by Callie Rose
Oh, fuck.
“Well, I didn’t see it.” Chase shrugs and elbows his brother. “And not to speak for Dax here, but he didn’t either. Linc’s always been good at thinking on his feet though, and he pieced it all together pretty quick. That’s why he deleted the pictures, and why he told Dunagan he didn’t know anything about the man in the mask.”
My brows pull together and I sit up again, leaning forward. “But you all backed him up. You all said the exact same thing he did.”
Their combined scents drift into my nostrils as they both mimic my movement, bringing our faces so close together we’re breathing the same air.
“Yeah, we did.” Dax rests a hand on my knee, and I feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of my leggings. “Because even if we didn’t know exactly why he was doing it, we trusted him.”
And I didn’t.
My mind flashes back to that night again, to me screaming at Detective Dunagan while the four boys stood impassively behind me.
Jesus. What the fuck did I do?
Chase must register the dawning horror on my face, because his hand comes up to my other knee, squeezing gently.
“Hey, it’s okay. Linc couldn’t get you to stop yelling without making it really fucking weird, but the good news is, pretty much no one was around to hear you. Most of the party guests stayed inside when all the shit went down, and they’re the ones we might’ve worried would spread rumors.”
Dax shoots me a lopsided grin. “And Detective Dunagan? Well, I’m pretty sure he just thinks you’re crazy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this that night?” I whisper, but I already know the answer.
I was a fucking wreck that night. I was devastated, and more furious than I’d ever been in my life. If Lincoln—if any of the guys—had tried to tell me then that they’d refused to back me up as a way of protecting me and my mom, I would’ve ripped his head off with my bare hands.
I’m still mad. I can feel the anger bubbling under my skin like boiling oil, and it wants a target. It wants to land somewhere. It wants to blame the kings of Linwood for the shitstorm that has overtaken my family and my life.
But the truth is, they made the best choice they could in an impossible situation.
I drop my head for a moment, and I feel both Dax and Chase squeeze my knees harder. It’s such a strange feeling, being touched by both of them at once. It’s almost like being touched by one person—that’s how in sync they are.
My nostrils flare as I drag in several deep breaths, and when I rise to my feet, the twins stand with me. They follow several paces behind me as I cross to the door and open it.
I was wrong. Lincoln’s not standing with his back to it. He’s leaning against the hallway wall opposite the door, arms crossed over his chest. River stands next to him. He must’ve arrived while the other two were in the room with me.
Linc straightens slowly, his sculpted features impassive, his intense amber eyes focused on my face as if he’s trying to read my thoughts.
“Now do you understand?”
There’s something like a challenge in his voice, and I think I understand better why he’s been so pissed at me this week.
Because I didn’t trust him.
Even though he was trying to protect me. Protect my mom.
I hold his gaze and nod. “I’m sorry.”
Something in his stiff posture snaps, and before I can say anything else, he’s pushing away from the wall and striding toward me. His body collides with mine at the same time his arms wrap around me in a bruising hug, holding me up even as my legs stumble.
He tucks his head next to mine, his lips brushing my still-damp hair, his breath tickling my ear.
“No, baby. I’m fucking sorry.”
6
God, I didn’t realize how much I needed this. How much I fucking missed it.
I’ve been craving it all week, wrestling against my desire to bury myself in Lincoln’s embrace, to feel his strong arms around me and breathe in his spicy scent.
But the physical touch wasn’t all I was craving—it wasn’t all I missed. I missed the feeling of being enveloped by him, consumed by him, on the same side as him.
Same with all four of these boys, really, if I’m being honest.
I missed them.
Lincoln keeps holding me, breathing in my essence just like I’m breathing in his, his arms wrapped so tightly around my waist that movement is impossible. Not that it matters. There’s nowhere else I want to go anyway.
When he finally relaxes his hold on me, he draws back slightly to peer into my eyes, like he’s trying to verify that I really do believe him. I’m not sure if what he sees satisfies him, but he doesn’t get a chance to look for long, because as soon as his grip loosens, River pulls me into his arms.
He hugs me like he’s been waiting to do this ever since my mom was taken, like maybe he missed me as much as I missed all of them.
When we break apart, he keeps his hands on my waist, his blue-gray eyes churning like storm clouds. “We didn’t mean to cut you out, Harlow. Linc just didn’t know how to tell you what was going on without making Dunagan suspicious.”
“I know. I get it.”
His gaze flits down to my lips, and it lingers there even after I finish speaking. I suddenly become aware that even though we’re no longer hugging, we’re still standing so close together our chests are almost touching, and his fingers are still wrapped possessively around the swell of my hips.
I can feel all three of the other guys watching us, but I can’t read their expressions without craning my neck to look, so I just keep my gaze on River and pretend it’s perfectly natural to be touched this possessively by two guys in quick succession.
Lincoln pokes his head out into the hall, then turns to look at us. “My parents are gone for the day, but just in case one of them comes back early, let’s go downstairs. It’ll be more private.”
River releases me, and the five of us troop down the west wing stairs to the main level, and then down one more flight to the basement. I’ve been down here to clean before, and it’s the easiest part of the house to work on because it barely gets used. Which is crazy, because it’s awesome. There’s a full steam room and sauna, a couple rec rooms, a weight room and a small basketball court, a huge wine cellar, and a mini movie theatre with a dozen plush, luxurious seats.
I’ve never once seen any of the Black family members use the movie theatre, but that’s where Lincoln leads us now. The recessed lights are dim, though the room isn’t as dark as it’d be if we were actually planning on watching a movie in here, and the guys and I all grab seats in a cluster. I end up sandwiched between Lincoln and Chase, with Dax and River in the row ahead of us.
They turn in their seats to face us, and I finally ask the question that’s been pricking at my brain ever since the twins laid out their logic for lying to Detective Dunagan.
“So, you guys are still trying to find the man in the black mask?”
“Yeah.” Dax nods. “But before you get too excited, I should tell you we haven’t got much yet.”
Fuck. I mean, of course not. We didn’t have a lot before my mom was arrested either. So it’d be asking for a miracle for the guys to suddenly get a huge lead just because we need it now more than ever.
But there have to be some clues we can start digging into, some threads we can follow.
“What do you know?” I ask, casting my gaze around at the four boys hopefully.
“We know whoever called in the tip to the police had a reason to pick your mom specifically—though whether it was because of something she knew, because it was convenient, or to send a message to you, we don’t know.” River braces his forearms on the back of the chair, a deadly serious expression on his face. “We’re assuming it was the man in the mask who tipped them off, as a way of trying to divert suspicion from himself.”
“I don’t know how he’s making her look so guilty,” I mutter, a flush of anger making m
y cheeks heat. “Someone’s planting evidence or something. Her lawyer said the cops found Iris’s DNA on the front grill of my mom’s car.”
“Shit.” Chase whistles. “So it could be someone in law enforcement then.”
“Yeah, or somebody with a few dirty cops in his pocket,” Dax shoots back, shaking his head.
“And you just described half the wealthiest families in Fox Hill,” Lincoln drawls, a note of disgust in his voice.
Jesus.
Is it really that easy to destroy someone’s life? To tear down everything they’ve built for themselves? Just knowing the right people and having the money to buy their complicity?
No wonder Mr. Black’s parties always seem to stink of corruption. My mom laughed and teased me about being a conspiracy theorist, but it turns out I was right to be suspicious. People can be fucking awful, and it’s not that rich people are necessarily worse—they just have the means to act on their depravity and get away with it more easily than people without that kind of wealth at their disposal.
“Well, at least that’s someplace to start. With people who might have the connections to pull this kind of thing off,” I say, trying to cling to the little bubble of hope that grew in my chest when I realized the guys hadn’t betrayed me.
There are five heads working on this now, instead of just my extremely fucked up and confused one. We have to be able to come up with something.
“Yeah. Low’s right.” Chase rests his hand on my knee again, rubbing at his chin with his other. “It might be a pretty fucking massive list, but at least it’s a list.”
There’s a murmur of assent from the other three, and we spend the next two hours sorting through all the people the guys think could match our criteria.
It’s a long fucking list, and there’s a decent chance the killer isn’t even on it. But we have to start somewhere, and action feels so much better than inaction.
At around one o’clock, Dax and Chase have to head out, and River takes off a few minutes later. I never even had breakfast, and I definitely haven’t had lunch, so I stand up, already thinking about what food is still left in my mom’s apartment. But before I can move toward the door, Lincoln’s hand shoots out and catches my wrist.
His grip is firm, and the feel of his skin against mine banishes all thoughts of lunch from my brain as fire shoots up my arm.
When I glance down at him, he’s staring at the blank movie screen on the wall ahead of us, his amber eyes gleaming in the dim, warm light.
“We okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.” I take a step closer to him, standing right next to his chair. “We are.”
His gaze slowly slides from the screen to me. “I’m not quite sure I believe you, Low.”
“What?” I huff a breath. “Why not?”
“Because you’re still looking at me like I’m a stranger. And last time I checked, we weren’t fucking strangers.”
There’s a bit of a growl in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine, and his eyes spark with some emotion that can’t decide if it wants to be anger or hurt.
I look down at him, trying to sort through the complicated feelings I have for this boy. When I speak, my voice is low, my words halting as I try to articulate the emotions bouncing around my chest.
“We’re not strangers, Linc. And I know why you did what you did. I know you were trying to keep me safe. To keep my mom safe. It’s just… hard. My mind is still catching up to what my heart knows, and I—goddammit, I was so fucking mad at you.”
He makes another noise that’s almost a growl, and the next thing I know, he’s pulling me onto his lap. My legs end up straddling him, knees on either side of his waist, and I hardly know how I ended up here, but it’s easier to breathe, easier to think when I can feel the firm lines of his body beneath mine.
His hands settle on my lower back, just above the swell of my ass, and his eyes blaze like twin suns as he stares at me. I could swear the room around us is getting darker, but I think it’s just that Lincoln has eclipsed my vision, has literally blotted out every other thing.
“I need you to trust me, Low,” he murmurs. “I need you to know that no matter what I do, whether it makes sense to you or not, there’s a reason behind it. It’s to keep you safe.”
My palms find his chest, the movement automatic, unconscious. My fingers gather the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a tight grip as our gazes stay locked.
“And you need to trust me,” I shoot back.
The last bit of my anger flares, and I press my mouth to his, hard, biting his bottom lip before pulling away. His body stiffens beneath me, and his grip on my hips tightens. Both of us are breathing faster, our bodies beginning to work against each other.
“I need you to trust me enough to tell me what the fuck you’re thinking,” I continue, nipping at his lips again. “Even if you know it’s gonna piss me off. Even if you think it will hurt me. No more fucking secrets, Linc.” I jerk my head toward the door the others vanished through, bracing my arms on his shoulders as I rock against him. “Those three trust you without question, and I want to give you that too. But the only way it’ll be possible is if I know you’re not playing me.”
“No more secrets. I promise.”
The words are a low rasp. The second they’re out of his mouth, his lips claim mine, and he stops letting me dictate the terms of our kiss. His tongue delves into my mouth, and he slides his hands down to my ass, hiking me tighter against him, grinding my clit against his thickening cock.
Our teeth clash, and he’s biting at my lips too, like both of us are still working out some residual anger toward the other person—or the world in general. I can’t catch my breath, and my heart is thrumming so hard and fast in my chest I can’t make out the individual beats anymore.
It’s almost painful, and I wonder fleetingly if this is what heartache feels like. If this is what it’s like to want someone and be terrified of how much you want them.
My hands slip under Lincoln’s shirt, tracing patterns over the smooth, hot skin of his chest and abs.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he groans into my mouth, thrusting his hips up harder against me, his large hands kneading and massaging my ass through my long sweater.
“It’s only been a week,” I mutter under my breath, although I’m still pawing at him possessively, my eyelids half shut and my core clenching.
Without warning, one of his hands leaves my ass, moving up to grab a fistful of my hair close to the roots. When he tugs my head back, breaking the contact of our lips, it doesn’t hurt, exactly, but the slight sting in my scalp makes a jolt of sensation rocket through me.
“Uh uh, Low.” Our faces are so close together our noses almost brush as he shakes his head, amber eyes burning. “There is no only between us. Ever. When we’re talking about how long it’s been since I’ve been inside you, that word doesn’t exist.”
Oh shit.
His proclamation and the desperate, demanding tone of his voice make me wriggle against his tight grip, straining toward him so hard that the pull against my scalp really does hurt.
When he finally releases his hold on me, I kiss him like I’m trying to consume him alive, grabbing his face with both hands to give myself the perfect angle, dipping my tongue into his mouth over and over.
My body is like an inferno, burning so hot I’m certain my clothes are about to catch fire.
They don’t.
But they do get destroyed.
Lincoln’s hands shove my long sweater up and out of the way, and the next thing I know, he’s found the waistband of my leggings. With a violent rip, he shreds them down the middle seam, and when I let out a surprised yelp, his answering smile is hungry and feral. He pulls the two pieces apart even farther before eviscerating the delicate lace of my panties.
Jesus. I either need to get sturdier underwear or stop wearing them altogether.
Before I can give Linc shit for destroying yet another pair of my panties, his fingers find my clit
, and I forget how to speak. He sits up straighter in the large chair, his hand wedged into the small space between us as he massages me in tight, fast circles. There’s a look of intense, almost angry concentration on his face, like he’s trying to show me—show my body—how much it needs him.
“Oh… fuck,” I whimper, biting my bottom lip as my toes curl and my muscles shake.
I start to drop my head, but his free hand moves up to grab my chin, holding it in a tight grip so he can watch my face as he makes me come. His gaze catches mine, and I can’t look away, not even when the pleasure peaks and sweet agony rolls through me like a wave.
He sees it. All of it.
And he takes all of it. My sounds, my stuttered breaths, the look on my face as he breaks me apart and puts me back together.
I’m still sucking in gasping breaths, my body still quaking with aftershocks, when he uses his grip on my chin to pull me in for a kiss, sweeping his tongue into my mouth like he can capture the last vestiges of my orgasm there.
My hands scrabble for the button and fly of his jeans, and I work them down carefully as our lips stay fused together. His cock is hard and smooth in my palm, and God, I really did miss this.
He’s right.
There is no only.
I could’ve fucked him yesterday, and my hand would still be shaking, still moving over the velvet-smooth skin with ravenous need. I glide my fingers up and down his shaft a few times, and Lincoln’s hips jerk. He shakes his head, a deep noise rumbling in his chest.
“Goddammit, Low. Get on my fucking dick.”
I grin against his lips. “Sweet talker.”
But I’m already moving to obey his command, his plea, rising up on my knees as he shoves his pants a little farther down. Then I sink down onto him, and for just a second, all the bullshit—all the fear and uncertainty and helplessness of the past week—fades away.
We fit.
We just… fit.
It’s hardly logical, it barely makes sense, and it doesn’t negate the fact that sometimes this boy pisses me off so much I can hardly see straight. But when we come together like this, none of that other stuff seems to matter. It’s like being in the eye of a hurricane. The most peaceful place in the world, surrounded by violent chaos.
