“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.
Still. It would be something.
“So we’re here to try to find out what the police know,” I say, pushing my guilt away and focusing on River. Maybe there’s a way we can help bring Iris’s killer down without having to make ourselves sitting ducks by doing so. Maybe we can still make a difference.
“Exactly.”
He smiles at me, his gray-blue eyes softening, and I have a sudden vivid memory of what it felt like to kiss him. A lot of that awful night feels like a blur, a horrible dream—but that kiss is still imprinted on my lips, and I can remember every second of it perfectly.
“Okay.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”
He moves unerringly through his dad’s office toward a file room in the back, and I get the distinct feeling this isn’t the first time he’s snuck in
