by Callie Rose
Tender and fierce.
For the moment, it doesn’t seem to matter that a few days ago, he caught me having sex with one of his best friends. It doesn’t matter that he and the others neglected to tell me their entire surveillance of me was for my protection.
It just matters that I’m alive. That he came for me. That they all did.
My hands grasp at his broad shoulders as I kiss him back. It’s as different from kissing Lincoln as night and day, as a thunderstorm and soft summer rain. His lips are exploratory and gentle, and he kisses me like he’s drinking me in, trying to infuse himself with my essence.
His tongue darts out, meeting mine—but a half-second later, Lincoln grabs me by the waist and pulls me away.
“All right. That’s enough.” His voice is steely.
River’s gaze flicks to him, eyes narrowing as his friend speaks. Then he reaches out and gives my wrist a gentle tug, pulling me back toward him. As soon as I’m in his embrace once more, he kisses me again—and this time, although it’s still gentle, there’s nothing tentative about it. He threads his fingers through my hair and tilts my head slightly, allowing him to take the kiss so deep I feel like I’m drowning in it.
I can’t help but think he and Lincoln are working something out between them, communicating through their actions, negotiating for territory or something. River’s kiss, deep and consuming as it is, also seems to be sending a message to Linc that the tall, dark-haired boy doesn’t own me. That he doesn’t get to claim me for his own.
That’s a message I can definitely get behind, so I throw myself into kissing River back, letting the feel of his hands in my hair and his oakmoss scent sooth the fear and adrenaline still coursing through me.
One of the twins—Chase, I think—whistles as our lips finally break apart. River doesn’t release me though, keeping one arm wrapped around me and tucking me into his side as we turn to face the others.
Lincoln’s amber eyes gleam as he chuckles darkly. “All right, you fucker. I get it. Now can I take her home?”
22
Lincoln almost refuses to let me drive the Nissan back, insisting that I should ride with him. It’s only when I point out that it’ll raise suspicion if my mom’s car isn’t in the garage tomorrow morning that he agrees to let me drive separately from him.
He follows about an inch and a half behind my car, so close our bumpers are practically kissing, and when I stop at an ATM to deposit my winnings—my attacker didn’t even touch the money, which is terrifying in its own right—he gets out of his car and stands beside me like a surly bodyguard.
After I pull into the detached garage, he meets me by my car door, keeping a hand on my lower back as we walk quietly toward the dark house. I don’t know if he’s expecting someone to attack us on his family property or still just on edge in general, but I don’t fight the contact. As fucked up as things might be between us right now, it’s still a comfort to feel him by my side. My throat is still sore and raw, my bruised hip throbs, and my body aches all over. The scrapes on my palms sting, and if I think too hard about what happened tonight, it’s hard to breathe.
Having Lincoln beside me helps.
“How did you know?” I ask in a rough voice as we near the service entrance. “That I left?”
“I have an alert set to notify me if the gate is opened overnight.”
My footsteps falter, and I glance at him. “That’s pretty high-level surveillance.”
He shakes his head, his expression hardening. “Not really. And it didn’t even send the alert until two hours after you left. Fucking piece of shit. If we hadn’t—”
He breaks off, and I’m glad he didn’t finish that sentence. We both know how it could’ve ended, and I don’t want to think about that right now. I can’t think about it.
After unlocking the door, he ushers me up the narrow stairs, sticking as close behind me as he did in the car. When we emerge into the hallway on the second floor, we both hesitate for a moment. I hear him draw in a breath like he’s about to speak, but instead, he releases it on a low sigh.
“Get some rest, Harlow. We’ll deal with all this shit tomorrow.”
I want to say something, but I can’t decide whether to thank him for protecting me or curse him out for dragging me into this shit storm in the first place. So I keep my mouth shut and just nod.
His fingertips ghost up my arm and across my shoulder before he gently grips my chin. His thumb slides along my jaw, then he releases me and strides down the hall, turning the corner toward his room.
My heart clenches in my chest as I watch him go. When he’s out of sight, I slip into my mom’s apartment quietly. The reality of everything that happened tonight is finally catching up with me, and I feel an overwhelming urge to hug her, to tell her I love her while I still can.
It’s grim, but it feels like I have limited chances to do that now.
As always, the moment I ease open the door to her bedroom, she stirs.
“Hey, sweetie,” she murmurs, still half asleep but holding out her hand to me anyway.
I crawl up on the bed beside her, nestling into her arms. “Hey, Mom.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” No.
“You sure? You’ve seemed distracted lately.” Her voice gains strength as she becomes a little more alert, looking over at me in the dark.
“Yeah. Just busy with school and stuff.”
She nods, seeming satisfied with that answer. “Yeah. I’ve been a little distracted too. I don’t like it though. I miss you.”
“Me too.” I lift my head off the pillow a little. “Hey, whatever happened to that guy you went on a date with?”
“Oh, him.” She grimaces and yawns at the same time. “We had one more date, then it… fizzled. He was a nice enough guy, but there just wasn’t much chemistry there. He was a little too much of a big shot for me.”
I huff a laugh. That doesn’t surprise me. My mom might be a little flighty sometimes, but she’s a very down-to-earth person. She’s not impressed by money or prestige, so whatever this guy thought he had going on, it definitely wasn’t enough if he didn’t have a good personality to back it up.
Just one more reason I can’t wait until we’ve saved up enough money to get out of here. We don’t belong with these kinds of people.
“His loss,” I say as I shift a little on the bed.
“Yeah. That’s what I told myself as I polished off a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.”
I chuckle. Her weakness—mine too, actually—is good ice cream. It’s gotten both of us through some rough times. I take comfort in knowing I’ve got good genetics, because I probably don’t exercise nearly enough to counterbalance all the ice cream I consume.
We talk in low voices for another few minutes, and this little bit of normalcy helps drive away the lingering fear and the memory of the man’s large body pressing me against the car. The feel of his hands on me, of his arm wrapping around my neck. Even though I don’t think Mom can hear it, I notice my voice sounds scratchy and rough, pitched lower than normal. My throat still hurts when I swallow too.
When I go back to my room, I turn on all the lights.
I know it’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep.
I don’t go anywhere over the weekend, and neither does Lincoln. We don’t speak much, but I know he’s watching me like a hawk. The bruise on my hip is ugly and purple, and I have little scratches on the palms of my hands. But although my throat is sore for a couple days, there are no visible marks on my neck. Nothing to draw attention.
His parents returned from their trip on Wednesday, so his mom is back to roaming the house like a ghost on Prozac, and his dad seems to be everywhere, his overly jovial voice filling the large rooms. I notice him chatting up Mom on the terrace on Sunday afternoon, but the groundskeeper is out there too, so it’s not like they’re alone.
My mom was smart enough to end things with the guy she was seeing when he turned out to be a dud, so it’s not like she�
�s helpless. But I do need to give her a heads up, just so she knows to keep her wits about her around Samuel Black. Things that might seem totally harmless if you assume a man is happily married and faithful take on a slightly different meaning when you know he’s a philanderer.
On Monday, all four guys are back to sticking to me like glue, but I don’t complain about it anymore. I doubt someone would attack me on school grounds, but I honestly don’t know where the line is anymore—whether there’s anywhere truly safe.
Savannah, who’s hated me since the minute she met me, seems to have taken Iris’s death as an excuse to completely unleash her inner bitch. We play volleyball in gym, and she somehow convinces everyone on the cheerleading squad and several of the football players to forgo strategy and points in favor of trying to smash my face in with the ball.
Mr. Wartenburg gives several of them penalties when he realizes what they’re doing, but I still spend most of the period trying to fend off their attacks. It’s exhausting, and it pisses me off. Someone actually attacked me over the weekend, came after me with the intent to do me serious harm. Compared to that, this is nothing, but I’m sick of having to be on high alert all the time.
It only gets worse in the locker room. I don’t know what kind of bee crawled up Savannah’s vagina, but she’s pissed as shit today, and she’s not backing down.
As I emerge from the showers, she and a group of three other cheerleaders converge on me, following me to my locker as Savannah’s angry, high-pitched voice rings out behind me.
“I bet you’re happy Iris is dead. Aren’t you, you skank? You always hated her. You were always jealous of her, always trying to sabotage her.”
I open up my locker, trying to ignore her as I pull on my clothes. God, she’s such a fucking bitch.
“Don’t think we don’t know you’re glad!” She turns to her minions as she speaks, and they all offer sounds of disgust to back her up. “You knew Trent would pick one of us, not a poor maid like you. And you were jealous she had a chance with River when you didn’t.”
My eyes roll unintentionally at that. River hated Iris. He shut her down hard at that party, and judging from how he looked when I found him outside that night, she was about the last person on earth he ever would’ve gone out with.
The red-headed cheerleader catches my expression, and it only pisses her off more. She steps closer, whispering more accusations and condemnations in a low hiss. I try to pretend she’s not there as I gather up my things and throw my backpack over my shoulder, but as I emerge from the locker room into the wide hallway, a forceful shove sends me stumbling.
I regain my footing and whirl around to face her. She’s still flanked by her little squad of cheerleading bitches, and the look on her face makes her delicate, beautiful features seem ugly. Apparently, her words weren’t getting the reaction she wanted, so she decided to go on the attack physically.
My skin buzzes with energy, and I can feel my hands curling into fists, ready to fight her.
At least she hasn’t gone after my exams again—although the shitty part is, I’ve stopped studying very hard for my Business and Econ class, since I’m worried any good grades will now be suspect. I’d rather fail one class than get booted from the entire school.
“Just admit it, Pool Girl! The whole school already knows it—it’s so fucking obvious! You were jealous of Iris. You wanted what she had, even though you’ll never be good enough for it!”
Her voice is a loud screech, designed to draw a crowd. The students in the hallway around us stop and gather in clusters, watching and whispering amongst themselves.
Savannah advances on me, her blue-green eyes narrowing to slits. “Maybe you’re the one who fucking ran her over. Maybe you just couldn’t stand to watch her be better than you for another second.”
My heart rate jumps as my stomach turns. I didn’t kill Iris, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard anyone talk about her death as if it wasn’t accidental.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I say, my voice as raspy as it was right after the man attacked me in the parking lot. “I didn’t—”
She steps even closer, her cherry lip balm scent invading my space as she glares me down. “You’re a menace. Who else are you gonna go after, huh? Are any of us fucking safe?”
My hands are still in fists, and on any other day, I would’ve already punched her. But her words have thrown me so far off balance I’m not sure what to do. If I attack her, it will only make the rumors that I somehow had a hand in Iris’s death spread faster. Savannah probably knows that, which is why she had the fucking balls to step up to me like this in the first place.
She opens her mouth to taunt me again when I feel the atmosphere shift in the hall. A second later, four large, tall bodies surround me—Lincoln and River on either side of me and Dax and Chase behind. They’re so close I can feel each of them, as if they’ve formed a human shield around me.
“Savannah, you need to shut your mouth. Right now.”
Lincoln’s words are quiet and serious, meant for her and her alone. When he and the others stood up for me in the cafeteria the day she tripped me, their response was meant to be public, to embarrass her and bring her down a notch.
This isn’t public. This is private. And it’s not for show, it’s a genuine warning.
I can hear the difference in his tone, can feel it in the way the hairs rise on the back of my neck, and it’s obvious Savannah can too. Her face pales a bit, then flushes. She swallows, and I can see her trying to find the bravado she had before.
“You can’t—”
“Yes, I can.” Again, his words are simple and direct, and that somehow makes the threat come through even more strongly. “Whatever you’re thinking of, I can. And I will, if you don’t back off of Harlow this fucking minute.”
Savannah gapes at him like a fish. Her little cheerleading minions all look like they wish the floor would open up and swallow them under, but she tries to rally her defiance. I’d almost have grudging respect for her if I didn’t hate her so much.
She doesn’t run this school though. The kings do, and she fucking knows it.
Her body deflates a little, and she finally steps back, out of my space.
“This isn’t over, bitch. I’m watching you,” she whispers, fixing me with a look of pure loathing, and I know those words aren’t for the benefit of the crowd either.
She means it.
Finally, she gestures to her followers and storms off down the hall, and my muscles unknot as she disappears out of sight. I can still feel the heat coming off the four men around me, can feel my body encased between theirs, and it stuns me a little.
The moment in the cafeteria was one thing, but this? This is something else entirely.
The kings of Linwood just made it clear to the whole school—I’m one of them.
I’m theirs.
23
The bell rings a moment after Savannah disappears, and the hallway clears out quickly. Our next period is lunch, but none of the four guys seem to care much about food as they step into a rough, tight circle that includes me.
Chase’s normally cheerful expression is grim as he glances at the others. “Well, that took a fucking turn. Do you think she knows anything, or is she just stirring up shit?”
“The second one, I’m pretty sure.” Lincoln shakes his head. “But it doesn’t matter what she knows. If she keeps opening up her big mouth and gets rumors circulating around school that Harlow killed Iris, it’ll put too much attention on Low.”
“Yeah, but would anyone actually believe her?” I ask, shock resonating in my voice.
“People are idiots,” River grunts. “We need to know what the cops know.” He shares a look with Lincoln. “My dad’s out of town until tomorrow. I got the keys. If we go tonight, no one should be there.”
“Good. Let’s meet at eight then.”
My brows pull together as I try to make sense of what he just said. “Your dad? Go where?”
Dax looks excited about it, whatever it is. “You’ll see,” he promises me with a wide grin.
Ugh. These fucking boys.
The rest of the day drags by like molasses. I’m torn between anxiety and excitement as I wait to find out where the hell the guys plan on going.
At seven-thirty, I tell mom I’m heading out to a party and follow Lincoln to his car. He drives us into downtown Fox Hill. It’s not a massive city, so the downtown area isn’t huge, but there are several tall office buildings, and the architecture of all of them is stunning.
And it turns out an office is exactly where we’re headed. River’s dad, whom I met briefly at the cocktail party the Blacks threw, is a big-shot attorney in Fox Hill, representing several of the wealthiest families in town. And although Iris’s family doesn’t quite fit into that category, they’re still clients of Mr. Bettencourt’s.
Chase explains all of that to me in a low voice as River leads us inside the building using the spare keys he took from his dad’s study. Once we’re inside the office, he punches in the code to deactivate the alarm.
“I don’t get it. What difference does it make that River’s dad represents them? Why are we here?”
River turns to look at me as I finish speaking, his gaze landing on my face and lingering on my lips.
“Iris’s parents aren’t happy with the way the police have handled the investigation,” he says. “From what my dad has let slip, it seems like there were a few things at the scene that pointed toward it being deliberate rather than an accident, but the cops aren’t pursuing that angle as much as the Lepianes want.”
A fresh surge of guilt washes over me at the fact that we haven’t come forward with the evidence we have—although it’s not like we have much beyond our word and the shitty pictures on Lincoln’s phone.