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It’s too much.
The fear. The gratitude. The relief at not being alone. My heart can’t handle the overload of feelings across such a huge spectrum.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
River lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, his expression serious and determined. “Always.”
“Fuck. We better get back to dinner.” Dax glances toward the door. “We’ll take you upstairs first, and if that fucker Hollowell leaves our sight again for a second, we’ll follow him.”
“Be careful. Please.”
I feel like a broken record saying that, praying for safety when none exists. It doesn’t matter how careful we all are, we’re playing a dangerous game that could have deadly consequences.
But Dax nods, and then the four boys escort me back to my room. I hear the front door open and close behind us as we reach the landing on the second floor, but I don’t look back.
When we reach the guest bedroom, Chase hands me my slightly squished sandwiches, which he snagged off the table in the little room. “Lock the door, okay?”
I nod.
And then they’re gone.
I flip the switch on the knob to lock myself inside, keeping my gaze on the door even as I move toward the window seat. When I settle onto it, I draw my knees up to my chest, making my body as small and compact as possible. As if that will make me less vulnerable.
The dinner party seems to go on for hours, and as the festivities continue downstairs, thoughts and ideas spiral around in my head.
The guys all come back up again when the evening devolves into the men smoking cigars and talking in the den and the wives drinking cocktails in the dining room. Hollowell never left their sight again all evening, and he’s apparently been putting on a good show. I can see why he wants to get into politics. He’s a great fucking liar.
We talk in hushed voices, as if afraid someone will overhear us even all the way up here, and I tell the kings my new plan.
It’s insane.
It’s a horrible risk.
But instead of pointing out either of those obvious facts, they all agree, nodding their heads one after the other.
We don’t have too much time to flesh out the details before Lincoln and River have to leave with their parents. I wonder briefly what Mr. Bettencourt thought when he saw me downstairs at the beginning of the evening. I noticed him toss a disdainful look my way, and I imagine he must think Dax and Chase’s parents are fools for letting me stay here. Or maybe he’s embarrassed about being the man who booted the charity case out of his home. Whichever it is, he definitely still hates me.
My room is at the east end of the house, and if I put my face close to the window, I can just make out part of the driveway. Massive relief fills me as I watch the red taillights of cars pulling down the long drive.
They’re gone.
He’s gone.
It’s over. For tonight anyway.
It’s close to eleven p.m. by now. These rich people really know how to suck every last dreg out of “dinner”. I’m wired and exhausted at the same time, desperate to escape into sleep for a little while, but at the same time, afraid to close my eyes for fear of what I’ll see in my dreams.
So I take a hot shower, letting the steam swirl around me as the pounding rush of water soothes my tight muscles. Then I wrap a fluffy towel around myself and pad back into the bedroom.
I’m rooting through the dresser for clothes to sleep in when a knock comes at the door. My gaze snaps up, fear instantly filling me—even though there’s no logic to it. Hollowell’s gone. I know he is.
“Who is it?” I call out softly.
“Chase.”
The sound of his voice, full of an energy he can never quite disguise, even in his most somber moments, is like a balm. I hurry to the door and fling it open, taking in the sight of his bright sea-blue eyes and chiseled features before glancing down the hallway.
“Are you looking for Dax?” His brows pull together as he tilts his head.
