by Callie Rose
When we make our way upstairs and split up for bed, I’m recklessly tempted to invite all four of them to come back to my room. I keep my lips clamped shut though. What happened downstairs was insane and amazing, but even though my body is ready to go full steam ahead, I feel like my brain and heart need a minute to catch up.
To fully grasp what this means.
So we say our goodnights, I kiss each one of them like it’s completely normal, and then we head back to our respective bedrooms. I hop in the shower before crawling beneath the blankets with my hair still damp. There’s still a current of energy buzzing beneath my skin, and it makes me aware of every place the sheets touch my body, every sensation heightened like I’m on ecstasy or something.
My eyes are just starting to fall shut when I hear a knock at the door. I don’t even have to guess who it is.
“Come in,” I call out softly, and a second later, Lincoln is inside the room, padding over to the bed.
He stands by the side of the bed frame for a moment, gazing down at me through the near-darkness. I can only make out the outline of his face in the dim light coming through the window. But when I reach for him, he moves immediately, letting me pull him down to lie beside me as he slips between the sheets.
He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and my body soaks up the heat of his like a sponge as he rises up onto his elbow, still gazing at me intently.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
“Yeah.” I reach up and trail my fingertips down the side of his face. Even in the dark room, I swear I can make out the burning amber of his eyes. “We okay?”
“Always.”
That single word makes my muscles relax completely. It breaks down my barriers and lets me say the words that have been bouncing around in my heart for a while now.
“Linc… when I asked you about sharing, I knew it was about more than sex.” I pause, pulling my lower lip between my teeth. “I just didn’t realize how much more. How… much.”
It’s hard to articulate the feelings I’m developing for each of these boys, how important they are to me individually and as a whole.
But Lincoln seems to understand what I mean without making me fumble around for the words to describe it. He drops his head to kiss me, then pulls back, our noses almost brushing as he asks his next question.
“Have you ever done this before, Harlow?”
I try to contain my snort-laugh because our faces are so close together, but I’m not entirely successful. He cocks his head, still waiting for an answer.
“No,” I tell him honestly. “I didn’t even know it was the kind of thing I’d be into. Until I met you guys.”
“Good.”
His voice is a growl, and when he kisses me again, it isn’t a soft kiss like our last one. This is more like the kiss he gave me before he sent me off to crawl into River’s lap downstairs.
Bruising.
Demanding.
Possessive.
I kiss him back just as hard, and a shiver of something hot and sweet works its way up my spine as it strikes me that this thing between the kings of Linwood Academy and me is a closed loop.
It’s not a “the more the merrier” type situation.
There is no open invitation for anyone else to join us. Linc is willing to share me with his three friends because he loves them and trusts them, and I guarantee that’s how they feel too.
It makes the connection growing between the five of us slightly less terrifying, even though there’s no denying I’m out of my depth here.
The night Lincoln caught me spying on Dax and Chase with that girl in the upstairs bedroom, back when I still sort of hated them all, he asked me what I wanted—who I wanted. I didn’t dare answer, because even back then, even through all the bullshit between us, a spark of the truth had already lit inside my soul.
All four of you.
Linc and I kiss until the bruising intensity of our lips softens to something deep and slow and languid. We kiss until exhaustion steals over us and our eyes fall shut, our limbs twined together and our bodies pressed close.
And even though I know better than ever now just how dangerous the world is, I feel… safe.
25
I wake up early the next morning.
My brain turns back on at a little after six o’clock, as if someone flipped a switch. I don’t regret anything that happened last night, and I don’t regret taking a few hours off from what has been an exhausting and frustrating search.
But the break accomplished its purpose. I’m chomping at the bit to get started again, eager to use the last bit of time we have left.
Besides, as I was drifting off to sleep last night, a thought occurred to me. The bedroom I saw Chase, Dax, and that girl in… that wasn’t the only time I stumbled upon illicit activity in that room. The first night I snuck out to play poker, I heard Mr. Black in that room, heard the sound of his voice from behind the closed door. And I’m pretty damn sure he was having sex with someone.
Was it Iris?
Would he have been so bold as to bring her to his fucking house?
I don’t know. Linc hasn’t found any security footage that she appears in, but River was right. It’d be easy enough for Mr. Black to erase any incriminating footage on his own home security system. He’d be an idiot not to.
But maybe there’s some hint inside that room as to what went on in there, and who he was with.
I lie in bed for about half an hour, listening to Lincoln breathing evenly beside me. He’s lying on his stomach, body nestled against mine and one arm draped over me, and as much as I want to get a move on with this search, it takes a little convincing to get myself to slip out of the warm bed.
After throwing a sweater on over my tank top and pajama bottoms, I pad downstairs and make some coffee, grabbing five mugs from the cabinet and setting them out. It’s weird. I’ve felt more at home in this house in the last four days than I ever did in the weeks I lived here before that.
I’m staring at the coffee pot, zoning out a little as I wait for it to finish brewing, when I hear two sets of footsteps behind me. I don’t even have to look up to guess who it is. Dax and Chase are both early risers, as if sleep is just an inconvenience they have to deal with to get to the next day. They’re usually up before the rest of us, and I’ve never seen them start the day with anything less than one hundred percent energy—unlike River, who wakes up in stages, from deliriously grumpy to semi-conscious to alert.
“Hey, Low. You’re up early,” Chase notes, shooting me a look with brows raised. With just a slight shift in the tilt of his lips, his grin turns wicked. “Did River not wear you out enough last night?”
I blush, pressing my lips together hard, not sure if I want to smile or smack him.
“Oh, give her a break, she just woke up.”
Dax nudges Chase out of the way and grabs an empty mug, joining us in our vigil over the coffee maker. His gaze cuts to me out of the corner of his eye, and on my other side, I can feel Chase staring at me too.
I squirm uncomfortably before finally crossing my arms over my chest and bouncing my gaze between the two of them. “What?”
“Nothing,” Chase says with a grin, shooting Dax a look over my head that I’m pretty sure contains an entire seventeen-page essay. How the fuck do they do that?
“Um, bullshit.” I cross my arms over my chest.
Dax chuckles. His green-blue eyes have heat in them, but something else too. Something I like even more. “It’s just—you’re not what we expected, Harlow. You’re so much more than that. I don’t think any of us saw you coming.”
A small swarm of butterflies escapes and flaps wildly around my stomach, but I just give him my cockiest smirk. “Yeah. Most people don’t.”
He tips his head back and laughs, and the way the sound bounces around the quiet, empty kitchen makes me grin harder.
We grab our coffees and lean against the kitchen island, eating muffins left by Gwen and talking about stupid bullshit. O
nce he finishes off his second muffin, Chase dusts his hands together.
“So, what are we thinking for today?”
“I want to check out that room on the other side of the laundry room from mine. The one near the top of the west wing stairs,” I say immediately.
The two boys share a look and shrug, then nod.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
Good. If we get an early start like this, there’ll be plenty of time to go through that room inch by inch and still cover other spots in the house by the end of the day.
We drop our mugs in the sink and head upstairs, lowering our voices as we go. Lincoln and River are still sleeping, and I won’t bug them unless it gets super late and they’re still not up.
Dax pushes open the door to the large guest bedroom and strides in confidently.
Of course. He’s been in here before.
Pushing aside the twinge of jealousy that arises at the thought—I don’t even know who the girl they brought in here was, and that was months ago, but I still hate her a little bit—I stride inside after him, glancing around quickly. I’ve been in here to clean several times, but it usually doesn’t take very long. The room barely gets used, so it’s mostly just upkeep.
“I think I heard Mr. Black having sex with someone in here,” I murmur softly, my gaze still tracking around the space. “A few months ago. When I snuck out to play poker after my first week at Linwood.”
Dax pulls a disgusted face, but both boys look around the room with renewed interest.
“Okay, so what are we looking for?” Chase tilts his head, stepping closer to the large bed set against one wall. “Do we think Iris signed her name on the headboard or something?”
“I wish.” I snort. “I’m not sure. Maybe she left a sock behind or something. Or jewelry. I don’t know.”
We spread out, poking through the dresser drawers and looking through the closet. It’s all mostly empty, although the closet seems to have turned into an overflow storage area for some of Mrs. Black’s clothes. There’s a small notebook stored in the bedside table, but it looks like several pages have been torn out of the spiral rings. There’s a scrap of one missing page still left in the front of the notebook, with looping, curved handwriting cut off by the ragged tear.
I can’t make out what it says, but it sort of looks like Audrey’s handwriting. Maybe she uses this room as a general storage area, dumping anything she doesn’t want in the master suite in here. Unfortunately, Iris left no damn socks behind—or if she did, it was long enough ago that Mom or the previous housekeeper snatched it up and washed it without realizing whose it was.
As I’m sliding the drawer back in, I hear a noise downstairs and glance up. Funny. I didn’t even hear Lincoln or River go down there.
It’s good that they’re up though. We can—
Before that thought fully renders in my mind, raised voices float through the open bedroom door.
“Dammit, Audrey, will you just stop?”
“You stop!”
My throat clamps shut, and for a second, my body freezes like it’s been suspended in time.
Fuck.
No.
Dax and Chase look at me, and then all three of us move at once, charging toward the door. We reach it at the same time and log-jam briefly before stumbling out into the hallway.
But we’re too late.
Mr. and Mrs. Black are already storming up the west-wing stairs. I can hear their heavy footfalls, and I know that as soon as they reach the top, they’ll be able to see us.
“Back! Back!” I hiss, turning around and shoving at the two boys behind me.
We scramble back into the room, and my heart beats a frantic rhythm inside my chest as Chase closes the door behind us.
But the pounding footsteps and angry voices don’t turn right at the top of the stairs, which would take them to the master bedroom. Instead, they turn left.
Toward us.
“Closet! Go! Go!”
We throw ourselves toward the open closet door, and a half second after Dax pulls it shut behind us, Audrey and Samuel Black burst into the guest room.
“Audrey! Audrey, for God’s sake, stop!”
“Get out!”
There’s the sound of a scuffle, and a heavy thud, as if she just tried to slam the door on him and he stopped it. Chase, Dax, and I are huddled in the nearly pitch-black closet, holding as still as we can. I’m sandwiched between the two of them, gripping their arms so tightly my fingers ache—and even though the space between their bodies normally seems like the safest place in the world, I don’t feel safe right now.
Not at all.
“God… dammit!”
There’s another loud thud as the bedroom door is shoved open so hard it slams against the wall.
“Get the fuck out!” Audrey shrieks.
“No. You’re the one who wanted to come back early. You’re the one who wanted to talk. So talk!”
“It’s too late, Samuel. I have nothing I want to say to you.”
Audrey’s voice lowers, becoming almost husky with rage. Usually, her tone is languid and a little airy, which only enhances the impression that she’s floating around in some drug-induced haze. But not this woman. This woman is stone cold sober. And she’s fucking pissed.
“Nothing to say, huh?” Mr. Black’s footfalls are heavy as he strides across the room. “Then what were you muttering about the whole time we were in Aspen? Jesus, Audrey, I’m so fucking tired of this bullshit. You’re checked out all the damn time—”
“I’m checked out? Who do you think made me check out, you fucking asshole?” She follows after him, her voice strained and taut.
Dax and Chase’s arms are like steel bands around me as we all hold our breath, listening. There’s a scuffling sound, and I almost jump out of my damn skin when something slams against the closet door. I have a feeling Samuel’s got Audrey pressed up against the solid wood, and a spike of fear floods my veins. He wouldn’t hurt his own wife, would he? He wouldn’t… kill her?
When Mr. Black speaks again, the sound is so close he might as well be talking to the three of us trapped inside the large closet.
“I’ve admitted what I did,” he grinds out, his voice low. “I’ve told you I’m sorry. But if you won’t let me back in, that’s all I can do. You won’t even let me make love to you in our goddamn bed like a husband and wife should. You make me come crawling to you in here, once a month, and that’s all—”
“Because you fucked her in our bed!” Audrey isn’t screaming anymore, but she might as well be, for the intensity of the emotions carried on her words. “You decided to do that, Samuel! Nobody made you! You’re lucky I still share a room with you at all—but I’ll be goddamned if I let you fuck me in the same bed you had her in!”
I’m holding onto Dax and Chase like I might collapse if I let go. My knees are jelly from a combination of adrenaline, fear, and embarrassment.
We shouldn’t be hearing this.
This is just about the most private kind of fight a couple can have. Part of me wants to close my ears up and stop listening, but another part of me—the bigger part of me—strains to catch every word. Waiting, just waiting for Mr. Black to slip.
To say something he shouldn’t.
To mention Iris’s name.
There’s another soft thud against the wood, and when he speaks again, his voice is even closer. I think maybe he’s resting his forehead against the door, his body caging hers in.
“What do you want me to do, Audrey? Huh? I have made mistakes. I admit that.” His voice drops, growing rougher, deeper. “I got rid of her. She’s out of our lives for good. What more do you want? Why is that not enough for you?”
There are more scuffling noises as she shoves away from the door, shoving away from his hold.
“She’s out of our lives?” She laughs, the sound high-pitched, almost desperate. “It’s not that fucking simple, and you know it! And don’t act like you did this for me, you sick assho
le. You did it for you. To cover your own goddamn ass.”
“Audrey…”
Mr. Black sounds tired—exhausted—and I hear him step toward her.
“No!” she bites out. “I can’t even look at you right now. I’m going out. Don’t follow me.”
Her heels tap against the floor as she stalks away.
Mr. Black doesn’t follow her. There’s a moment of silence, then he lets out a noise that’s half sigh, half groan.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
It’s all he says before his footsteps move toward the door. He doesn’t even shut it after himself, just turns and heads down the hallway in the direction of the master bedroom.
“Holy shit,” Chase whispers, his voice hardly more than a breath in my ear.
I don’t answer. I’m replaying the fight between Audrey and Samuel in my mind, trying to commit to memory everything that was said between the two of them, every little detail. I wish I could’ve recorded it, but I don’t even have my phone. It’s still in my old bedroom down the hall, along with the rest of my stuff.
“Shit. We gotta get out of here. If he finds out we heard…”
Dax doesn’t bother finishing that sentence. He doesn’t need to. It wouldn’t be good, I know that much. And thinking about it beyond that just makes my blood feel like water.
Slowly, the two boys release me from their hold. I have to pry my fingers away from their arms one by one, as if my body is convinced that as soon as I release my grip, I’ll go hurtling away through space. My legs wobble, but the adrenaline in my system keeps me upright as Chase slowly turns the door handle, peering out into the room.
“Clear,” he whispers.
My heart is beating like a fucking drum, almost as hard and fast as the night we saw Iris die, when I kept waiting for the man in the ski mask to come back for us.