Kings of Linwood Academy - The Complete Box Set: A Dark High School Romance Series

by Callie Rose

  I hold on to hope for the first few days, but by Thursday, I’m starting to get antsy when we still haven’t turned up any useful information. This is the best lead we have, so I refuse to let it die, but it’s taking too damn long—and we don’t have that kind of time.

  There are other things we can try, other avenues we can pursue, but they’re more risky. They involve getting closer to Judge Hollowell, which increases the chances of him finding us snooping around, so the guys are adamantly opposed to trying any of those options until we know we’re out of better ones.

  I get what they’re saying, but by Friday, I’m about ready to crawl out of my damn skin.

  It’s a struggle to keep up with classwork. I managed to get all my homework done just before the winter break ended, but I’m already falling behind again. I don’t want to flunk out of school, mostly for Mom’s sake, but I can’t focus on homework at all right now.

  It doesn’t help that my birthday is on Saturday.

  It’s a day I usually spend with my mom, eating too much ice cream and doing something fun and silly just to celebrate being alive.

  But this year, we can’t do any of that.

  She wanted me to come visit her at the prison, but her visitation hours are getting low, and I told her it’s more important for her to meet with Scott than me, so she can get him on board with her defense strategy. It’s true, but I’m also just not sure I’d be able to keep from breaking down and sobbing if I go see her on my birthday, and I don’t want to make her feel sad.

  I wake up early on Saturday morning and stare up at the ceiling, listening to the quiet sound of my breath.

  I’m in the guest room down the hall from Dax and Chase in the Lauders’ house. When River and Linc delivered my bags the day after Christmas, the twins set me up in an actual room of my own. I’ve slept in Dax’s room a couple more times, curled up between the two boys, but the rest of the time, I’ve been in the massive guest bedroom.

  Part of me is champing at the bit to take things further with them, but just like it did with River, something is holding me back. I’m learning to trust my gut on this, to let things happen at their own pace with these boys and believe that they’ll work out just like they’re supposed to.

  I don’t doubt the bond between all of us. It may have been created by Iris’s death, but it’s been solidified by so much more than that since then. Still, there’s something fragile and delicate about this five-way relationship we’re building. It’s all new to me, and I’d rather take things slow than rush into it too fast and wreck it somehow.

  It means too much to me.

  I do sort of regret sleeping alone last night though. My birthday has put me in a weird funk, and I thought I needed to be by myself to get through the day, but maybe I was wrong about that.

  Yesterday, I told the guys I didn’t want to do anything for my birthday, because I worry that no matter what I do, I’ll just spend the whole time thinking about Mom and missing her. And if I do manage to have fun, that’ll only make me feel worse, in a way.

  The clock on the nightstand reads 6:47 a.m. It’s gonna be a long fucking twenty-four hours, so even though I’m not really tired, I close my eyes and try to doze for a while longer.

  A knock on the door wakes me from a half-sleep at around nine, and I roll over onto my side as I call out, “Come in.”

  I’m sure it’s the twins. There’s no one else it could be. I’ve learned to treat Mr. and Mrs. Lauder like the wildlife on a safari. Don’t bother them, and they won’t bother you. They know I’m staying here, and unlike River’s parents, I see them around the house all the time. But they just smile politely and ignore me.

  It’s so fucking weird.

  “Hey.” Chase’s copper hair appears as he pokes his head inside the room. “You gonna sleep all day?”

  I shrug, the motion hampered by the covers that are pulled up around my ears. It hasn’t snowed since Christmas, but it’s still too fucking cold. “Was thinking about it.”

  He pulls a face, sympathy overtaking his features. Then he opens the door wider, and both he and Dax step inside. They cross to the bed and sit down, Dax’s hand finding my hip through the covers. The warm weight of his palm is comforting.

  “You can’t, Low. Sorry.” Chase grimaces, and I prop myself up onto one elbow, wondering if something’s happened.

  “Why? Did you find out something about the Waverly girl?”

  “No.” Dax shakes his head. “Still working on that. But… well, River had an idea, and we all thought it was a good one. We know you said you didn’t want to do anything for your birthday, but you never said you didn’t want to do anything on your birthday. So we sort of made plans.”

  I scowl, but I can’t make the sour expression stay on my face. I did say I didn’t want to do anything, but with the entire day looming empty before me, I was just starting to regret that.

  “What plans?” I ask.

  “You’ll see when we get there,” Chase says, his grimace disappearing as a smile takes its place. Then he gives my ass a little slap. “Get up and get dressed. We’ll have breakfast ready downstairs.”

  I lift my eyebrows, sort of liking this pampered feeling.

  “Okay.” I put on a faux aristocratic voice. “I prefer my Eggs Benedict lightly poached.”

  Dax chuckles. “I can give ’em to you scrambled and rubbery. How do you feel about that?”

  “I guess I’ll take it.” I laugh and slip out of bed to head to the attached bathroom. Even the guest bedroom has one, and it’s fancy as fuck.

  The promised breakfast is waiting downstairs when I’m done, and despite Dax’s big words, the eggs are actually cooked perfectly. They made coffee too, and Chase hands me a cup as I settle into a seat at the marble island overlooking the backyard through floor-to-ceiling windows.

  I try a couple more times as we eat to get an answer out of them about where on earth we’re going, but they remain tightlipped. Maybe it should make me nervous, considering our history together—the first time they ever took me somewhere without telling me where we were going, it was to a strip club so they could gather blackmail material on Trent.

  But so much has changed since then that instead of nervousness, I just feel curiosity and a little bubble of excitement. If nothing else, guessing what they have planned is taking my mind off the acute pain of missing my mom today.

  Mr. Lauder comes downstairs on his way out to play golf and says hi to all of us before he leaves. We leave only a few minutes after him, piling into Dax’s car and heading out to pick up the other two boys.

  When River slides into the back seat next to Chase, I crane my neck to look back at him.

  “I heard this little excursion was your idea.”

  He shrugs, a secretive smile pulling at his lips. “I had the germ of the idea, but it’s not just mine.”

  I squint at him. “So… I don’t suppose you’ll give me a hint where we’re going?”

  He doesn’t even answer that, just smiles wider.

  Yeah, thought so.

  Rolling my eyes at him with a grin, I flop back on the seat, facing forward again.

  As Dax drives with one hand lazily slung over the wheel, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and pull it out.

  HUNTER: Happy birthday, bestie. Love your face. Miss your face.

  The message is followed by several memes of animals attacking each other with hugs, and I snort a laugh.

  ME: Love you back. Graduate already so we can go to the same college and see each other every day.

  HUNTER: You joke, but I’m 100% serious. This is happening.

  My grin widens, and she doesn’t have to know that tears are pricking at my eyes as we text back and forth. I can’t help the ache that tugs at my heart, but it’s nice to pretend for a few minutes that my life is normal. That I can have the kind of future we’re talking about. That I’ll be celebrating on my graduation day instead of visiting my mom in prison.

  I can tell she’s tryin
g to give me good things to think about on my birthday, but the bad shit is never far from either of our minds, something that’s made clear with her last text.

  HUNTER: Love you, girl. Be strong, okay. Call me if you need ANYTHING.

  ME: I will. Thanks, dummy.

  As I slip the phone back into my pocket, Dax’s free hand moves to rest on my thigh. I’m getting way too used to this—to the comfort even that small touch provides.

  A few minutes later, we pull through the gate and up the familiar driveway to Lincoln’s house. The Black family mansion looms above us, broad and imposing, and it seems both utterly familiar and strange at the same time.

  I lived here for nearly three months, but that seems like a lifetime ago—or like a snippet from a different girl’s life entirely.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts as the front door bursts open and Lincoln heads down the front steps with a heavy gait. He’s pissed about something. I can see it in every line of his body, in the stormy expression on his face. My gaze follows him as he strides toward the car, but movement near the door draws my attention back toward the house.

  Samuel Black stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches his son yank open the car door and slip inside.

  Dax doesn’t hesitate or wait to find out what’s going on. As soon as the door slams shut, the car rolls into motion again, curving around the circular drive before heading back out toward the street.

  “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” I turn around as far as my seatbelt will allow, trying to get a glimpse of Linc’s face. He’s sitting directly behind me, so it’s hard, but I can feel anger surging out from him like a magnetic pulse.

  “My dad is what’s fucking wrong,” he growls. “That conniving bitch Paige is holding their affair over his head, threatening to tell the whole world if he doesn’t do what she wants—and he’s caving. It’s like he doesn’t fucking see that no matter what he gives her now, it’ll never be enough. She as good as admitted to him that she tried to get pregnant, that she wanted this to happen, and he’s still letting her control him like a damn puppet.”

  “Fuck.” Dax scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, sliding his fingers through the short strands of coppery hair at the base of his skull. “That’s messed up.”

  “That’s not the worst part.” A muscle in Linc’s jaw twitches. “He’s agreed to her terms, for now, but it’s only a matter of time before they change again. Before she wants more. So he’s trying to shield himself preemptively against the fallout in case she decides to follow through on her threat and try to ruin his reputation.”

  “That’s not the worst thing, Linc,” I say softly. “I mean, it’s awful that he cheated on your mom—er, Audrey—but it could affect all of you badly if Paige goes after him hard. Maybe he’s just trying to protect you guys.”

  I don’t know quite why I’m defending Mr. Black. Maybe it’s because I feel bad for suspecting him of being a murderer and not just a philanderer. Maybe it’s because he’s always been kind to me, even after everything that happened with my mom. I wouldn’t tolerate cheating from any guy I was with, so I can understand why Audrey’s so pissed, but I get the sense that Samuel is trying to make things right the best he can.

  Linc’s shoulders sag, his posture shifting from anger to defeat in a heartbeat. “He’s trying to make strong connections and bolster himself in his social circle. And he just donated a massive amount of money to Judge Hollowell’s election campaign.”

  My heart stops. I wasn’t prepared to hear that name, wasn’t prepared to have that face flash in front of my mind’s eye.

  “He’s… what?” I ask softly.

  “Judge Hollowell is planning to run for a Senate seat. Apparently, he’s been looking for early donors.”

  “And your dad gave him money?”

  Linc’s lip curls in disgust. “Yeah. A fat fucking check.”

  “Holy shit,” Dax breathes, glancing around the car quickly before putting his attention back on the road. “He’s running for Senate? No wonder he didn’t want anything about him and Iris getting out. Hooking up with a teenager and getting her pregnant? His campaign would be over before it even started.”

  I feel queasy. The idea of this man, who so far has managed to get away with murder—with taking not one, but two lives—deciding the fates of other accused criminals makes me sick. And as a Senator, he’d have even more power. People would look up to and follow the lead of a man who deserves to be in prison himself.

  “No.”

  The word is strangled and raw, but it’s the only response I have.

  No. This can’t happen. I can’t let it happen.

  “I know, Low.” Lincoln reaches up from where he sits behind me, grabbing my hand and gripping it tightly in his. “I can’t get my dad to take the money back without raising all sorts of questions about why. And I’m sure Hollowell’s got other influential people donating to his campaign. But we’ll stop him. We’ll find a way.”

  The car falls into a tense silence as Dax drives, taking us through a part of Fox Hill I don’t recognize.

  My mind is racing, trying to figure out all the implications of this. If Judge Hollowell is planning to run for office, it means he has even more to lose than we thought if any connection between him and Iris is exposed. It also means he’s hitching his wagon to some powerful people, and they won’t want to be brought down by scandal any more than he will.

  “Well, I’d say we picked the right activity for the day,” Dax notes, dry humor in his voice as he pulls into the parking lot outside a large warehouse-type building. “I think we all need to blow off a little steam.”

  I tilt my head to peer out the windshield as he pulls into a spot in front of the building, reading the large lettering on the side. Then I turn around to look at River.

  “A… shooting range?”

  The tension in the car dissipates a little as the guys react to the surprise in my voice.

  “Yeah.” River grins. “You ever shot a gun before, Low?”

  I shake my head. I was too busy going through cancer treatments and then playing poker with anyone who’d sit down with me.

  He takes in my expression and nods. “I’ve only gone a few times. My dad took me when I was younger, to help me become a man or something. It can be a great stress relief.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  I’m still dubious, but I pile out of the car with the guys anyway. We head inside and get checked in, presenting our IDs to the woman behind the front counter.

  Then we’re escorted into the back and taken into the shooting gallery. My gaze swivels around with interest as we go, checking out the space around us but landing far more often on the four boys who accompany me.

  They brought me here for a reason. For several, probably. To take my mind off my mom and off the loneliness of being without her on my birthday, to give me a chance to release some of the pressure inside my heart from the stress of everything… and to make sure I know how to defend myself.

  No one has mentioned anything about that, but it’s impossible not to think about it as the man who showed us into the back takes us through the proper safety procedures and techniques of handling firearms.

  A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined any reason I might need to fire a gun.

  Now I can think of more than one.

  My stomach tightens into knots at the thought, but I brush it away as the instructor fits us with protective eye and ear wear and then hands me a heavy black handgun.

  It’s cool and solid in my hand, and I step up to the spot where I’ll fire from, focusing on the hanging target ahead of me—a black sheet of paper with the silhouette of a man drawn in white.

  I stare at the silhouette. At the rounded shoulders, the lines of the neck, and the empty oval representing the head.

  Unbidden, a pair of hazel eyes come into my mind. A forehead with deep wrinkles framed by salt and pepper hair. A round face with a small dimple in the chin.

 
The image is so clear, so real, that for a moment, I think I won’t be able to shoot. But my finger finds the trigger anyway, my other hand bracing the gun as I squeeze just like the instructor taught me.

  There’s a loud bang, and the gun jerks in my hand as a small hole opens up on the edge of the target’s left shoulder.

  A surprising pang of disappointment fills me.

  I wanted to hit the face.

  “Damn, Low! Nice shot.” Chase whistles as he sets up his own shot. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”

  I shake my head, already lifting the gun to try again. The recoil is a bitch—or maybe I’m just a baby—but I don’t even care. My arms will be sore tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it.

  River watches me with something warm burning in his storm-gray eyes as I shoot two more times, and then he takes a few shots of his own as the instructor steps in to correct a couple things in my technique.

  The five of us stand in a line, and I lose myself for the next hour in the erratic pop, pop, pop of guns firing.

  They were right. It is a good way to blow off steam.

  And I get better with practice, managing to hit the target with more and more accuracy.

  By the time we leave, my arms are shaking, but I do feel better. River slips his arm around my waist as we walk out of the building into the cold January air, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

  I wonder for a second if he would’ve been allowed in the gun range if they knew he was partially deaf—if it would’ve been considered a liability or something—but it’s sort of a moot point, since he’s so good at hiding it that I’m sure none of the staff at the gun range even guessed.

  Wrapping my arms around him, I squeeze him back and tilt my head up to find his eyes.

  “That was a good idea. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  His lips find mine this time, and it feels… nice to kiss like this. Casually and openly, without thought or hesitation.

  We all crowd back into Dax’s car and head to a diner nearby for a lunch of greasy burgers and French fries. Then we sit in the car in the nearly empty parking lot and pass around a joint as tiny snowflakes dance around in the air outside, too light and little to fall straight down.