Cadence Untouched: A Dahlia Project Novel Read online

  Cadence Untouched

  A Dahlia Project Novel

  Dakota Willink

  This book is an original publication of Dakota Willink, LLC

  Copyright © 2019 by Dakota Willink

  All Rights Reserved.

  In ordinance with the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission of the publisher. Please do not participate in or encourage unlawful piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s intellectual property.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9971603-7-6

  Cadence Untouched | Copyright © 2019 by Dakota Willink | Pending

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Cover design by BookCoverMasterClass.com

  Copyright © 2019

  Contents

  Book by Dakota Willink

  A Note From The Author

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Cadence Defined

  Music Playlist

  About the Author

  BOOKS BY DAKOTA WILLINK

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  The Stone Series

  Heart of Stone

  Stepping Stone

  Set In Stone

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  The Cadence Duet

  Cadence Untouched

  Cadence Defined

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  WRITTEN UNDER MARIE CHRISTY

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  And I Smile

  (Children’s Book)

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  Nevertheless She Persisted: Me Too

  (Non-fiction anthology with various authors and audiobook narrators, produced by Blunder Woman Productions)

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  LOVE & LACE INKORPORATED MAGAZINE

  * * *

  Summer 2018 (featuring Alessandra Torre)

  Fall 2018 (featuring K. Bromberg)

  Holiday 2018 (featuring Shayla Black)

  Spring 2019 (featuring J. Kenner)

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  For more, please visit www.dakotawillink.com

  A note from the author…

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  Have you ever had a really big idea, one that is so monumental and game changing, you can’t get it out of your head? Then, the more you think about it, the bigger it becomes?

  For me, the idea stemmed from the 2016 United States Presidential election. No matter who you voted for, there’s no denying the shock that reverberated through the country. I couldn’t avoid the news if I tried. Because of this, I came up with a book idea I just couldn’t shake. I wanted to write a book that reflected the current world we live in. However, I didn’t want it to be opinionated or in-your-face-political. God knows, we have enough of that, and fiction should be an escape from reality.

  After months of toying with how I wanted to write it, I finally began to put words on paper. Cadence was supposed to be just one book, but I felt I wasn’t doing justice to the characters backstory. They needed more of a foundation. As a result, Cadence became two books—Cadence Untouched and Cadence Defined.

  Untouched is a prequel to Defined. It takes place seventeen years ago, which made it a lot of fun for me to write. I was able to dive into trends from the late 90’s, and it brought me back to when I was in my late teens and early twenties. However, as fun as it was to write, it also came with challenges. The new adult genre is way out of my comfort zone.

  After I finished Untouched, I moved on to Defined. This was more my style of romance writing. While working on the second part of Cadence & Fitz’s story, I had to research non-profit organizations due to Cadence's profession. On my quest for information, I learned about real life organizations that operate similar to the one Cadence founded in Defined. I was incredibly inspired by their good work and found myself asking, what can I do to help?

  Then my birthday happened.

  For my birthday, my sixteen-year-old daughter decided to give me a gift that keeps on giving. She invested in a twenty-five-dollar Kiva loan in my name. This loan provided women in developing countries a chance to create a better future for themselves, their families and their communities. As the women repaid the loan, the money was then recycled for someone else to use. The money is still being reused to this day.

  I was completely in awe over my daughters gift. Inspired by her compassion and generosity, my brain literally exploded with ideas. If you noticed on the covers of Cadence Untouched and Cadence Defined, The Dahlia Project is written at the top. Whenever you see this, it means a portion of the proceeds will go to fund various non-profit organizations. To read more about the organizations The Dahlia Project will give to, please visit the Dakota Gives Back tab on my website.

  But wait... there's more! In Defined, Cadence wrote and illustrated the children’s book, And I Smile. I decided to bring that to life too, published under the pseudonym of Marie Christy so an unsuspecting young mind doesn't accidentally pick up one of my romance novels! A portion of the proceeds from And I Smile will go Room to Read, a global organization devoted to promoting literacy and girl's education.

  These books have been a long time coming. I couldn’t have written them without the help from so many.

  To Jennifer Slater—your beautiful illustrations brought my vision for And I Smile to life.

  To the beta readers—as always, your feedback was immeasurable! Thank you for the helpful insight.

  To Lacy Laurel and Zachary Webber for the amazing work on the audiobooks. Your voices truly captured the characters in my head, and I couldn’t be happier with the end performance.

  To Cheryl and Chasidy—you’re my rock stars! Thanks for always holding the fort so I can write.

  To my author friends—every author needs an author tribe to help navigate the crazy world of Romancelandia. Thank you for being mine!

  To my son and daughter—thanks for the enlightening verbiage on video games, emojis, and acronyms! I love you, but I’ll never completely understand what goes on in your brains! Joking aside, I’m so proud of the strong, driven, and compassionate individuals you’ve become. You are the voices of the future.

  To my husband—wow, holy deadline! I know it was a rough couple of months. Thank you for stepping up while I was in the writing cave. I love so much you!

  And finally, to the readers. Your continued support allows me to keep doing what I do. I’m so incredibly excited about The Dahlia Project! Never in my life have I felt so determined to get something right. I want to make a difference, and to make this matter in a very real sense. I hope you’ll follow the journey I take with it! To stay up to date on its progress, subscribe to my newsletter or text DAKOTA to 77948. I hope you love the Cadence duet as much as I love the j
ourney it took me on!

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  PART ONE

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  “Not even the brightest future can make up for the fact that no roads lead back to what came before–to the innocence of childhood or the first time we fell in love.”

  - Jo Nesbo

  Prologue

  Washington D.C.

  16 Years Ago

  Rain slashed through the night sky, the fierce wind causing water droplets to pelt against the windows in angry torment. The storm was a force of nature, one strong enough to match the pain that raged through my body. In agony, I screamed, my cry louder than the thunder that boomed outside.

  Voices called out around me, the sound a distant echo in my mind. I didn’t know if it was because I couldn’t hear them, or if it was simply, I didn’t want to hear them. The scent of antiseptic was pungent in the air, but I barely smelled it. I could only focus on the pain. The pain in my heart. In my body. I couldn’t decide where it hurt the most. I only knew I ached all over from the fire that lashed through me.

  I whimpered in misery as more molten heat erupted inside me, the pain so severe, I thought I might rip in two. An unexplainable urge to escape came over me. I knew this day would come, but I didn’t know if I could endure it for much longer. Tears clouded my vision, blurring the shapes throughout the bright white room as a barrage of questions ran through my mind.

  When would it end? What about when it was all over? Could I go through each day facing the reminder of something I could never have?

  The questions terrified me, and they were ones that played in my mind for the better part of a year. I didn’t know if I wanted to do this. I didn’t know if I could do this. I wanted to believe I could survive, but I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to get through it. Somewhere in my mind, I knew the physical agony was only temporary. But I also knew the torment in my heart would never fade.

  The knives tearing at my back and abdomen seemed to subside, allowing me a moment to remember the day I discovered my fate. I had tried to run. That night was similar to the current one with pouring rain, flashes of lightning peppering the blackened night sky.

  I had come home and packed my things in a fury, not paying much attention to what I was doing. I recalled how I struggled to muffle the sound of my sobs as I dumped the contents of my dresser into a suitcase, praying I remembered to pack the essentials in my distraught state. There had been a creak in the floorboards of the old Victorian house that I lived in. The sound had caused me to startle.

  Glancing up from my suitcase, I had spotted my mother standing in the wood door frame of my bedroom. I recollected how kind and sympathetic her eyes were. When she spoke to me, I had nearly crumpled from the sound, her voice soothing me in my darkest moment.

  “I know why you’re trying to leave, Cadence,” she had said. “You don’t have to run. We will get through this together and as a family. Come now. Wipe those tears. There’s a good thunderstorm outside. From the sounds of it, St. Peter is having a good game of bowling with the angels. How about we go sit on the back porch and enjoy the show?”

  I forced my mind to focus on the present day and stared up at the woman who stood next to my weakened body. My mother. My one constant and always my rock. Tears swam in her eyes and I felt my sadness swell. I was consumed with loss and regret. I never wanted to disappoint her. Although she assured me I didn’t, I was never able to shed the cloak of shame I wore day in and day out.

  Thunder boomed again outside, causing the windows to rattle. My heart constricted. St. Peter wasn’t bowling with angels today. No. This storm was a display of God’s wrath. Despite my mother’s strong front, I knew I had destroyed her. This pain was my punishment.

  I dropped my head between my shoulders and tensed as a new kind of burn ripped through me. The searing flames were back, alive and stronger than before. My body racked with sobs, quivering and shaking until I felt I couldn’t take it any longer. I looked up again at the woman who meant everything to me. Her eyes, a vibrant green that matched mine, were filled with worry. But they were also full of strength. I tried to call on every whisper of encouragement she ever gave me, needing to hear her words to get through this suffering. Perhaps it was selfish. I didn’t deserve to draw on her strength, but I didn’t know if I could continue on without it.

  My mother’s hand stroked the top of my head, over and over again, quieting my tears. It was then, in the quiet, I heard it. The sound was like the most beautiful calliope music, a powerful melody that made all the pain and torture disappear.

  And suddenly… I was free.

  1

  Abingdon, Virginia

  17 YEARS AGO

  FITZ

  I stared out the window at the passing scenery. Field after field. Barn after barn. It seemed like hours had passed since we got off the interstate. The last store front was at least ten miles back–if one would even call it a store. It was more like a rundown mini-mart with a couple of old-fashioned gas pumps out front. Any sign of civilization seemed to fade more and more with every mile the big cheese burned. And yeah, that’s what I was on. A big yellow cheese bus.

  I scowled to myself, still pissed at my father for choosing this hunk of junk as my means of transportation out to no-man’s-land. It was hotter than the flames in hell on this godforsaken thing, too. According to the bus driver, the a/c was busted.

  My father was treating me as if I were back in grade school, not like someone who just completed his fourth year at Georgetown University. I wasn’t allowed to take my own car here nor could I arrange for a car service. Those were his rules. It was always about his rules–and have mercy on any soul who tried to defy him. That included me.

  “Hey, Fitz! Check it out, man!”

  I turned to look in the direction of my friend, Devon Wilkshire, my partner in crime who got into this mess with me. He’d been slouched in the seat across from me for most of the ride. Now he was standing and peering out the grimy bus window.

  “What? More cows?” I snapped irritably.

  Devon laughed and jabbed his finger against the glass.

  “Seriously, look,” he insisted.

  I glanced over his shoulder just as the big cheese rolled to a stop. The sign for Camp Riley came into view, a large wooden slab with painted gold lettering. Symbols for varying performing and creative arts decorated the sign–music notes, paint brushes, ballet shoes, theater masks.

  Just fucking great.

  I rolled my eyes and a knot of dread formed in my gut. Hand me a basketball, and I’d be in my element. I wouldn’t call myself a jock. In fact, I hadn’t played much at all since high school, but I could understand any sport better than this artsy crap. I detested it and my father knew it; however, he currently held me by the balls. The next three months were going to royally suck.

  “No shit, Sherlock. The camp is our intended destination after all,” I shot off sarcastically.

  “No, dumb ass,” Devon fired back. “Not the camp. The girls. They’re everywhere.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I let curiosity get the best of me and stood to cross the aisle in order to get a closer look. Sure enough, there were girls. And a lot of them too. From the looks of it, they just departed from a different bus that was parked in front of ours.

  I glanced around at the passengers on my bus. A bunch of nerdy and sweaty looking high school boys lounged about. Some were clutching bulky instrument cases, their expressions full of excitement when they noticed our arrival. Others were lost in their Game Boy Advance systems, a handheld game console I never really got into, and they didn’t seem to notice the bus had stopped moving. There were a few guys sitting in the back who appeared to be college-aged. They were most likely here to work at the camp, just like Devon and me.

  Either way, looking at the pathetic sausage party around me, I couldn’t help wishing I had hitched a ride to camp on that other bus.

  Turning to look out the window again, I shook my head and let out a low whistle. If I was going
to be stuck here, I might as well make the best of it. I might be able to have a bit of fun at this hellhole after all, but I’d have to be cautious. I was fairly certain my father would be getting regular reports. That was just his style. It would be in my best interest to stay off the radar of the camp officials.

  “They look a little young,” I observed.

  “Not all of them. Look over there,” Devon said and pointed to the right of the growing crowd. Sure enough, another group of females had gathered, clearly old enough for Devon and me.

  “There are quite a few of them. I bet they’re here to teach or some other bullshit like that. Maybe this punishment won’t be so bad after all,” I joked.

  “That’s for sure! I think I’m going to try to find myself a flute player,” Devon announced.

  “A flute player? Why?”

  Devon grinned and tapped a light punch to my shoulder.