Dante Kincade Absorbs Titan Tech Amid Rising Controversy

Dante Kincade.

The coffee I had handed him that morning felt like a bad dream now. I had been serving the most dangerous man in the city without even realizing it.

A chill slid down my spine, sharp and sickening.

No. This can't be happening.

I clicked the article link, my stomach sinking.

The story hinted at rumored ties between Kincade Industries and the underworld elite. Rumors were easy to dismiss, until you lived a life like mine. My father had mentioned Dante Kincade once. Once had been enough.

My father, head of the Franco cartel, the man who turned cruelty into doctrine and never flinched at blood or begging, feared him.

My stomach lurched, sharp and sudden, like acid burning a hole through my stomach.

I hadn’t just insulted a CEO. I’d mocked a man whose name echoed in the darkest corners of the city. A legend among the ruthless, someone even the worst criminals dared not cross.

Each breath hitched in short, ragged pulls. My anonymity was gone. And my face, plastered across countless screens, stared back like a death sentence.

One thought burned into my mind: Who will get to me first? My father, Marcos, or Dante?

I had seen attraction in Kincade’s eyes earlier, a fleeting thing, gone now and replaced by something cold and merciless. Fury. Humiliation. A man like him would not let this go unpunished.

And attraction? It wouldn't save me.

I scrambled to pack, shoving clothes and cash into my battered duffel bag. My hands trembled as I zipped it shut.

If my father found me, he would drag me back. And Marcos Montoya would be waiting. Marcos didn’t just kill. He enjoyed it. Blood was his currency. Pain was his pleasure. A monster hiding behind a man's face.

My father was prepared to hand me over to him, sealing an alliance between cartels.

Old scars throbbed along my back, phantom pain dragging itself into the present.

I slung the bag over my shoulder, tucked Mr. Buttons into my hoodie pouch, and grabbed my guitar. My apartment used to feel safe. Now it pressed in on all sides, too small, too quiet.

With every step toward the door, something heavy peeled off my chest. Not all of it. Just enough to breathe again.

I didn’t drag myself out of one cage just to walk into another.

As his footsteps closed in, a voice in my head screamed to run faster. 

I was no longer just running from my father or Marcos.

I was also running from Dante Kincade.

The last thing I needed was for Kincade to catch me, but I could already feel him closing in.

And when men like him hunt? They don’t stop.

Not until you’re dead.