“Church might be back soon,” I murmur, loving the way Spencer's fingers feel as he slides them across the side of my neck and into my hair. I look up and find him smirking down at me, this cocksure little grin that reminds me why I fell for him in the first place. He acts like a total badass, but really, underneath it all, he's got the best heart.
“So?”
“So he might not like walking in to see you nailing his fiancée in his room.”
Spencer chuckles, and removes his hand from my panties, dragging me over to the bed and pulling me down on top of it. He kisses me like he can't get enough, sliding his hands up and under my skirt to cup my ass. It's like, my ultimate naughty fantasy, to be fucked in my schoolgirl uniform. But we haven't exactly gotten there yet.
Just when I think we might, the sound of the door being unlocked causes Spencer to scramble off of me, cursing and grabbing a pillow to hide the erection in his slacks. He most definitely does not need a packer penis to pass the grab test.
Church walks in with the other boys on his heels and pauses, cocking his head to one side, an iced coffee in one hand and a long poster tube in the other.
“Are we interrupting something?” he asks, but both Spencer's and my sputtered nonsense that they aren't proves that they most definitely are.
Ranger rolls his eyes and takes a seat on Church's bed, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting my eyes from across the room. The twins aren't shy about stealing some of Church's canned coffee drinks from the mini-fridge and then making themselves comfortable on my bed.
“What's in the tube?” I ask as Church hands it over to Ranger, sucking on the straw of his coffee while his friend pulls out the papers inside.
Maps? I lean closer to get a better look and find blueprints instead. And not just of Adamson, but of the entire town of Nutmeg, too.
“With these, we can see where, exactly, the tunnels go,” Church says, watching as Ranger unfolds the large sheets of paper on his friend's bed, weighing the corners down with the stack of mangas—Japanese anime comics—from Church's side table. “When they built Nutmeg, and expanded the Adamson campus, they were concerned about the possibility of the tunnels collapsing, so they mapped it all out.”
“This is where we went in originally,” Ranger says, pointing at a spot on the map and then tracing down the long length of tunnel. “And it's no wonder we couldn't find another way out. This one runs for miles before it branches off or offers up another exit. But look at this.” Ranger points out the antique store on the map, and then draws his finger along the length of tunnel underneath it. The bookcase entrance we found leads not only to the entire underground network, but also to several of the other stores.
The stores that the Montagues don't own.
The only exception is the antique store itself.
“Church's family bought the antique store from my parents who bought it from Magdalene,” Ranger explains. “My mom got it in the divorce, and I remember my dad was pissed.” He looks up, nostrils flared, mouth tight. “And why would he be? Over a tiny little antique store run by an old lady? Mom sold it to the Montagues not long after that.”
“So that means the businesses are involved with the cult somehow?” I ask, and Ranger exhales sharply through his nose.
“Maybe. You know what else it means? That my dad knows more than he should.” Ranger pushes the maps aside and then reaches up to grab at the front of his shirt, clutching the keys through the fabric. “He wanted me to come see him during fall break. I just might.”
“Not alone, you won't,” Tobias says, sitting up behind me and crushing the coffee can in his hand. “If you go, we're coming.”
Ranger grunts, but he doesn't argue, looking up and out the window at the sudden rainstorm.
“Where'd you get those things anyway?” Micah asks, reaching up a hand to play with my bra strap through my shirt. I slap his hand away, but we're both grinning like idiots.
“The library,” Church says, and then very quickly adds, “the one in town. We went to the school library, but Mr. Dave wasn't exactly forthcoming.” He pauses for a moment like he's thinking about something, and then shakes his head. “I suppose he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with anyone about the stabbing either, so there’s no surprise there.”
“Did we mention there are other missing yearbooks?” Ranger says, kicking off his boots and leaning back into Church’s pillows. They’re all silky, luxe, and soft—a feathered pillow here, a satin pillow there, one with thick black faux fur. I’ve often wondered what it would feel like if Church were to lift me up there and lay my head down on one before he kissed me. “No pattern to the missing years, just one here or there.”
