Ready Or Not (The Hunter’s Club #2)

Chapter 33

33

i feel lost - Aaron Hibell

I am going to kill Manson Kennedy.

I stare into my French fries, plotting. Riley dragged us to a fast food place and hasn’t gotten off her phone since we got here. She clearly has no fear of bringing me out in public now because she knows she has me trapped. If I say anything, both myself and my mom will die.

The thought makes a shiver run through me, but I quickly shut it down. Emotions have never helped me in the past, and they won’t now, especially with Riley eating up all my reactions with her dead gaze.

I don’t know who Noel is, but I’m guessing he’s the guy we were supposed to kill next. And that he’s part of the reason for the pain on Riley’s face.

I pick at my fries. I forced myself to eat the nuggets, but these feel cold and soggy, and the texture makes me want to gag.

Manson is the head of all my problems. I just need Riley to let me get close enough so I can kill him.

I grit my teeth. “I know you don’t want to go to Manson ‘cause you don’t want to lose the game.”

Riley barely glances up at me. “Yep.”

I pull in a breath. “So drop me off with him. Drop me off and leave.”

“He’ll have you, which means he’ll win this round.”

I shrug. “He’ll get me eventually.”

Riley gives me a blank look that I’ve come to interpret as dangerous. “Are you saying he’s better than me?”

I feel the tension from across the table. “No, Jesus.” I run my hands down my face. “Manson’s obsessed with you. You’re obsessed with him. The reunion is inevitable.”

“I am not,” she snaps. “He’s the worst person on the planet.”

“Then why isn’t he dead?” I arch my eyebrow at her.

Riley puts her phone down on the table and stares at me. She keeps her voice low. “Manson is a part of something much bigger than himself, Rachel. I’d be dead in twenty-four hours.”

“But you’d win the game.” I cock my head at her.

She snorts. “I’m not suicidal.”

I eye her. Do I risk telling her that I want to kill him? She says she’s not loyal to him, but she seems to be in denial about a lot. Saying what I’m thinking could get me killed where I sit. But my mom and I are dead men walking anyway, and I’ve spent too long hiding. I take a deep breath. “Then let me do it.”

Riley snorts, picking up her phone.

I lean in. “Let me do it. Let me kill Manson Kennedy.”

My heart is racing. I can feel it in my chest, and my fingertips are tingling. But I mean it. I’ve never thought about killing people more than I have in the last few days, but it seems inevitable around Riley.

Finally, Riley lifts her gaze to mine. “Did you just threaten to kill my brother?”

I stare into her dead eyes. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. He’s her brother? I completely read the room wrong.

A tiny smirk settles over Riley’s face. Then she starts laughing. “You really meant that too.”

I stare at her. She doesn’t lunge over the table or threaten me; she just laughs.

I feel the heat rush over my cheeks. “He’s your brother?”

“Stepbrother.” She shakes her head, and then her face grows serious. “You sure threaten to kill people a lot, bambi.” Her eyes spark with something. “In order to do that, you’re gonna have to stop being so helpless.”

I glare at her. “I’m not helpless.”

“Sure,” she smirks.

I cross my arms. “If you can’t win, why not team up with him? He has all these resources you keep talking about, so why not use them?”

“Now you’re just talking stupid.”

“Am I, though?” I stare at her.

“Yes.” Riley lifts a thin, dark eyebrow.

“What is that saying, keep your friends close but your enemies closer?” I motion at her. “You’re good at getting what you want. Why don’t you pretend to work with Manson to get what you want?”

Her dark eyes take me in. “You can’t manipulate me into saving your mom. You’re shit at it.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m just saying. Manson seems like the kind of guy who can get you what you want. So why not at least pretend to like him?”

Riley watches me, taking everything in. I feel like she’s looking into my soul, and I hate it. But I don’t back down.

Finally, Riley smirks and motions at my French fries. “A potato died for you to eat that, so stop wasting food.”

I do, in fact, waste my food. I drop the rest of the soggy, gelatinous mess in the trash while staring at Riley, saying fuck you in the only way I can. Something about always being under the threat of death makes me reckless. And oddly, it feels freeing.

Riley’s eyes flash at my disobedience, and I think I see the tiniest hint of a smirk before she motions me outside. We get back on the bike and drive into the night. I’m not quite sure where we are, but we’re headed east. Which is the general direction of my mom’s nursing home.

But I don’t think Riley is headed there. She has no reason to. She doesn’t care that it’s my mom because she doesn’t really care about anything, and I have nothing to bargain with. I have nothing that Riley or Manson needs.

The bike rumbles underneath me, and I’m both exhausted and wired at the same time. My gut twists. There’s a huge chance my mom will die, and that reality sinks into me. I’m filled with mixed emotions. I flashback to my mom’s disinterested face when I told her about Papa. She shrugged me off and looked at me like I disappointed her. For the longest time, I felt bad and tried to make it up to her. Then, during my teen years, I hated her. That old anger fills me and rushes through my body.

Could I let my own mom die? I remember the times she bought me smooth peanut butter instead of crunchy after I almost puked from the texture. She never belittled me, just asked me what I wanted instead. When I told her I wanted to stop picking my fingers and face, she took me to get acrylics so it would be easier. She didn’t have a lot of money, but she always saved to make sure I could have a fresh set every few weeks.

I feel sick. How could I even consider letting this happen?

I stare at the land around us. We’re flying down a deserted highway. Most highways in this state are empty, especially at night. We’ve been driving for a while, still heading east. I start to recognize the area, and as I do, nerves fill me.

Is Riley going to stop? Maybe she will. Maybe she wants to work with Manson like I suggested. My hands are slick with sweat, and I want to pick my nails.

We get close to the exit, and I hold my breath.

Riley flies past it.

No, no, no. My gut is in knots, and I need to throw up.

“Where are we going?” I try to shout the words, but they’re eaten by my helmet and the rumble of the bike.

Riley passes the next exit. One more, and we won’t have a place to turn around for miles.

Once again, someone is making decisions for my life, and I’m stuck and forced to be silent.

I shift, and as I do, my hand bumps the gun. I freeze.

Shoot her . The thought pops into my head. Bang, bang, bang , done .

I suck in a breath. I’ve never shot a gun before. It will most definitely be suicide.

Unreasonable anger bubbles in my gut as the last exit approaches. I will not be silent anymore.

I dart my hands to Riley’s waistband, using one to yank her shirt up and the other to grip the gun. It’s warm and rough against my hands. Riley slows, and I have to yank twice before I get it out.

“Turn around!” I scream, pressing the gun into her side.

Riley slows the bike even more.

“Go back!” I shove it into her more.

“Rachel,” she growls. We’re going slow now, and I can hear her over the bike. “You really want to do this?”

My body shakes. Yes. Yes, I want to do this. “The Landings,” I growl. I don’t know where to put my finger. I don’t want it on the trigger because I’m shaking so bad I’ll accidentally pull the trigger.

Riley takes the exit. We rumble to a stop sign, where Riley stops.

“Keep going,” I hiss, jabbing her. I know I’m ruining any progress we’ve made.

“You have a gun. I get it.” Riley sounds bored. “Keep my ribs out of it.” She picks up her feet again, and we keep rolling slowly.

“Where am I going, bambi?”

“The Landings.”

“Well, I know that. Where is it?”

I give her directions.

As we roll up, panic fills me. What if he isn’t there? What if my mom is already dead? But when we roll slowly into the lot, there’s one bike in the lot and a huge man standing there waiting.

I have one shot.