by Callie Rose
Niles has already moved on from all of this. He’s got his phone out and begins speaking to someone on the other end in a low voice as Mitch strides over to us. Even though a foot and a half of space separates us, I can feel Linc’s entire body tense, and I know he won’t let them do this easily.
I also know I can’t let him die.
We need an opening.
Just a little window of time.
Anything.
When Mitch stops in front of us, he aims the gun at Linc first, and I hear Chase start to yell something across the room.
“No! You son of a—”
Now. Now!
I jerk to my right, making a move to bolt around Mitch. He lets out a startled, angry noise and swings his gun toward me.
And that’s the opening Linc needed.
The dark-haired boy springs into action, launching himself at Mitch in a full-body tackle. They grapple for the gun as they go down and it flies out of their hands, skittering across the hardwood floor.
Linc and Mitch hit the floor hard.
And chaos breaks loose.
My aborted motion to the side to draw the man’s attention has left me off balance, and I go to the floor, landing painfully on my wrists. But that fall saves my life.
A bullet whizzes over my head, slamming into the wall with a dull whap. Time seems to slow down and elongate, seconds stretching beyond meaning as everything happens at once.
The man who dragged River over to the far corner of the room pulls out his weapon and fires, and River hurls himself to the side, landing hard and rolling behind a massive chair. The bullet meant for him strikes one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows, and it shatters in an explosion of glass.
Dax makes a grab for the man in front of him, and another gunshot goes off as they wrestle for control. But the man wrenches away and plants a heavy foot in Dax’s abdomen, shoving him backward and raising the gun again.
A noise like nothing I’ve ever heard before cuts through the air, like pure, soul-deep pain given voice.
Before my brain can process the sound, Chase launches himself at Dax, shoving his twin out of the way as the man fires another shot.
Dax stumbles, and Chase’s body jerks backward.
Just like Hollowell’s did.
He falls, his body going limp.
Just like Hollowell’s did.
No.
No.
No!
Dax hurls himself at the man who shot his brother. The man fires again, but not fast enough. The bullet clips Dax’s shoulder a second before he lands on his attacker, fists flying.
I don’t hesitate. I’m up and moving, my gaze narrowing to a single point, a single goal. I have to get to Chase.
As I sprint across the room, something slams into me from behind, and for a second, my stunned brain thinks I’ve been hit by a car. The force of the strike sends me staggering forward, sends pain reverberating through my skull. I hit the floor awkwardly, too stunned to protect myself from the hard landing, and when I roll over, my double vision shows me two versions of Niles D’Amato standing over me, twin guns pointed down at my face.
I grope wildly around me, but there’s nothing but slick floor and the corner of a soft rug. Nothing to fight with. Nothing to defend myself with.
Now there’s emotion in Niles’s eyes. Now he looks angry. We fucked up what should’ve been simple, and now he’s going to put a stop to it. He adjusts his grip on the gun, raising it to aim at my head.
Two high-pitched metallic thwips cut through the air.
But my body doesn’t jerk.
It doesn’t hurt.
My muscles all tensed in anticipation when he aimed at me, and they feel like they’ll never unclench as I watch Niles topple to the floor like a felled tree, the back of his skull blown out by two bullets.
Beyond him, halfway between the dining room and the large foyer, Hollowell lies on the floor, a messy smear of blood trailing behind him like the track of a giant red slug. He drops the gun and collapses, slumping back down onto the polished hardwood floor in a heap.
Another thwip of a gunshot sounds above me, and it’s like that sound frees me from the prison of my shock, allowing other sounds to penetrate my rattled brain.
The man who was shooting at River goes down, screaming as he clutches his leg, and River takes the opportunity to lunge out from behind the chair, aiming and firing again. This one hits the man’s chest, and he goes still and quiet.
The whole room goes quiet.
For a half-second, I think it’s just that my mind has stopped processing sounds again. But then it slowly dawns on me—no one else is shooting. No one else is screaming.
Dax is straddling the man who shot his brother, and the guy’s face is almost unrecognizable.
God. His brother.
Chase!
I scramble up—or try too. The blow to my head makes the whole world tilt and darken in my vision, but I don’t stop trying to reach him, crawling across the floor as Dax joins me.
Judge Hollowell wasn’t dead. He was shot, but he wasn’t dead yet. Maybe Chase isn’t either.
Whether or not Hollowell is still alive now, I don’t know. And I won’t be the one to find out, not until I know if Chase is alive.
Dax meets me halfway, and the two of us half crawl, half stumble over to his twin as sirens cut the air in the distance.
Maybe they’re coming for us.
Please let them be coming for us.
Because the pool of blood under Chase is too big. Too fucking big.
And it’s growing.
25
“Fuck. Chase. No.”
The words are a primal grunt as Dax falls to his knees beside his brother. The two boys who usually appear so alike look as different as night and day right now. Chase’s golden skin is pale, washed out, and he looks thinner somehow.
Is that possible? Or is it just the slackness of his face that makes him seem that way?
There is one way they look similar—they’re both dressed in red. The wound in Dax’s shoulder pours blood, and even though he hasn’t lost nearly as much as Chase, it doesn’t look good.
“Put pressure on it!”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own as I glance around wildly, but River is already there, pressing the heel of his hand hard to Dax’s shoulder. Dax is trying to get to Chase, but with the way his right arm is hanging limp, he won’t be able to put enough weight on his brother’s wound to staunch the bleeding.
I lean over the copper haired boy with the too-pale skin, my fingertips slipping over slick red blood as I try to find the bullet hole. It’s high on his chest on the left side, but it can’t have hit his heart. It can’t have. A pulse flickers in his neck, fluttering beneath the skin, and I press both my hands to the place where blood seeps from him.
But I can barely keep pressure on it either. I’m not hurt like Dax is, but my vision is still swimming from the blow to the head, and my arms are shaking so badly it’s hard for me to keep my elbows locked.
“I got it, Low. Let me. Let me, baby.”
Lincoln’s voice in my ear is like a healing balm to my soul, and I fall back onto my butt as he takes over. His knuckles are bloody, and his face is bruised, a trail of red trickling from the corner of his mouth where it looks like he split his lip, but his expression is a mask of concentration as he finds Chase’s wound, then tears off his own shirt and wads it up, holding it firmly against the bleeding hole.
“Hollowell…” I mutter raggedly, unable to tear my gaze away from Chase’s face. River and Dax watch him too, all four of us pouring our concentration onto him as if we could heal him with our love alone.
“Dead.” Lincoln’s voice holds no emotion. “I already checked. And I called 911. They’ll be here soon.”
Soon.
That word holds no fucking meaning when your world just exploded into violence, when someone you love is pouring his lifeblood onto a cold, unfeeling floor.
But soon is all
we have, so we wait, still and quiet, our voices strangled with fear, as the wail of sirens grows louder.
The little gray fox by the fireplace must’ve been hit by a stray bullet. It lies on its side, still attached to the little pedestal, staring up at the ceiling like it’s sniffing the air.
Forever frozen in time.
The police arrive with the paramedics, and as soon as they do, a new kind of chaos erupts. It’s the good kind, I know it is, but it’s hard for my brain to process that when I just want to shut out the whole world. Everything is too loud, moving too fast, and Chase and Dax are whisked away into an ambulance after the paramedics pry the rest of us away from them.
I watch them go with my heart in my throat, and the only comforting thought I have as they disappear from sight is that at least they’re together.
They have each other.
And Dax won’t let Chase die.
The police are moving around the space, cordoning off areas and placing markers near pieces of evidence. They question us briefly, and I’m a little afraid they’re going to make us tell them the whole story right now and that I definitely won’t be able to tell it without losing my shit completely.
But the paramedics take a look at me, shine a light in my eyes, and tell the officers who arrived on the scene that I need to go to the hospital too. River and Linc come with me, and as soon as the ambulance doors close behind us, exhaustion washes over me like a blanket of darkness.
We’re still quiet. None of us know what to say. There’s nothing to say until we know if Chase is okay. Grief sits in my chest like a gathering tidal wave, held back only by a thin barrier of hope.
A thought pricks at the back of my mind, and I pull my cell phone out of my pocket. There are fifteen texts from Hunter, the tone of each one growing increasingly frantic. I scroll down to the last three.
HUNTER: Please text me if you get this!!!
HUNTER: Are you okay??
HUNTER: If I don’t hear from you in ten minutes, I’m calling the cops. Fuck, I should have already, no matter what you said. Call me!!! Please!!
She sent that one eight minutes ago.
My fingers shake as I tap out a message, the paramedic moving around in the small space by my head and Linc and River sitting alongside me, hands resting on my hip and thigh.
Possessive.
Reassuring.
ME: I’m okay. I’m so fucking sorry, Hunter. I know I scared the shit out of you. I didn’t mean to.
HUNTER: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, LOW! What the fuck happened??? What’s going on??
My eyes are getting bleary. It’s hard to focus on the screen well enough to type out a message, but I blink a few times and try again.
ME: I’ll tell you everything. I promise.
And I mean it. I will.
Because I finally can.
26
“You fucking asshole.”
Those are the first words Dax says to Chase when his brother wakes up.
He was in surgery for several hours, and the doctor said he was incredibly lucky the bullet missed both his heart and his lung. He needed an immediate blood transfusion due to heavy blood loss, and Doctor Campbell said if the paramedics had arrived even a few minutes later, he might not have made it.
It’s hard to comprehend that. The difference a few minutes can make, how they can literally be the difference between life and death.
I try not to think about it too hard, actually, because it hurts my heart even to imagine it.
Chase cracks a smile, his bright grin shining through all the pain meds he’s doped up on. “Bigger asshole.”
He lifts one finger to point at Dax, and Dax grabs his hand, squeezing tight as his jaw clenches, his expression torn between amusement, relief, and lingering pain and fear.
Dax’s right arm is bound up in a sling. His injury was less life-threatening, but he won’t be able to use that arm for a while. Everyone else—including me—got away with pretty minor scrapes and bruises.
Well, I have a mild concussion, but it honestly feels like nothing at the moment.
A nurse pokes her head into the room. “Excuse me. The police would like to speak with the four of you.” She steps inside, glancing at Chase as she pulls down his chart. “And Doctor Campbell will be here in just a moment to check on you.”
Dax grips Chase’s hand tighter, looking like someone will have to physically pry him away from his brother’s side, but Chase shakes his head, his eyes still a little glazed and his voice scratchy.
“Dude. Go.” His gaze flicks to Linc, River, and me. Lincoln has his arms around me, holding onto me with my back to his front, and River’s fingers are interlaced with mine. “They need you.”
Intense emotion burns in Dax’s sea-green eyes, and he bends down to press his forehead against Chase’s, closing his eyes for a moment. I can see the boy in the bed visibly relax, as if his brother’s nearness is doing more to soothe him than all the pain meds in the world.
When Dax finally pulls back, I step out of Linc’s embrace to lean over the bed too, smoothing my hand over Chase’s soft, coppery hair.
“I love you,” I whisper, because it’s true, and I’m going to make sure he hears it every day.
A heartbreakingly soft smile spreads across his face, and his eyes clear a little as he looks up at me, our faces only a foot apart. “That’s good. Because I love you too.”
I drop my head to kiss him, pressing my lips to his like I’m sealing something. A vow, maybe.
The nurse stands nearby as she flips through his chart, but I catch her looking at us with a small smile on her face—and she doesn’t bat an eye when I step away from Chase and am immediately enfolded in Lincoln’s arms again, or when Dax rounds the bed and takes my hand before we turn to leave.
I glance back at her once more as we head out. Instead of the slightly confused, searching expression I’ve seen on most people’s faces when they see me with the guys, her smile has only grown.
I guess not everybody thinks it’s shocking.
The guys’ parents all showed up at the hospital shortly after we got here, notified by the ER staff that their sons had been brought in. Mr. and Mrs. Lauder, who’ve never seemed that concerned one way or another about what the twins do, looked anxious and pale as they waited for Chase and Dax to get out of surgery. I hope this makes them rethink the way they’ve treated their kids and realize how much they’ve taken the two amazing boys they brought into this world for granted.
The Lauders, Bettencourts, and Blacks are all in the waiting room with the police officers, and when we arrive, everyone is ushered into a large meeting room. The kings and I sit on one side of a long table with the cops on the other, and the boys’ parents gather around us. I feel a twinge of sadness when I realize that the only parent missing is mine—and I wonder if she even knows what’s happened.
“All right. Let’s start from the beginning. How did you four know Alexander Hollowell?”
The officer in charge, who introduced himself as James Morgan, leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, his fingers laced together.
The guys and I look at each other, and then we begin to speak. The story comes out slowly at first, because none of us know quite where to start. But when we get to the part about Iris’s death, about seeing the man in the black mask slid out of his car and check her still form before speeding away, Officer Morgan holds up a finger to stop us.
“Give us a few moments, please.”
We take a short break, and when we reconvene fifteen minutes later, there’s a new person in the room. Detective Dunagan takes a seat next to Morgan, his eyes narrowing slightly as his gaze lands on me.
“Didn’t we have an appointment to chat earlier today, Miss Thomas?”
I nod, a little shell-shocked at his presence. “Yeah. Sorry. I—I couldn’t make it.”
“I see.” He doesn’t comment on it further, just flips open his notebook and leans back, waiting for our story to continue.
So we start again.
We go back to the beginning, but this time it flows easier. The boys and I trade off speaking, picking up threads someone else dropped and filling in blank spaces to create the most complete picture possible. The story, the surreal situation that has overtaken my life for the past several months, sounds crazy when we say it all out loud like this. But no one in the room laughs at us or tells us to stop making shit up. I guess the carnage at Judge Hollowell’s house lends credence to our words.
Those bodies got there somehow, and as we lay out the chain of events that led up to it, I can feel Detective Dunagan watching us with intense focus.
When we get to the part about how Niles D’Amato and his men forced us to accompany them to Hollowell’s house to confront him, River surprises me by interjecting something.
“After they put us into the SUVs, Niles stood outside talking to two of his men. He said Judge Hollowell was the one who killed Iris—I think she saw Hollowell meeting with them or something, and they told him he had to clean it up.”
Dunagan’s eyebrows lift, and he cocks his head, glancing down at his notes before looking back at River. “I see. Were the windows open on the SUV? Or the door?”
“No, sir.”
The detective shakes his head, looking almost disappointed, as if he didn’t want to catch one of us in a lie. “Well then, I don’t see how you could’ve heard their conversation with such clarity. If they were outside the car and you were inside—doors closed, windows up.”
River shrugs lightly. “I didn’t hear them. I read their lips.”
Now Dunagan’s eyebrows drop down, as if he’s trying to figure out how to make sense of what River just said. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m mostly deaf. I have almost no hearing in my right ear, and just a little in my left. Since I can’t hear, I read lips.”
As he speaks, my gaze flies to him, and I can sense Linc and Dax tensing beside me. River hides his hearing impairment from almost everyone, keeping it a secret at school with the help of his three best friends. But he just told everyone in this room about it as if it were nothing.
