Four Of A Kind - Chapter 231: [4.49] Shotgun Rules

“That sounds wrong,” I muttered.

Nobody listened.

“Ready?” Harlow held up her fist. The other three mirrored the gesture. “Rock! Paper! Scissors! Shoot!”

Four fists transformed simultaneously.

First round: Harlow threw rock. Cassidy threw paper. Vivienne threw scissors. Sabrina threw rock.

“Cassidy and Vivienne advance!” Harlow declared, bouncing on her heels.

“That’s not how tournaments work,” I said.

“It is now!” Harlow’s smile was bright enough to power a small city. “Go again!”

Round two: Cassidy threw scissors with confidence. Vivienne threw rock with calculation.

Vivienne won.

Cassidy swore under her breath. “Best two out of three!”

“You already agreed to the rules.” Vivienne’s smile was sharp. Satisfied. “I won.”

“Rematch!”

“No.”

“Vivienne—”

“Rules are rules, Cassidy.” Vivienne’s expression softened. Slightly. The kind of concession that cost her nothing. “You can have shotgun.”

Cassidy looked like she wanted to argue. Her jaw worked. Her hands clenched. But she nodded once. Sharp.

“Fine.”

Sabrina moved toward the driver’s side without a word. Slid behind the wheel like she’d done it a thousand times. Adjusted the seat, the mirrors, checked the rear camera display.

“You know how to drive?” I asked.

“I have a license.”

“Since when?”

“Since I turned sixteen.” She adjusted the side mirror with precise movements. “I just don’t often.”

“Why not?”

“Too troublesome.”

Of course. The answer I should have predicted.

Vivienne walked to the passenger side. Paused with her hand on the door. Looked at me over the roof of the car.

Her cheeks were pink.

Not from makeup. Not from exertion.

From anticipation.

“Well?” she said. Her voice was steady but her eyes weren’t. “Are you getting in?”

My stomach did something complicated. Twisted and flipped and forgot how gravity worked.

Harlow nudged me forward. Her hand pressed against my back. “Go on, Assistant-kun! Don’t keep her waiting!”

I climbed into the back seat. The interior smelled like leather and subtle perfume. Expensive and clean. Iris took the middle seat without comment, pulled the seatbelt across her lap. Cassidy claimed the right side, yanking her door shut with more force than necessary.

Vivienne stood by the open door. Still wearing that cape. Still in that costume that should have looked ridiculous but somehow looked elegant on her. The white thigh-highs. The black dress. The delicate lace.

She’d won the right to sit in my lap.

On purpose.

Through rock paper scissors.

Against her sisters.

This was happening.

Vivienne slid into the back seat. Closed the door behind her with a soft click. The latch engaged. The interior suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. The temperature climbed several degrees.

She positioned herself carefully. Sideways across my thighs. Her back against the door, legs draped across my lap. The movement was deliberate. Calculated. Every inch of contact mapped out beforehand in her head.

“Comfortable?” Sabrina asked from the driver’s seat. Her eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. That knowing gaze that missed nothing.

“Perfectly,” Vivienne said.

Liar. Her hands were shaking where they rested on her thighs. Barely visible but there. Trembling.

Sabrina started the engine. The Range Rover purred to life. She pulled out of the parking spot smoothly, no jerking, no hesitation. Perfect execution.

Cassidy stared out her window. Jaw tight. Her reflection in the glass looked angry.

Harlow twisted in the passenger seat, seatbelt straining. “This is so exciting! Road trip!”

“It’s an hour,” Vivienne said. Her voice was flat.

“Still counts!”

The car merged onto the main road. Trees blurred past the windows. The campus faded behind us. Hartwell Academy disappeared into the distance, replaced by residential streets and then the highway entrance.

Vivienne shifted slightly. Adjusted her position. Tried to find a comfortable angle.

Her hip pressed against my stomach. Her shoulder near my chest. The costume’s fabric was smooth against my hands. Warm.

I kept my hands on the seat. Neutral territory. Safe.

“You can touch me,” Vivienne said quietly. Her voice was low enough that only I could hear. “It’s fine.”

“Your costume is…” I swallowed. Tried to find words that wouldn’t get me killed. “Short.”

“I’m aware.”

“If I put my hands anywhere, it’s going to be inappropriate.”

“Then be inappropriate.” She said it matter-of-fact. Like she was discussing the weather.

Cassidy made a strangled sound in the back of her throat.

Harlow giggled from the front seat.

Sabrina’s eyes flicked to the mirror again. Watching. Always watching.

I put my hand on Vivienne’s waist. Just one hand. Safe. Neutral. My palm settled against the curve where her ribs met her hip. The fabric was thin. I could feel her warmth through it.

She relaxed against me. The tension in her shoulders melted. Her head settled near my shoulder, finding a comfortable spot like she’d done this before.

“Better,” she murmured.

The car filled with a comfortable silence. The engine hummed. The tires whispered against asphalt. Iris scrolled through her phone, light from the screen reflecting on her face. Cassidy glared at nothing, her reflection scowling in the window. Harlow hummed along to music only she could hear, something upbeat and cheerful.

Vivienne’s breathing slowed. Deepened. The rhythm changed from conscious to automatic.

She was falling asleep.

On me.

In a car with her sisters.

This girl. This terrifying, brilliant, ruthless girl who planned everything three steps ahead and never showed weakness.

Trusted me enough to fall asleep.

My chest did something painful. Squeezed. Tightened.

“She does that,” Harlow said softly. Her voice barely carried over the engine. “When she feels safe.”

I looked up. Harlow was watching us through the gap between the seats. Her expression was gentle.

“Does what?” I asked.

“Falls asleep. Instantly.” Harlow’s smile turned gentle. Sad. “She works herself so hard that the second she stops moving, she’s out. Her body just shuts down.”

“That’s… unhealthy.”

“We know.” Cassidy’s voice was flat. Bitter. “Try telling her that.”

“I have,” Harlow added quietly. “She doesn’t listen.”

Vivienne’s hand curled into my vest. Gripped the fabric like an anchor. Her fingers twisted the material, holding on.

I didn’t move. Barely breathed.

Sabrina took a turn smoothly. Perfect execution. The Range Rover glided through the curve without a single jerk.

“How long till we get back?” I asked.

“Forty minutes. Maybe less if traffic cooperates.” Sabrina’s eyes met mine in the mirror again. “Think you can handle it?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Cool.”

My arm was already going numb. The angle pressed my elbow against the seat back wrong. Blood flow restricted. Pins and needles started in my fingertips.

Worth it.

Iris leaned over. Her shoulder pressed against mine. Whispered close to my ear. “You’re blushing.”

“Shut up.”

“And smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are.” She grinned, that mischievous smile that meant she’d store this ammunition for later. “It’s cute.”

“I will tell Harlow you don’t want any Spy Family merch.”

Her eyes widened. Horror crossed her face. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

She sat back. Pulled out her phone. Muttered something about unfair blackmail.