Inside the club, blue and purple lights flash through a haze that hangs in the air. The heavy bass that I could hear from the sidewalk outside vibrates my bones in the enclosed space.
We start to weave our way through the crowd. Linc slips his hand into mine and grips it tight, and I notice that Chase and Dax keep River between them. I know he’s not totally deaf, and I wonder if being in a place like this, where the music blares so loud people have to scream over it, makes things even more difficult for him. Given that the lights are so low it’s hard to make out people’s faces, I’m guessing so.
Which is why his two friends have wordlessly surrounded him, placing themselves as buffers between him and the surrounding crowd.
Lincoln leads us unerringly toward the back of the club, where another roped off area leads to what I’m guessing are VIP suites or something. This seems like the kind of place that would have them.
He slips the bald man guarding that rope another stack of bills, exchanges a few words with him that I can’t hear over the music, and we breeze right through.
Jesus. I hope Trent is fucking here. Otherwise, Lincoln just dropped a couple thousand bucks for nothing.
As we slip into the private back area of the club, the heavy thump of the bass recedes a little. It’s easier to hear myself think back here, although it’s no brighter than the rest of the club. If anything, it’s darker.
I squeeze Linc’s hand more tightly as we navigate the intricate maze, only letting go when we enter a much smaller bar area. In one of the booths toward the back, Trent tips his head back and laughs at something his friend said. There’s no sign of Savannah, which isn’t that big of a shocker, considering the star football player has a brunette girl who could either be a cocktail waitress, a stripper, or just a very friendly club patron draped halfway across his lap.
Ugh. He really is a disgusting pig.
There’s no love lost between me and Savannah, but I’m pretty sure the two of them are officially dating—or at least, she thinks so. And I don’t care much about whether she gets hurt, but it still pisses me off to see Trent treating her like this. Especially after he did the same thing to Iris.
“There.” Linc jerks his chin toward them, but we’ve all already seen. He turns back to me, raising his voice over the music, which is still loud, though no longer deafening. “Wait here.”
River takes the hand that was just enfolded in Lincoln’s, and the three other boys stride purposefully toward Trent’s booth. When they reach it, Trent’s gaze snaps up to them. Linc says something to the brunette, and her eyes widen. A half second later, she gets up and leaves quickly.
As she’s hustling away, Lincoln grabs Trent by the front of the shirt and hauls him out of the booth. His friends start to rise, but Chase and Dax step forward, their posture clearly threatening. The two other guys hesitate, and the twins don’t wait for them to decide what they’re going to do. They turn to Linc and Trent, and the three kings muscle the blond boy through the dark lounge.
When they reach us, they don’t stop. River and I turn to follow them as they drag him down a hall toward a door with an exit sign hanging over it.
Dax shoves it open, letting a gust of cold air fill the hallway, and then he and the other two boys shove Trent outside. After River and I step through, the blue-eyed boy uses a chunk of wood that’s lying in the alley to brace the door open.
Trent has been putting up a struggle, but he’s only slightly bigger than Lincoln and Chase, and roughly the same size as Dax. And there are three
of them and only one of him. Ambient light from the street illuminates his broad features and deep-set eyes as Lincoln shoves him up against the brick wall of the building. Dax and Chase each grab an arm, pinning him in place and keeping him from lashing out.
“What the fuck?” Trent bellows, jerking against their hold.
“I think you know what the fuck,” Lincoln shoots back, and his voice is low and dangerous.
It’s cold outside, but that has nothing to do with the shiver that runs down my spine.
Trent must hear the same edge in Linc’s tone that I do, because he puffs up his chest, trying to hide his fear under bluster. “Whatever, man. You can’t do shit to me. Osterhaut said he’ll come down hard on anybody who steps out of line.”
Lincoln shrugs, and even that movement is predatory. “On school grounds. We’re not on school grounds.”
Trent scoffs again, but I catch his gaze sliding toward the door we all just came through, probably hoping like hell is buddies are about to burst through and help him even the odds out here.
They might. They could any minute.
But Linc doesn’t seem worried about that as he steps closer to Trent, grabbing his chin and squeezing hard, pressing his head back against the wall.
“I want you to tell me what the fuck you and Savannah did to Harlow. And how.”
Trent’s brows draw together for a second, and then realization spreads across his face, followed by fear—the first time he’s let himself show that emotion since the guys dragged him out here.
He shakes his head, or tries to, though the movement is hampered my Linc’s tight grip. “Hey, listen, man! That was Savannah’s idea! I didn’t want to do to it. She—she talked me into it!”
Jesus.
This guy is a real piece of work, blaming the shit he and Savannah pulled with my tests on his supposed “girlfriend”, who’s not even here to defend herself. Granted, I’d definitely believe that redheaded bitch was the instigator, but a knight in shining armor, Trent is not.