The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy, #1)(43)

It doesn’t stop him from watching me though.





18





When we get out of detention, River follows me out of the school, where I find Lincoln waiting. I honestly forgot to consider how I would get home after detention when Lincoln offered to drive me this morning, but I can’t be totally pleased that he waited.

It’s a nice gesture, yes.

But it’s also something else.

Controlling.

He and River keep me between them as we walk to the parking lot. Then River dips his chin in a nod before splitting off to meet up with Dax and Chase, who are still here too for some reason, lounging by Dax’s car. As soon as my seatbelt is buckled and Lincoln starts the engine, I cut an angry look toward him.

“I’m not a fucking flight risk, you know. And I already told you I won’t tell anybody. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Maybe it’s because I’d need several more hands if I wanted to count on my fingers how many times you’ve lied to me,” he responds with a low snort.

“Maybe that was self-preservation, asshole.”

“And maybe this is too,” he shoots back with a sharp look in my direction.

I bite my tongue on my response to that. I already know it’s self-preservation on his part, and I could throw some choice insults his way for that. But he’s trying to protect his friends too; I have to grudgingly respect that.

But apparently, he wasn’t kidding about not believing me.

For the next week, I feel like I’m under constant surveillance. Lincoln drives me to and from school, and inside the halls of Linwood, the guys keep a rotating security detail on me. They either sit with me at lunch, or if I manage to sneak off under the bleachers, Dax and Chase find me and stay with me until the bell rings. I wish I could enjoy their company, wish I could believe for a second that they were actually hanging out with me because they liked me as a person, but I can’t.

They just don’t want to leave me on my own. They’re watching me to make sure I don’t crack, that the strain doesn’t get to me. That I don’t say the wrong thing to the wrong person. In detention, River loiters outside the room to wait for me and only chooses his seat after I’ve picked mine—always the one right next to me.

I don’t quite get why that’s necessary. I mean, is he planning to slap my phone out of my hand if I try texting under the desk? It’s not like the four of them can actually monitor me every second. My mom already knows something’s going on with me, although she thinks it’s just lingering effects of my “stomach bug”. But if Lincoln barged into my room and refused to leave or wouldn’t let me shower alone, you can be damn sure she’d notice.

So their near-constant watch over me at school seems both pointless and annoying, and it irritates me that none of them have figured out the giant flaw in their plan.

“Are you just doing this to torture me?” I blurt to Lincoln on the way home from school on Friday. This week felt like it took a year, every day dragging on at a snail’s pace. I’m still having nightmares several times a night about shadowy figures and screeching brakes, faceless men and Iris crying. They leave me on edge and exhausted, ill-equipped to handle this sudden relentless attention from the kings of Linwood.

He shoots a glance at me out of the corner of his eye, cocking an eyebrow. “Is that seriously what you think?”

“You tell me.”

He makes an annoyed noise. “No.”

“Then why? Why don’t you trust me? Why don’t you like me?”

I’ve wanted to ask him that question ever since the first damn day I met him, when a switch flipped behind his eyes, and I watched hatred spread across his face like dripping paint.

He doesn’t reply as he pulls up the long driveway toward the imposing mansion, and I roll my eyes, leaning back against the headrest. I don’t know why I thought he might answer.

But when he pulls the car into the garage and tugs the keys from the ignition, he surprises me by turning to face me.

“We usually go through about a maid a year.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. That wasn’t at all what I expected him to say, and I don’t quite get how it relates to me. Plus, I didn’t realize the turnover rate here was quite so high—although I sure as shit hope my mom and I aren’t here much longer than that. Maybe that’s just how everyone else felt too.

“When you and your mom first got here, I figured you were like all of them,” he continues. Then he rakes a hand through his hair. “My dad has—well, he usually hires a certain type of woman. And you and your mom seemed like that type. Only it was two of you, and that made it worse.”

The garage is dim, but his amber eyes still gleam, and for the first time, I can see that the anger in them isn’t all directed at me.

“What type is that?” I ask, a suspicious edge to my voice. He may be coming clean with me, but I still have a feeling I’m about to be insulted.

He holds my gaze steadily. “Young. Hot. Interested.”

“Interested in what? Having sex with your dad?” I can’t quite keep the disgust out of my voice, but my obvious distaste actually makes Lincoln’s lips tilt up a little. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s happened before.” His voice takes on a hard edge. “And the first time I met you, I could see it all happening again. There the two of you were—your mom’s young, you’re fucking gorgeous, and all I could see was a trap. My dad’s a damn idiot, and he can’t keep it in his pants, and that’s an easy thing to take advantage of.”