The Risk: Kings of Linwood Academy #3

by Rose, Callie

  Dax murmurs something against my pussy, words I can’t hear but can feel. The vibration of his lips and the feel of his breath make me shake, and when he loops his hands under my thighs and holds me off the bed so he can feast on me, I lose it.

  My hands grip Chase’s short copper hair so hard it has to hurt, and I bite his lips softly, kissing him over and over again as my orgasm flows through me, lighting up every nerve ending from my fingers to the tips of my toes.

  “Fuck!”

  My curse is almost as muffled as Dax’s words were earlier, and I can feel Chase smile against my lips when he hears it. He pulls back from my mouth and shifts his attention downward, pressing kisses to my jaw, neck, and shoulder as Dax moves upward, his tongue trailing over my lower abdomen to circle my belly button slowly. His lips and teeth brush over my hip bones and the sensitive lines of my hip flexors, eating me up in small bites.

  Then Dax draws away and crawls to my left side again, sprawling next to me as his twin settles back on the right.

  “What are you thinking about now?” Chase murmurs playfully, and I give a low, contented moan.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Good.” He chuckles, massaging my breast through my borrowed t-shirt, playing with my nipple and making a lingering zap of pleasure shoot through me. “Then our work here is done.”

  Wait, what?

  That doesn’t seem right.

  They’re both hard. I can feel their arousal pressing against me, as if I couldn’t already tell they were turned on from the way their breathing picked up and their bodies tensed as they teased an orgasm out of me.

  My hands slip down, ending up on either side of my still naked lower half. When I find two hard cocks straining against the confines of gym shorts, I stroke them lightly through the fabric.

  Dax groans, sounding amused and tortured at the same time. His hand encircles my wrist, and he tugs it gently away from his dick.

  “Not tonight, Low.”

  “What?”

  I sound highly incensed, offended almost, that he won’t let me at his cock, and he lets out a low laugh.

  “Goddammit, you’re fucking awesome.”

  Then he leans forward and kisses me, letting me taste myself on his lips and tongue.

  “But you need to get some actual sleep,” he concludes, his mouth moving against mine as he speaks. “Besides, I can’t have you touch me right now without wanting to be inside you. And the first time we have sex, I don’t want to have to rush or worry that you might have a concussion.”

  Fuck. Fair points, I guess.

  But it doesn’t stop me from punishing him just a little by sucking his tongue into my mouth and pushing against his grip on my wrist to stroke his cock one more time.

  He groans, thrusting into my touch, and Chase laughs.

  “She’s got your number, dude.”

  I punish Chase the same way, just to make sure he knows I’ve got his number too. But just like his brother, he doesn’t let me go farther than that.

  “Sleep now, Low.” He drops a kiss to my nose. “There’s plenty of time for that later. Promise. We’re not going anywhere.”

  And as if to prove their point, the twins both shift closer to me, wrapping me up in their embrace.

  My body is strung out and exhausted, and thanks to the two of them, my mind is blissfully blank.

  So I sleep.

  5

  I walk along a deserted, dark street just like Iris did the night she died. It’s almost like I am Iris, except when I look down, the hands and arms I catch sight of are my own.

  I know it’s coming. I know the car is lying in wait for me. But as if the universe has already determined my fate, I can’t stop myself from stepping out into the street, from putting myself in the path of the dark sedan that screeches suddenly into view.

  It hits me, and I fly into the air, landing with a jarring thud, my body broken and contorted.

  I’m dying.

  Or maybe I’m already dead.

  But somehow, I can still see the man who emerges smoothly from the vehicle, dressed all in black. He should be wearing a mask, but it’s gone now. I can see every detail of his features. The lines in his forehead. His round face. The small dimple in his chin. His hazel eyes look pleasant even now—even as he’s committing a murder, stealing a life.

  He walks over to me and crouches down, running his hands over my broken body before stopping at my neck to feel for a pulse.

  There isn’t one.

  I am dead.

  But somehow, he knows I’m still watching him.

  Something like amusement dances in Hollowell’s clear hazel eyes, and he lifts a finger to his lips.

  Warning me to stay silent.

  I snap awake in a cold sweat, sucking in a shocked gasp. Muddy dawn light filters in through the blinds, and for a horrible, terrifying moment, I have no idea where I am.

  My heart thuds erratically in my chest, and my skin prickles with cold despite the two warm bodies next to me.

  Warm bodies.

  Dax and Chase.

  The fear drains out of me, and I relax a little, coming out of the haze of the nightmare.

  Fuck.

  My heartbeat slowly returns to normal, and I peer at the twins sleeping next to me. Both of their bodies are still curled against mine, arms slung loosely over me. I shift my gaze from one to the other, noticing the slight differences and similarities in their features. Just like their personalities, it’s those little differences between their looks that make it impossible for anyone who knows them well to ever mistake one for the other.

  Dax’s features are a little heavier, his shoulders a little more broad. It seems to match his character since, out of the two of them, he’s the one more prone to seriousness—although both of the Lauder boys can be total goofballs.

  He’s got a little scar above his right eyebrow, barely noticeable but there, and I want to know how he got it. I doubt it was from playing football, considering the disdain he seems to have for Trent, Linwood Academy’s star quarterback. But maybe it was from some other sport. Dax strikes me as the type who would’ve been an athletic kid. Both he and Chase always seem to have energy to burn.

  My gaze shifts to Chase, and his bergamot scent tickles my nostrils as I study him carefully. He’s got the same strong jaw, straight nose, and golden skin as his brother, but his features are just a little sharper, a bit more angular. Even in sleep, a small smile curves his lips, and I unconsciously mirror it.

  This boy was born to smile. He was born to be happy, and unlike some people, whose happiness is reliant on external circumstances, on achievements and wealth and status, I think Chase could find happiness no matter where he is, no matter what life throws at him.

  I like that. I don’t think I’m the same way, but having him in my life reminds me that happiness like that is possible.

  As I gaze at him, the smile on his lips spreads wider, and his eyes suddenly pop open, clear azure irises shining.

  “Quit starin’, ya perv.”

  I yelp softly in surprise. Shit. How long has he been awake?

  Dax’s arms tighten around me from the other side. “She’s probably just trying to figure out how identical twins can have a hot one and an ugly one.”

  “Oh, come on,” Chase shoots back, grinning at me before glancing over my shoulder at his brother. “She’d never call you ugly to your face.”

  Chuckling, I burrow deeper into their arms as they banter back and forth, good-naturedly disparaging each other’s hideous features.

  I forgot the twins go from dead asleep to wide awake in seconds. The past few weeks at River’s house, I’ve gotten used to waking up in stages and giving him a bit of time to rejoin the land of the living before making any attempt at conversation.

  Dax and Chase are like a mug of strong coffee upside the head.

  The three of us stay in bed for a while, until the room brightens around us.

  I check my bruise in the m
irror and find that the swelling has gone down a bit, although the deep purple looks just as harsh in the light of day. When the twins lead me downstairs for breakfast. I can’t help but tread lightly, worried about running into their parents, but as it turns out, there’s no need for concern.

  We bump into their mom on the way to the kitchen. She looks like she just got back from a run, in a designer tracksuit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe combined. The guys introduce me, and if Mrs. Lauder notices that they’re each holding one of my hands as they do, she doesn’t say anything.

  “Nice to meet you, Harlow.” She glances at my bruise, then tugs her gaze away and smiles, looking distracted already. She glances at Dax and Chase. “Your father and I have that party at the Masterson’s tonight. You’ll be on your own for dinner. I’ll have Cheryl cook something and leave it in the fridge.”

  “Sure. Have fun.”

  Dax nods, and he and Chase lead me away as their mom heads upstairs. She’s older than my mom, but she could probably pass for younger. Whatever plastic surgery she’s had is subtle but effective, peeling away the years as if they never existed.

  I wonder if she’s trying to reclaim the youth she “wasted” on raising her kids—that is, if giving birth and then basically ignoring the twins could be called raising.

  “Told you.” Chase grins at me as we walk into the kitchen, which is huge and full of chrome and steel appliances. “She doesn’t give a shit.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  My stomach goes tight as I glance back toward the stairs where Mrs. Lauder disappeared.

  I feel a sudden need to make up for the lack of affection the twins get from their mom and dad, to make sure they know that they’re cared about. Cherished. I rise up on my tiptoes to kiss him, and he returns it hungrily before walking to one of the fridges and rifling through it.

  It’s strange. Their entire interaction with their mom was actually… pleasant. There didn’t seem to be any tension or anger on either side. But they also didn’t sound like they were talking to their mom—more like they were talking to a roommate they barely know.

  A painful pressure builds in my chest, and I realize what I want to do today. What I have to do.

  I need to go visit my own mom.

  * * *

  “Oh my God, Harlow! What happened?”

  I barely pick up the phone receiver in time to hear my mom’s words. She shot to her feet the second I entered, and she’s staring at the purple bruise on my head with wide eyes.

  “I got into a car accident.” I lift a hand to cut her off before she can say anything else. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  “Is everyone else okay? What happened? Whose car was it?”

  Her barrage of questions comes fast, and I bite back a smile as I realize one unexpected side benefit of my stupid car wreck is that at least it’s taking my mom’s mind off her impending trial with an incompetent lawyer as her only defender.

  “No one else was hurt, it was just me. The roads were bad, and I spun out. It was… a friend’s car.”

  She knows who River is, but I don’t mention his name. Dax and Chase drove me today, but they’re waiting outside like Linc used to.

  “God, sweetheart.” Mom puts a hand over her chest. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you get checked out?”

  “Yep. I went to the ER, and everything’s fine.” I scoot forward on my chair, resting my elbows on the small counter that runs along the base of the window separating us. “How are you doing, Mom?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” She blinks distractedly, still staring at the bruise on my face. Then she shakes her head, seeming to clear it. “I’m sorry I was so down yesterday, Low. That’s not what you or I need right now. It’s not… going how I’d hoped it would, but we have to have faith in the system, right? I didn’t do it. So we have to trust that the truth will come out in the end.”

  My heart aches as I take in her expression. After everything that’s happened, even after all the moments of fear and hopelessness, Mom still has the ability to snatch optimism out of the black sludge of life.

  How the fuck could a jury ever think this woman is capable of murder?

  That thought sticks in my mind, bringing back my conversation with Judge Hollowell yesterday. Should I tell her what he said? Should I follow the advice he gave?

  I honestly don’t know what game he was playing. I’m guessing he let me into his house and agreed to talk to me because he wanted to try to feel out what I know, to make sure Mom’s shit-for-brains lawyer doesn’t have some amazing trump card up his sleeve.

  God, I fucking wish.

  But what does that mean for what Hollowell told me? If he was trying to maintain his cover as the helpful, concerned samaritan, it wouldn’t make sense for him to give me advice that was obviously bad.

  I just don’t know if the advice he gave me was good. And I’m terrified that he could’ve laid some trap that I’ll fall into unwittingly if I do what he suggested.

  But what he said made logical sense. My mom doesn’t look or act like a killer. She’s a gentle, sweet soul, and if Scott Parsons can’t do more to prove her innocence, he can at least highlight what a good person she is.

  I scoot forward on my seat, lowering my voice a little—not that there’s anyone here to overhear besides the bored looking guard.

  “Mom, I was thinking about your case. I know your public defender kinda sucks, but that just means you need to basically be your own lawyer.”

  “Yeah.” Mom sighs, brushing a few flyaways out of her face. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. At least maybe I wouldn’t feel so helpless that way.”

  “Tell Scott to shift the focus to your character,” I blurt before I can go around and around second guessing my choice any further. “Tell him to get people on the stand who will make you look good to the jury.”

  Mom purses her lips, considering that.

  “Okay. Yeah, I’ll mention that to him.” The upbeat attitude she adopted since yesterday fades a little, and she swallows. Her voice is a little shaky when she speaks. “God, I’m really fucking nervous, Low. I’ll be in front of a jury in just a few months. I can’t believe it.”

  My mom doesn’t swear much. She doesn’t mind when I do, but she tends to find gentler ways to express herself. So the fact that she’s cursing now tells me exactly how scared she is.

  I rest my hand against the glass that separates us, wishing I could make it vanish into thin air, reach across the space, and hug her. “I know, Mom. Me too. But it’ll be okay. Like you said, have faith, right?”

  She smiles, a wan, tired stretch of her lips. “Right.”

  A few months. That’s how long until my mom sits in a courtroom before a judge and jury, total strangers who will decide her fate.

  But I won’t let them.

  As terrified as I am of what I learned yesterday, it’s slowly been dawning on me that I’m one step closer to getting my mom out of prison.

  The kings and I spent weeks searching for the man in the black mask, and now we know who it is. I don’t know how to prove that my mom didn’t kill Iris, but if I can prove someone else did, I won’t have to.

  I might have a target on my back now, but so does Judge fucking Hollowell.

  And I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find some way to show the world what he did.

  Mom and I talk for a while longer, and she makes me promise to go back to the doctor if my bruise doesn’t show steady signs of improvement. I know seeing me hurt or sick always brings up worries about my cancer returning, as if she has some kind of caregiver PTSD—hell, she probably does—so I don’t roll my eyes at her overprotectiveness.

  Tears glisten in her eyes when I stand up to leave, and I see her blinking them back as we press our palms together.

  I want to tell her to be strong, to promise I’ll fix this, to reassure her that I have a plan.

  But I can’t say any of that. So I tell her the only thing I can think of that matters right now.


  “I love you, Mom.”

  6

  School starts back up on Monday, and walking through the doors of Linwood Academy feels like walking into a Twilight Zone episode. How the fuck does everybody look so normal? How are kids talking about where they went for the holiday and the expensive gifts they got from their parents as if everything is perfectly fine?

  Linc and River brought my stuff over to Dax and Chase’s house, and the five of us spent most of the weekend with our heads together, trying to figure out some way to prove Judge Hollowell was Iris’s real killer.

  It won’t be fucking easy.

  For one thing, we have to do it without letting him get wind of the fact that we’re onto him. And for another, we have no solid evidence yet.

  I always maintained a vague hope that Linc had backup copies of the photos he deleted from his phone of the man in black, but nope. Deleting them was a split-second decision, and he didn’t have time to back anything up. He hadn’t done it before then because he didn’t want anyone finding out we even had the pictures, and more copies would only make that more likely.

  Not that it matters much anyway. The pictures were clearly of a man, but without any glimpse of his face, no one would ever be able to tell that man was Alexander Hollowell.

  So that means our first and best lead for tracking down any evidence to use against the judge lies with my favorite person in this whole damn school.

  Savannah.

  “God, I was really hoping to see less of her this semester, not more,” I mutter to Linc as the kings and I head down the corridor toward my locker.

  The four of them are flanking me protectively, as if they expect Judge Hollowell to have spies inside the school who might come after me at any moment.

  He huffs a low laugh. “After what Trent told us about her, I’m sure she feels the same way. You’ve got way more shit on her than she has on you.”