The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy 1)

“We have to do something!” I shriek, and I know I shouldn’t be this loud, the man in black will hear us, but I can’t keep it inside.

“Yeah, we do.” River’s voice has that same dark, hollow quality as Lincoln’s did. “We need to get out of here. Now. If that motherfucker realizes we saw him, he’ll be after us next.”

“But Iris—”

“Are you gonna save her, Harlow?” Lincoln growls over his shoulder, finally backing us past another small side street before turning onto it. “She’s gone. You can’t bring her back. All you’d be doing is risking yourself.”

“That’s not—” I start, but I don’t finish the sentence because I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.

What I saw still feels like an unreal dream to me. A waking nightmare or shared hallucination that we’ll all snap out of soon. Something that happens in movies, or to other people. But not here. Not in real life.

My heart is still beating too fast, my brain moving too slow. My body feels like a strange vessel, an unfamiliar thing I suddenly find myself trapped inside. I’m vaguely aware of Chase’s arms wrapped around me, of the two of us shifting and sliding across the seat as Lincoln whips around turns, but I can’t quite process any of it.

By the time he pulls into the motor court in his family’s mansion and slides into one of the two garages inside the space, I’m wheezing. I can hear the sound, but I don’t even realize at first that it’s coming from me. Lincoln turns back to me, worry flashing in his almost inhuman amber eyes.

“Shit. We need to get her inside. Quietly. Her lips are turning fucking blue.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Chase’s voice rumbles against my back.

“Shock, probably. Fuck. Fuck!” He slams his fist against the wheel again, and the tenor of his voice makes my stomach clench so hard it threatens to expel every last thing I’ve eaten. He might’ve sounded almost calm earlier, but he’s not.

None of them are.

None of us are in control here.

And for as long as I’ve known Lincoln, or any of these boys, the one thing they’ve always been is in control.

“We—we—”

Nothing more comes out. I’m shaking violently now, deep tremors that wrack my body and make my muscles ache.

Lincoln’s gaze zeroes in on me, and a little of the panic leaves his expression, as if having something to focus on helps. “Bring her upstairs. My room. I’ll go inside first and make sure no one’s up. Give me two seconds, and I’ll text you.”

He slides out of the car quickly and slips through the door into the house. Less than a minute later, River’s phone vibrates. He checks the screen and nods. “We’re good. Let’s go.”

I’ve stopped trying to reach the door handle on my side of the car. Iris is too far away to help now, and I don’t think I could coordinate my muscles to grasp anything at the moment. I hear the door on my other side open, and then Chase is pulling me backward across the seat. One of my heels falls off, but he just leaves it, sweeping me up into his arms with a grip under my shoulders and knees. My jacket is on the floor of the car, and I’m still clutching my phone and wallet so hard my knuckles are white, as though I’ll die if I drop them.

The interior of the house is dark, and I don’t like it. It’s too much like the street, like that man, like the dark, dark lump that was Iris’s body. A low moan falls from my lips, and Dax mutters, “Hurry up, dude.”

My body jostles against Chase’s as he takes the stairs quickly, and the next thing I know, we’re stepping into Lincoln’s bedroom. It’s big, twice the size of mine, and even though I’ve been in here before to clean, I barely recognize it right now.

The lamp on the nightstand is on, casting a dim, warm glow around the room, and when Chase sets me down on the bed, I try to crawl toward it. I need the light. I need the safety it offers, the warmth.

“What the fuck is she doing?” Dax asks.

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing. I told you, she’s in shock,” Lincoln says. “Help her, I gotta take care of something.”

Chase tugs me back again, and I shove at his chest, at his arms, trying to break free of his grip.

“Hey, woah, Pool Girl. Calm down. It’s okay!”

He restrains me, grabbing both my wrists in a firm but gentle grip. I’m lying on Lincoln’s large bed, my dress riding up on my hips and my other shoe gone now too. He kneels on the mattress next to me as his upper body leans over mine, his blue eyes clouded with concern.

I keep trying to wriggle out of his grasp, to kick or fight my way free, even though I don’t know what I’m trying to escape from or where I’m trying to flee.

“Harlow.”

That one word makes me pause. He never calls me that.