The Risk (Kings of Linwood Academy 3)

What the hell is he saying?

My whole body aches with tension as I keep my head turned toward the front of the car too, straining so hard to see out of the corner of my eyes that it hurts.

River’s lips move again, repeating the phrase twice, and this time, I think I pick up a word in the middle.

Going.

Going where?

Going to what?

Jesus, if I were River, I would’ve figured out exactly what he’s saying already. Stifling my irritation and frustration with my lack of lip-reading ability, I shift my head just a fraction, giving myself a slightly clearer view of his mouth.

Something fierce and determined burns in his eyes, and he slows down his silent speech, forming each word slowly and carefully.

And finally, I get it. I piece it together, one word after the next, until the meaning of the entire thing becomes clear.

They’re not going to let us live.

23

They’re not going to let us live.

River’s unspoken words echo like a shout in my mind, and a weird sort of numbness floods me. It’s different than shock, different than the way I felt after Iris died, when it almost seemed like I was outside my own body.

This feels more like the anticipation of death, like my body is testing out what “nothingness” feels like, trying it on for size.

Preparing for the inevitable.

His gray eyes are still watching me, and I can see regret churning in his irises, like he’s wishing for a dozen different impossible things right now.

He mouths one more phrase, and maybe it’s because my lip-reading skills have improved, or maybe it’s just that my soul already knows what he’s going to say, but I get this one on the first try.

I love you.

An awful blend of happiness and acute pain make my chest cavity feel too small, and I give him the smallest of nods.

He loves me. This beautiful, exceptional, complicated boy loves me. So do his three best friends.

I wish I had more fucking time to appreciate that.

But the one thing we don’t have much of anymore is time. Judge Hollowell’s house is clear on the other side of Fox Hill from the dry cleaner storefront, but we reach it way too fast anyway. Niles’s people pull up to the curb several houses away from Hollowell’s, and the man in the front of our SUV turns around, gun leveled at us.

“Out.”

He and his compatriot watch us carefully as the two boys and I clamber out of the car. Behind us, Linc and Dax do the same, and I catch Lincoln’s eye. I wish I could tell him what River just told me. I wish we could talk for just a fucking second and figure out what to do, but we can’t talk in front of our captors without risking their retaliation.

Niles walks ahead of us, leading the way up Hollowell’s drive. These guys don’t bother with anything as low-level as sneaking in the bathroom window. Instead, he jerks his head to one of his men. All of them are now wearing gloves, including D’Amato himself.

“Alarm.”

The guy disappears around the side of the house as two of the remaining men keep their weapons trained on us, guns held close to their bodies. Not that anyone is likely to see them. The houses in this neighborhood are mostly all set back from the road, with high fences or walls around them.

As soon as the first man comes back, another one of Niles’s guys steps up to the door, pulling a small mechanism from his pocket. I’m not at the right angle to see what he does with it, but whatever it is, it works like a charm. A second later, the door swings open.

“W

e’ll just have a chat with our friend, Mr. Hollowell,” Niles says darkly, his gaze flicking around the space as the others usher us inside.