Kings of Linwood Academy - The Complete Box Set: A Dark High School Romance Series Callie Rose (i read a book TXT) 📖

at odds with the gray, drab light that filters down through the bleachers. But I don’t see any tattoos.

I’m about to call their bluff when the two boys turn around, their movements eerily synchronized.

Oh.

There they are.

I saw Dax and Chase shirtless the first time I ever met them, in the pool house the day I kicked River’s phone into the water. But I only saw their chests, and I was actively trying not to stare at any of the boys, so I never caught a glimpse of their ink then. When I saw them with the girl between them in the upstairs bedroom of the Black house during Linc’s party, it was too shadowy in the room to make out much.

So I’ve never seen these tattoos before. If I had, I would’ve remembered them.

Matching dark ink covers the left side of each boy’s upper back, spreading out from his spine to cover his entire shoulder blade and the broad planes of his back muscles. It’s an intricate design, full of whirling patterns and shades of black and gray.

“Wait… is that…?”

I scoot closer to them, squinting slightly and reaching out to run the fingertips of each hand over the two ornate designs. Both boys stiffen slightly beneath my touch, and maybe it’s because my hands are cold, but I don’t think that’s the only reason.

“You caught it already?” Dax’s voice is lower than it was before, slightly raspy. “You’re good. Some people never see it.”

“Yeah, I can see it. I just…”

My voice trails off as I continue to trace the two pieces of ink.

They’re matching designs. Or at least, that’s what they look like at first glance.

But closer examination reveals that they’re actually more like complementary designs. The general shape is the same, but there are little pieces that are missing from one but filled out in the other, lines in one that correlate to shapes in the other tattoo.

They’re beautiful. Each design stands on its own, but when you look at them side-by-side, study them closely, they paint a deeper picture than either one can by itself.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. “That’s fucking amazing. Did you design this?”

Chase’s shoulders shift as he chuckles. “Ha. No way. If Dax designed it, it would’ve looked like a five-year-old’s first attempt at finger painting.”

“Like you could do better, asshole?” Dax punches his twin in the arm before craning his neck to look at me over his shoulder. “We came up with the concept and commissioned an artist to do it for us.” His full lips tilt up in a smile. “Although a Disney princess was our second choice.”

I snort, my hands still moving over the smooth muscles of their backs as I compare the two tattoos. “Well, you’ve still got room on the other side.”

They both laugh at that, and something in my chest unclenches a little more.

Goose bumps rise on their skin from the cold air, but neither of the twins makes a move to pull away from my touch, letting me look my fill.

I’m not really done when I pull away—I could stare at those designs for hours—but I feel some kind of tension building in the air around us, and I’m not sure I’m ready to find out what happens when it breaks.

“Those are… extremely cool,” I admit as they turn around, matching grins of satisfaction on their faces. “And very badass.”

“Told you.” Dax laughs, grabbing his shirt from where he draped it over the scaffolding and slipping it on.

The lunch period ends ten minutes later, and the three of us crawl out from under the metal seating banks and trek back toward the school.

I feel better.

The break helped. The weed helped.

Dax and Chase helped.

Still, as we slip back inside through a side door in the building, the worry that has taken up permanent residence inside my chest starts to expand again like a creeping poison.

I might feel a little better, but nothing is better.

And it won’t be until my mom is out from behind bars.

8

I visit my mom on Saturday morning, and Lincoln insists on driving me. It cuts the travel time down by about half, which leaves more time for studying and trying to hunt down a murderer, so I don’t put up much of a fight.

He reaches across the center console as we drive, gripping my hand in his and squeezing tightly. He’s snuck into my room a few nights over the past week, and I’ve found that I sleep better with him next to me. It doesn’t keep the nightmares away, but the terror fades more quickly when I wake up in his arms.

Mom’s mood has been swinging from upbeat to worried all week, but today is a good day. I feed her optimism, stoking it like I would a small, flickering fire, doing everything I can to keep it alive. Even if it’s feeding on nothing, even if its fuel is something as ephemeral as blind hope, I can’t let it die.

For both our sakes.

I press my hand to the glass before I leave, lining my fingers up with hers in what’s become a familiar gesture.

“I love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Low. Be good, okay?”

“Always.”

My stomach is in knots by the time I leave, just like it usually is. It’s impossible for me to step foot in this fucking place without fantasizing about picking up my chair, smashing the glass of the window that divides us—even though I doubt it would actually break—and grabbing my mom by the hand, pulling her to freedom.

We wouldn’t make it ten feet past the front doors, much less to the border or whatever the fuck, but I can’t stop myself from imagining it every single time.

I just want to do something.

We’re quiet on the way back, and when Linc pulls into the motor court and parks in one of the garages along the west wing of the house, he turns to look at me after pulling the key from the ignition.

His amber eyes churn with a mix of emotions,