The Lie (Kings of Linwood Academy Book 2)

by Callie Rose

  “Oh, she just talked you into it?” Dax grunts, renewing his hold on Trent as the football player struggles hard. “Too bad you had no fucking choice.”

  “Look, I didn’t—I wasn’t gonna really hurt her, alright? Savannah wanted me to, but I was just trying to scare her! That’s it!”

  What?

  The three boys holding him against the wall freeze. Beside me, I feel River’s body go rigid, stiff as a statue.

  I blink, and the words hovering on my tongue come out of Chase’s mouth instead.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’m telling you, I wasn’t gonna do anything but scare her! What the fuck do you think I am? And it was all Savannah’s idea. Some other cheerleaders overheard Harlow talking about going to that poker game, and Savannah told me to go after her, to get her back for what happened to Iris. But I wouldn’t try to fucking kill her or anything. Jesus!”

  Chase’s face is smooth and hard, anger transforming his features until I almost can’t recognize them. “Oh, shit. You wore a mask—a party mask. Someone else’s face.”

  “It was you. Outside the warehouse that night,” Dax growls.

  “Yeah—” Trent breaks off, finally picking up on the change in the atmosphere. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

  “Now?” Lincoln’s voice is still smooth and dangerous. “Now we’re talking about how you attacked Harlow.”

  “I—I—”

  The football star’s face contorts as he realizes he just said way more than he should have.

  “You attacked her and then ran like a fucking coward,” Dax grates out, and the tension in the alley grows so thick and heavy it feels suffocating. My breath is coming out of my mouth in small puffs of steam, and as my heart rate picks up, the little white clouds come faster and faster.

  I had nightmares about that attack for weeks. I never knew if the man who grabbed me outside the warehouse was the same one who killed Iris, but in my dreams, it didn’t matter.

  In my dreams, he found me and killed me too.

  It was fucking Trent?

  Sent by fucking Savannah.

  “I didn’t—! I mean, I was just—”

  The blond boy doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Lincoln’s fist interrupts him. It drives into the middle of his face, making blood spurt from his nose even as his head snaps back and hits the brick behind him.

  A breathless, shocked noise falls from my lips, and Trent lets out a pained yell, but that sound too is cut off by another hit.

  “Don’t watch, Low. You don’t need to watch.”

  River’s voice is quiet, and he puts an arm around my shoulders, turning me away. I’m wearing a jacket over my club top, but I’m shivering even harder now from a combination of cold and shock. The brown-haired boy shrugs off his blazer and draws it around my shoulders, coming to stand in front of me and wrapping his arms around me. I’m facing away from the four boys behind us, and he’s watching them over my shoulder.

  I can’t see it.

  But I hear it.

  Every blow, every sharp crack of bone against bone. Every one of Trent’s ragged yells and panting breaths. The muffled grunts that fall from Lincoln, Dax, and Chase’s mouths as they hit him over and over.

  My heart is beating so fast and hard I’m afraid it’ll give out entirely. I look back once more, then grab two fistfuls of River’s shirt and bury my face against his chest, squeezing my eyes shut.

  I’ve never considered myself squeamish. I’m not one of those people who gets queasy at the sight of blood. When I was going through cancer treatments, I got used to having blood drawn.

  But I’ve never seen it drawn like this before—with fists through broken skin, instead of with needles through tiny pinpricks.

  It’s visceral and violent and too much for me to process. But I don’t try to stop them. I just hold onto River like a fucking life preserver.

  Finally, the sounds of fists hitting flesh slow. Trent’s cries and yells have morphed into pained grunts and inarticulate moans. I force myself to release my death grip on River’s shirt and turn around, and he lets me, although he keeps his arms fastened around my waist.

  Trent’s face is swollen and bruised, dark blood glistening as it trickles down from a cut above his eye and pours from his nose, over his lips and chin.

  He looks fucking grisly.

  He also looks like he’s only about half-conscious. The three boys around him are still pinning him to the wall, but I have a feeling it’s as much to hold him up as to restrain him at this point.

  Lincoln grabs his hair, lifting his head as it starts to sag.

  Trent’s eyes widen, coming back into clear focus for a second. “Please…” he slurs. “No more.”

  The boy with the amber eyes and gleaming dark hair nods. Some of the brutal rage is gone from his face, replaced by calm determination.

  “No more,” he agrees. “If you tell us everything you know about Savannah.”

  20

  Trent spills his guts.

  All of his guts.

  He and Savannah might hardly qualify as a real couple, considering each of them is basically just using the other person for their own benefit, but he still knows her pretty damn well.

  When he’s spewed out every one of her dirty secrets he can think of, Chase, Dax, and Lincoln release him. Just like I expected, as soon as their hands leave his arms, he slides halfway down the wall, but he manages to catch himself before he slumps all the way over.

  One of his eyes is swelling shut, but he tilts his head to look up at the three of them. “Are we even?”

  Dax snorts, shaking his head. “You better fucking hope we are.”

  They leave him there and rejoin me and River, and the five of us head back inside the club. River kicks the block of wood out of the way before the door swings shut, and I hear the locking mechanism click into place behind us, trapping Trent outside.

  He’ll be all right though. I’m not sure he would’ve come back in here looking like that anyway.

  We wend our way back to the main part of the club, passing by the lounge where the guys grabbed Trent. I wonder fleetingly what his friends told themselves to justify not coming to his aid, and then my gaze darts to the four boys who surround me in a tight knot.

  Any one of them would’ve broken down that door to get outside if they had to—if one of their own had been taken. I’m sure of it.

  The music gets louder and louder, peaking as we step back through the velvet ropes into the large open area of the club. A few moments later, we’re stepping back out into the cold night air. I tug River’s blazer tighter around me as Linc speaks to the valet, and when his car is brought around, we all pile inside silently.

  My body can’t decide if it’s revving up or slowing down. I feel sluggish and tired, but also jittery and on edge.

  When we’re about halfway back to River’s place, Dax breaks the silence.

  “Fucking Trent.”

  He sounds both disgusted and boggled, and I can relate to both of those feelings.

  “I can’t believe it was that walking bag of limp dicks.” Chase snorts, shaking his head.

  River and Lincoln don’t say a word. I’m not sure River noticed the twins speak, and Linc seems lost in his own head, his gaze focused on the road outside.

  “You don’t think… he was the one in the ski mask too, do you?” I ask softly.

  Dax’s hand falls on my knee. There’s blood on his knuckles, and it gleams almost black in the flashes of light from the streetlamps outside.

  “Nah. It didn’t add up when we talked through it before, and just because we know he attacked you outside the warehouse now, it doesn’t change what happened the night Iris died. I can’t see how it could’ve been him.”

  “Yeah.” Chase grabs my hand, his thumb trailing lightly over my skin. “And I don’t think he’s a good enough liar either. If he knew something about Iris’s death, we would’ve picked up on it.”
>
  They’re right. I’d bet anything they’re right. The sequence of events that would’ve had to take place for Trent to be the killer make no sense. They make a lot less sense than the multiple pieces of evidence pointing toward Samuel Black.

  It’s close to midnight when Linc pulls up in front of River’s house. Chase slides out to let me climb out behind him, but when I look around, I realize all the boys exited the car. There’s a moment of silence as we all look at each other, the adrenaline from this evening still pulsing around us. Then Lincoln steps toward me, tangling his fingers with mine and pulling me closer until our chests practically brush.

  His amber eyes gleam in the dim light as he gazes down at me. “We okay, baby?”

  I know what he’s asking. I don’t think he wanted me to see that—to see him like that. I doubt this was what any of the guys had in mind when they went after Trent tonight. They might’ve expected to rough him up a little, but finding out he was the one who attacked me after that poker game snapped something inside all of them.

  “Yeah.” I bite my bottom lip, staring back up at him. “We are.”

  He lets out a deep breath, then his fingers thread through my hair and he kisses me.

  He kisses me the same way he hit Trent. With everything he has, as if he can’t fucking stop himself.

  I’m drowning in it, kissing him back just as hard, and I know the other three boys are watching, but I can’t stop. I don’t want to. I feel like I’m being held up only by his grip on my hair and his lips on mine, and when he pulls away, I sway on my feet slightly.

  He gives me one last lingering look and then slides back into the car.

  Dax steps forward, and there’s a glint in his eye I’ve never seen before—a possessiveness as fierce as I just saw on Lincoln’s face. As if he’s done pretending this thing between us is casual, just for fun, something we could both walk away from intact.

  We couldn’t.

  And he kisses me like he’s trying to prove that.

  I know it already though—am starting to feel it down to the depths of my soul—so I kiss him back the same way. And as our lips move together, it’s not even arousal I feel, exactly, but something deeper.

  Like I’m accepting a claim and claiming him right back.

  He releases me reluctantly, and as he does, Chase’s arms wrap around me from behind. His body curves around mine, molding to my back, and for a moment it seems like he really is trying to become my armor, to shield me from all the dangers of the world.

  With his head bent to bring it closer to mine, he whispers, “You know he deserved it, right, Low? We don’t normally do shit like that—that’s not who we are. But that fucker deserved it.”

  I turn toward him, brushing my lips against his. Terror and euphoria bang around in my chest like stray bullets ricocheting off the walls of my ribcage as I realize I believe him. This isn’t who these boys are. But it’s who they’re willing to become.

  For me.

  When our kiss breaks, he squeezes me against him once more before stepping away.

  “See you tomorrow, yeah?” he asks as he and Dax head for the car.

  “Yeah.”

  The two boys get back in the dark vehicle, and as Linc pulls away, River puts an arm around my waist and leads me toward the house. He lets me use the bathroom first like always, lounging on the bed while I go to brush my teeth. The iridescent club top shimmers in the soft light, and when I run my fingers through my long hair, they come away wet and stained crimson.

  Blood.

  Linc must’ve gotten it in my hair when he kissed me.

  Suddenly feeling claustrophobic in my own skin, I peel my clothes off and step into the shower, letting hot water stream over me.

  It was just a few streaks of blood. The water hardly even turns pink. But I wash my hair twice anyway.

  When I wrap a towel around myself and step back into River’s room, I don’t even pretend to go looking for my pajamas. Instead, I drop the towel by the foot of the bed and crawl between the sheets naked. River disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes, and when he comes back out, he’s naked too.

  We don’t have sex, but we sleep skin to skin.

  And it keeps the nightmares at bay.

  In the morning, we get up early and are already waiting outside when Chase and Dax swing by to pick us up. After several days of feeling like a useless lump, I’m practically bursting at the seams with nervous energy now that it’s actually time to do something. It’s Friday, which means I’ve missed almost a whole week of school. But it’s not too late to fix this.

  I hope.

  The twins shoot me almost identical grins over their shoulders as River and I climb into the back seat.

  “You ready for this?” Chase asks, a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “More than ready.”

  We arrive at school well before the start of first period, and Lincoln meets us outside the doors. It’s been less than a week since I was expelled, but the place already feels strange and foreign. It’s weird to walk through the halls knowing I shouldn’t be here.

  The four kings of Linwood surround me on all sides as we make our way down the corridor—providing a buffer in case any school staff happen to see us, and silently telling all the students we pass that I’m still under their protection.

  When we turn down a hallway on the north side of the building, our footsteps slow.

  Savannah is standing near her locker, surrounded by four younger cheerleaders who are hanging on her every word like she’s a fucking guru or something. When her gaze flicks up and catches on the kings, annoyance flashes in her eyes, and when she notices me standing among them, her lips curl.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Pool Girl?” she snaps. “Did you forget you were expelled? Want me to tell Mr. Osterhaut you’re loitering on school property?”

  I don’t answer her taunt, stepping forward as the four boys open ranks to let me through. Savannah’s little posse of cheerleaders looks from me to her, bloodthirsty interest in their eyes. They’re probably hoping they’ll get to see her eviscerate me.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask, glancing around the hall.

  “Trent’s sick. He stayed home—just like you should have.”

  Ignoring that too, I move closer to her. “No, I don’t think I should have at all. Because you’re gonna tell Mr. Osterhaut what you did. That you were the one who messed with my exams.”

  “Why the fuck would I do that?”

  I can feel the guys at my back, but they don’t step in, letting me handle Savannah on my own.

  I like that.

  Because I’ve got this.

  Lowering my voice just slightly, I glance at the girls gathered around us. “I can give you a few good reasons why. And if you don’t want your little groupies to know what they are, you better send them away right now.”

  “What—”

  She starts to speak in a huff then breaks off, gazing at my face intently as if she’s trying to guess what I really know.

  I’ve played a lot of poker. I can keep my hand hidden if I want to. But right now, I don’t want to. I make no effort to school my features or to keep my expression blank, letting her read the satisfaction and confidence on my face.

  She blinks, then swallows.

  “Go.” She tears her gaze away from me to focus on her minions, who all stare back at her in shock. “I said go! God!”

  They all jump, and she waves her hand in a shooing gesture. The four girls scramble to obey her command, scuttling off down the hallway in a tight cluster. Their whispers and murmurs follow them as they go, and I can feel them casting glances back at us.

  “Good call,” I say smoothly. “Now, if you do what I want, no one will ever be the wiser.”

  She recovers some of her haughty bluster now that she’s alone, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder and glaring at me. “I’m not telling Mr. Osterhaut anything.”

  “Fine.” I shrug. “Then I’ll t
ell the whole school what Trent told us last night. He’s not really sick, by the way. He’s just… recovering.”

  Her eyes fly open wide, and yup, I think she’s finally figured out for sure that I’m not joking. That I know things about her she definitely doesn’t want getting out.

  “You can’t fucking threaten me!” she hisses. “You shouldn’t even be here! I’ll get campus security to kick your ass out!”

  “Fine.” I glance behind me at the guys. “But these four will still be here. Do you really think they can’t make your life a living hell? They’ll make sure every kid in this place knows what we know.”

  Her perfect face contorts in a sneer, and she shakes her head. “You don’t know—”

  “I know my tests aren’t the only scores you faked,” I say softly. Then I shake my head, allowing a smirk to tilt my lips. “You know, I didn’t even know Miss Teen Connecticut was a thing. Much less something people would actually stoop to cheating to win. What was the matter? Did your talent not wow the judges?”

  She stiffens, and I can hear her breath catch. She doesn’t answer my question, which is fine since it was rhetorical anyway. In fact, she doesn’t say anything. Her jaw is hanging slightly open and her cheeks are flushed.

  Honestly, Trent had way more damaging secrets about Savannah than this. But I have a pretty strong feeling this will be the one that does the trick.

  Little miss perfect head cheerleader doesn’t want anyone at Linwood to know her Miss Connecticut crown was stolen.

  “It’s your choice,” I offer. “You can either come tell Mr. Osterhaut what you did, or I can tell all those little freshmen who idolize you so much that you’re a fake queen. Do you really hate me that much? To make that worth it?”

  She stays completely frozen for a long moment, but even before she speaks, I can tell I’ve won. Her expression gets angrier and angrier, and that tells me everything I need to know. She’s pissed as shit because she has no choice.

  “Fine.” She hurls the word like she’s trying to stab me with it.