by Callie Rose
“You’ll see.” A smile grows on River’s face, and there’s something behind it that makes me think maybe I really will want to go wherever they’re taking me.
Just step out onto the limb.
Don’t think about how far away the ground is.
“Okay.”
His smile grows, and he drapes his body over mine, kissing me with an easy possessiveness that makes my heart beat faster.
He hasn’t slept on the couch once since I got here. We’ve gotten to third base a couple more times, and I want to do more, but something is holding me back.
I don’t quite know what it is.
I’ve talked to Lincoln about it, wanting to hear him say again that he truly is okay with all of this—and to say it when we were both fully clothed and in our right minds, not half-drunk on each other’s bodies and in the middle of a deep fuck.
He is. He kissed me and looked me straight in the eyes and told me he is.
But some part of my mind or my heart is still holding back. Like I still can’t quite believe it.
Like I don’t know what to do with myself if it’s true.
Those lingering doubts don’t stop me from kissing River until our lips are swollen and we’re both a little breathless and disheveled though. His oak moss scent is in my hair, in my clothes, infused in my skin by now, and I fucking love it.
His family doesn’t eat together even once a week like Linc’s does. His dad is working a big case, so I’ve only seen him once since I got here, and his mom is this crazy socialite whose obligations keep her busier than a full-time job would.
Mr. Bettencourt is still representing the Lepianes, but it’s the district attorney’s office that’s brought charges against my mom. Depending on how things go, there’s a chance the Lepianes could bring a civil suit against her too. But for now, River hasn’t been able to pick up any more hints of what the investigation into Iris’s death has revealed.
The two of us grab food the kitchen staff prepared and bring it back downstairs, hanging out in the large living room to eat. I don’t think River spends much time in the main level of the house—I don’t think anyone does, really—and it’s almost like the basement is its own separate apartment, his private living space.
Kind of like the service quarters in the Black mansion, except about ten times bigger.
At a little before nine, River’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he heads upstairs to let the guys in.
When they all troop down the steps a few minutes later, Lincoln’s got a small bag in one hand. He hands it to me with an arched brow, and I peer inside.
Clothes.
My heart lurches as memories of a night I wish I could forget flow through my mind like a river of poison. The night all four of the kings of Linwood showed up in my room, tossed me a skimpy black dress, and told me to come with them.
“What is it with you guys and dressing me?” I ask dryly, shoving the memories aside as I look back up at him.
His lips quirk up in a smile, and he gives the bag a little shake, offering it to me again. “I think you’ll like it this time.”
I take it suspiciously, setting the bag down on the couch and pulling out the contents one by one.
He’s right. I do like it.
They brought me a pair of dark skinny jeans and a top made of an expensive-looking, iridescent material that has a high neckline in the front and a scooped back with a few straps crisscrossing at the low back. There’s a stylish black jacket to go over it, and a pair of black heels, which also appear to be way out of my usual price range.
This is way better than the super-tight, super-short cocktail dress they made me wear to the strip club where I was supposed to spy on Trent.
This is… me.
I run my fingers over the smooth fabric of the top, and Linc grins when he catches me fondling it.
“Get dressed,” he says, and I realize that he, Dax, and Chase are all dressed in nice jeans, casual but expensive tops, and tailored blazers.
Wherever they’re planning on taking me, it’s obviously got a dress code.
River puts a hand on the small of my back, ushering me into the bedroom. I head into the bathroom to change while he does the same on the other side of the door.
It all fits like a glove. I don’t know how the hell the guys know my sizes so well, but every single thing from the shoes to the top molds to my body like it was made to be there. I didn’t bring a lot of makeup when I packed my bag, but I swipe on some mascara and a little blush, then pull my hair into a high ponytail.
River looks just as drool-worthy as the rest of the guys by the time I emerge from the bathroom. They’re all so damn hot they look good in pretty much anything, but there’s something about this kind of casual elegance that really works on them.
Once we all pile into Lincoln’s car, I lean forward from where I’m sitting in the middle of the back seat. “So, where are we going?”
“Paradise.”
“What?”
I scrunch up my face, and Chase takes pity on me and expands on Lincoln’s unhelpful answer.
“It’s a club downtown. We’re gonna pay Trent a little visit.”
My chest tightens. The echoes between what we’re doing right now and the events of that night make goose bumps break out over my skin.
It’s not the same. It’s not the same.
I repeat that over and over in my head. It’s not like the five of us going to see Trent at a club in Fox Hill will summon the man in the black ski mask somehow—call him out of the darkness like some kind of demon.
But it sure as fuck feels like it might.
Maybe the twins both pick up on the shudder that passes through my body, because they scoot closer to me on the seat, enclosing me between them as much as their seatbelts will allow. I let the warmth of their bodies seep into my skin, closing my eyes for a minute to pull myself together.
Mom’s still in jail, still awaiting trial. A solid case is being built against her, and the only good thing about that is that it means Iris’s killer probably feels pretty safe right now. He has no reason to kill anyone else.
Still, I can’t stop my head from swiveling back and forth as we step out of the car in downtown Fox Hill and Linc hands his keys to a valet. The street is reassuringly packed with people and vehicles though, nowhere near as desolate as the area around the strip club. I don’t know quite where we are, but it’s obviously the social hub of the city.
I don’t think Paradise is an all-ages club, but I see Lincoln slip the bouncer a hefty wad of bills before the large man pulls the velvet rope aside, allowing us all to file in.
Shit. No wonder Trent and his buddies go to the shitty spots on the outskirts of town more often than places like this. That had to be at least a grand Lincoln handed the guy.
Inside the club, blue and purple lights flash through a haze that hangs in the air. The heavy bass that I could hear from the sidewalk outside vibrates my bones in the enclosed space.
We start to weave our way through the crowd. Linc slips his hand into mine and grips it tight, and I notice that Chase and Dax keep River between them. I know he’s not totally deaf, and I wonder if being in a place like this, where the music blares so loud people have to scream over it, makes things even more difficult for him. Given that the lights are so low it’s hard to make out people’s faces, I’m guessing so.
Which is why his two friends have wordlessly surrounded him, placing themselves as buffers between him and the surrounding crowd.
Lincoln leads us unerringly toward the back of the club, where another roped off area leads to what I’m guessing are VIP suites or something. This seems like the kind of place that would have them.
He slips the bald man guarding that rope another stack of bills, exchanges a few words with him that I can’t hear over the music, and we breeze right through.
Jesus. I hope Trent is fucking here. Otherwise, Lincoln just dropped a couple thousand bucks for nothing.
As w
e slip into the private back area of the club, the heavy thump of the bass recedes a little. It’s easier to hear myself think back here, although it’s no brighter than the rest of the club. If anything, it’s darker.
I squeeze Linc’s hand more tightly as we navigate the intricate maze, only letting go when we enter a much smaller bar area. In one of the booths toward the back, Trent tips his head back and laughs at something his friend said. There’s no sign of Savannah, which isn’t that big of a shocker, considering the star football player has a brunette girl who could either be a cocktail waitress, a stripper, or just a very friendly club patron draped halfway across his lap.
Ugh. He really is a disgusting pig.
There’s no love lost between me and Savannah, but I’m pretty sure the two of them are officially dating—or at least, she thinks so. And I don’t care much about whether she gets hurt, but it still pisses me off to see Trent treating her like this. Especially after he did the same thing to Iris.
“There.” Linc jerks his chin toward them, but we’ve all already seen. He turns back to me, raising his voice over the music, which is still loud, though no longer deafening. “Wait here.”
River takes the hand that was just enfolded in Lincoln’s, and the three other boys stride purposefully toward Trent’s booth. When they reach it, Trent’s gaze snaps up to them. Linc says something to the brunette, and her eyes widen. A half second later, she gets up and leaves quickly.
As she’s hustling away, Lincoln grabs Trent by the front of the shirt and hauls him out of the booth. His friends start to rise, but Chase and Dax step forward, their posture clearly threatening. The two other guys hesitate, and the twins don’t wait for them to decide what they’re going to do. They turn to Linc and Trent, and the three kings muscle the blond boy through the dark lounge.
When they reach us, they don’t stop. River and I turn to follow them as they drag him down a hall toward a door with an exit sign hanging over it.
Dax shoves it open, letting a gust of cold air fill the hallway, and then he and the other two boys shove Trent outside. After River and I step through, the blue-eyed boy uses a chunk of wood that’s lying in the alley to brace the door open.
Trent has been putting up a struggle, but he’s only slightly bigger than Lincoln and Chase, and roughly the same size as Dax. And there are three of them and only one of him. Ambient light from the street illuminates his broad features and deep-set eyes as Lincoln shoves him up against the brick wall of the building. Dax and Chase each grab an arm, pinning him in place and keeping him from lashing out.
“What the fuck?” Trent bellows, jerking against their hold.
“I think you know what the fuck,” Lincoln shoots back, and his voice is low and dangerous.
It’s cold outside, but that has nothing to do with the shiver that runs down my spine.
Trent must hear the same edge in Linc’s tone that I do, because he puffs up his chest, trying to hide his fear under bluster. “Whatever, man. You can’t do shit to me. Osterhaut said he’ll come down hard on anybody who steps out of line.”
Lincoln shrugs, and even that movement is predatory. “On school grounds. We’re not on school grounds.”
Trent scoffs again, but I catch his gaze sliding toward the door we all just came through, probably hoping like hell is buddies are about to burst through and help him even the odds out here.
They might. They could any minute.
But Linc doesn’t seem worried about that as he steps closer to Trent, grabbing his chin and squeezing hard, pressing his head back against the wall.
“I want you to tell me what the fuck you and Savannah did to Harlow. And how.”
Trent’s brows draw together for a second, and then realization spreads across his face, followed by fear—the first time he’s let himself show that emotion since the guys dragged him out here.
He shakes his head, or tries to, though the movement is hampered my Linc’s tight grip. “Hey, listen, man! That was Savannah’s idea! I didn’t want to do to it. She—she talked me into it!”
Jesus.
This guy is a real piece of work, blaming the shit he and Savannah pulled with my tests on his supposed “girlfriend”, who’s not even here to defend herself. Granted, I’d definitely believe that redheaded bitch was the instigator, but a knight in shining armor, Trent is not.
“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.
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.