Ride and Die (Ridgemore #1)

25 Courtesy of Magnum Chase

G riffin and Brady pried a metal bar from the bleachers’ frame, and Hunt and Layla were close to breaking off another, when the door farthest from us, the one Mr. Lauderbeck had been supervising, swung open.

I sucked in a startled inhale as thirteen armed soldiers swarmed in before the door clicked rapidly closed behind them. They wore gas masks, hardly glancing at the smoke billowing into the gym.

Layla and Hunt wrenched off the bar with a loud snap, then popped up to standing while I glanced quickly at the cameras. Green lights were back to blinking below them. It was how they knew to come in that door, the one we couldn’t possibly reach in time, and not the one nearest us.

The twins gripped the metal bars, holding them in front of their bodies like the wooden staffs we practiced with on the back deck of the treehouse. Hunt snapped open a pocketknife he wasn’t supposed to bring to school. And Griffin clutched a metal-barrel pen, readying to pull a John Wick move, I imagined. It wasn’t much as far as weapons went, for sure, and Griff was no John Wick. But the hard clench of his jaw and even harder eyes told me that if he was going down, he was taking as many of them as possible with him first. That pen could indeed be mightier than a sword.

I prepared to lean my weight into my good leg while wielding my crutches. No doubt, it would hurt like hell. But barely bearable pain was better than dead, even if there was a chance I’d resurrect. That was the kind of result I needed absolutely guaranteed before I dared count on it.

My friends circled me as the soldiers jogged our way. In their identical black gear, they all looked the same. They all moved the same. Perfectly in sync, their feet hit the floor at the same time. They were lean, muscled, and strapped with weapons: sidearms extended with silencers, hunting knives, and what looked like hand grenades, if Hollywood Weapons 101 had taught me anything. What the fuck? I spotted no handcuffs, straps, or tactical batons. Their objective didn’t seem to be to incapacitate, but to murder .

Their gear lacked any kind of insignia. The kind of killers someone as rich and connected as Magnum Chase would probably be able to hire.

That motherfucker . I was going to survive this— we were going to survive this—just so we could hunt the bastard down and make him pay for being such an entitled, evil twat.

With a rhythmic jostling of gear and a steady pounding of boots across the gym’s floor, the soldiers crossed the distance between us too fast for me to overcome my shock. We were supposed to be groaning through the end of a cheesy, stupid pep rally, not fighting for our lives. How did shit go south so freaking fast? Just a couple of months ago, before the party at the Fischer House, my biggest worry had been how to resist my growing feelings for Griffin. How to keep our parents from trying to force us to go to university. How to figure myself out in a world that didn’t understand me. If only those were my primary problems now.

My heartbeat sped up, and I started to sweat as the mercenaries came to a halt in a practiced, staggered formation, six up front, seven lined up behind them. The six in front had their sidearms drawn at their sides, not yet pointing at us. The seven in back had them aimed at our chests. They could probably put a bullet in each of our hearts and not even blink.

Their eyes on us were as steady as their trigger fingers. No emotion tightened their faces. There was nothing to indicate any kind of moral dilemma with invading a freaking high school gymnasium to hunt down unarmed teenagers.

The fire alarm finally fell silent.

“Guys…” Hunt murmured from my right. But what was there to say? This was what being royally fucked looked like.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Layla barked savagely at the line of sleek, lethal badasses, as if we weren’t woefully outmatched. “You need to turn the fuck around and head back out that door you came in through.”

I would have jumped in to amend that they should also leave the door unlocked for us so we could get out after, but what would be the point?

The soldiers didn’t respond, just kept those seven handguns trained on us. They were mostly men, but two women stood in the back row. Their hair was cut short, just like the guys.

“Go! Now,” Layla snarled. “I mean it. You don’t want to mess with us. We’ll come back from the dead just to haunt your asses. And I’ve got a real mean, vengeful streak. You don’t want to make an enemy out of me.”

Nothing, not even a grunt or a cleared throat. Smoke eased out from beneath the door to the stairwell, thickening the air around it and inching in our direction.

“You heard her,” Brady said before growling like Bobo did when he spotted a possum in the forest. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The two guys on either end of the front row raised their free arms and reached over their backs. They slid something boxy from sleeves attached to their combat vests.

As one, the four of them stalked forward with their boxes. Layla and Brady raised their metal staffs, and Hunt and Griffin leaned into the balls of their feet, clutching their weapons. Even I pushed as much of my weight as I could into my good leg before settling some into my injured leg, gripping a crutch tightly enough to overcome the wince of pain that rolled through me.

“Don’t take another step,” Brady snarled at them, as if they couldn’t have already taken us out several times over with well-placed bullets.

The mercenaries ignored him, depositing their boxes in an orderly row halfway between our two groups. The containers were about a foot long, half that wide, and an inch deep.

“Courtesy of Magnum Chase,” one of the men announced as, in unison, they lifted the lids on their boxes, revealing their contents.

My breathing stuttered until I forced myself to inhale.

“That motherfucking dick-breath weasel,” Layla hissed.

We were staring at defibrillators. Nestled in slim black cases, they were sleeker and more compact than the ones the EMTs had used on Brady, but there was no denying that’s what they were.

Or what it meant that we were being presented them in this scenario.

“We attack,” Griffin whispered under his breath. “Move fast. Protect Joss.”

It wasn’t much. In fact, it was far from enough. They had guns. We didn’t. They probably killed adorable puppies as a warm-up before breakfast. We’d never killed a damn thing. Plus, I was hurt. The very definition of a sitting target. Even if I were to run through the pain, this bulky cast would prevent any agility.

But what else were we to do? Stand there while they picked us off one by one?

Hell no .

The soldiers retreated from the row of defibrillators to reclaim their spots in the front row.

Staff held high, Layla charged. Brady was a second behind her as Hunt lunged for the opposite side of the line. Griffin crouched in front of me, pen gripped in his dominant hand. I raised a crutch, blinking rapidly as my vision instantly swam when I settled too much weight into the compound fracture in my shinbone.

Multiple shots rang out in quick succession.

The quiet that followed the guns’ silenced bangs was deafening as Layla and Hunt kept running for an instant, their momentum carrying them forward. Then they crumpled like rag dolls. Layla slammed to her knees before slumping onto her chest. Hunt simply pitched forward.

The staff clattered as it rolled from Layla’s hands, one arm pinned awkwardly beneath her.

Hunt lay unmoving, his penknife still gripped in his fingers. As I watched, his hold around the blade loosened; his fingers didn’t move again.

I screamed, only absently registering that Griffin and Brady were bellowing too.

Blood blossomed across Layla’s and Hunt’s backs around different exit wounds. The crimson spots swelled and spread, their shirts canvases of their draining blood.

Clutching his staff in both hands, Brady slashed the air in front of him before charging with a roar so feral that, had I not been watching him, I would have believed it came from a bear, not a man.

“Stop!” commanded one of the soldiers in the center of the front line, pulling down his gas mask.

I was eyeing Layla’s staff when Brady swung his at the front line. The soldiers ducked and jumped out of his way before two tackled Brady to the floor. He smacked his knees and head against the floor hard enough to make me wince. One soldier settled a knee against Brady’s back while the other leaned his weight onto Brady’s pinned arms.

Griffin scrambled forward to snatch Hunt’s knife before rushing back to me. He shoved me behind him so roughly that I stumbled on unstable footing. His chest heaved with his anger as he reached an arm back to hold me steady.

“Stop. Stop!” ordered the same man in a tone that implied he was used to instant obedience.

“Don’t you fucking hurt our friend,” Griffin snarled.

“Don’t touch him,” I echoed.

But our threats were obviously empty. We were severely outmatched. If I lived through this, I vowed to never find myself in this situation again. Having to watch my friends suffer and die, knowing there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

If I survived this—if we came back from this—I’d never fucking be a victim again. I’d be the one with the power to end someone’s life. And if they pushed me, I’d do it without a second thought. Without hesitation. Just like these assholes did.

“You don’t need to die,” the commanding soldier told Brady, who thrashed and bucked to break free. Another pair of soldiers ran over to help hold him in place, also shoving off their gas masks.

His back pressed to my chest, Griffin tensed even more. The veins bulged in both sides of his neck while he looked at Brady, unwilling to leave my side.

“Our orders are to kill only these two and the other girl,” the commander continued.

The other girl.

Me .

“No one else. We’ll kill you if you leave us no choice, but you can walk out of here without going through that. It’s up to you.”

“‘Those two’ are our family.” Brady’s voice hitched before he shouted again. “Our fucking family, you sonsofbitches! My sister !”

“We were told they’d come back. All you need to do is use the defibrillators once they’re gone. There are special ambulances waiting for you right outside. A whole private team of EMTs aware of your unique circumstances. They’ll remove any bullet fragments from your friends, patch them up, and they’ll be fine.”

“Fuck you,” Brady growled, straining backward with enough fury to rise nearly a foot off the floor with the weight of four men on him, before slamming back down hard enough to make him wheeze.

“You don’t need to die,” the commander repeated. “Just calm down. Let us do our jobs and you can live. If you don’t want to defibrillate them back to life, the EMT team outside can do it. Our boss has arranged everything.”

“I’ll just bet he fucking has,” I snarled. “I’m gonna kill him.” It was a solemn vow. A promise I’d keep no matter what it took to fulfill it.

The commander turned, peering at me over Griffin, who scrambled to better tuck me behind him. “No one touches Magnum Chase. No one, you hear me?”

“You’re not touching her ,” Griffin said with enough determination that, for a stuttering heartbeat, I almost believed him. “You don’t dare touch her. Don’t even fucking look at her.”

The commander sauntered casually in our direction, causing my body to clench as much as Griffin’s. There was nothing casual about this man with eyes of such a startling blue I knew already I’d never forget their exact hue—like a perfect summer sky. Fuck him and his pretty eyes . Fuck him hard.

“You’re all a bunch of murderers,” I snapped at him, at each of them. “There’s no justification for this. You’re killing innocent kids.”

Normally, I didn’t appreciate anyone referring to us as kids . We were young adults , thank you very much, emphasis on the adult part. But maybe there was a shred of decency in one of them…

Then I’d hobble over to Layla and Hunt and defibrillate them till their eyes opened. God, I needed to see them moving again. Now, now, now .

My breathing was too fast, my nerves twitching. I needed every single one of my crew to be alive right the hell now. Right. Now.

The commander’s face remained smooth. His eyes didn’t flinch. He was maybe in his late twenties, not that much older than us. Without looking, he tossed his gas mask to the floor.

“You’ll all come back to life. I don’t think you realize how special that is. How important you’ll be to the world. What kind of life-altering work Mr. Chase can do with that.”

“‘Mr. Chase’ can shove his pandering bullshit up his ass,” I said. “You’ve already killed two people who are more incredible than you’ll ever be. You’re murderers, plain and simple, no matter who foots your bill.”

Those bright blues darkened for a millisecond. The commander scowled at Griffin. “Get out of my way.”

Griffin brought up the small blade. At least he knew how to use it. “No.”

“Now!” snapped the commander.

“No,” Griffin repeated, his voice firm and unwavering. “Listen this time. She’s not yours to touch. Not yours to look at. Most definitely not yours to fucking hurt.”

He went completely still beneath my touch. “She’s mine,” he breathed so softly I wouldn’t have been sure I’d heard him if I wasn’t pressed up against him.

My eyes widened. My heartbeat sped up even more, till I was certain he’d be able to feel it through the fabric of his t-shirt, through his skin.

“What?” I whispered, the question slipping out of me. Hearing it aloud, I realized it made it sound like I didn’t want that, didn’t feel the same. Like I didn’t want to be his.

Like I didn’t want him to be mine.

“Have it your way,” the commander said, his lips flattening into a line of irritation as he raised his gun and pointed it at Griffin’s forehead.

As if my very soul were ripping free of my body, a haunted “Noooooooooooooo!” tore out of me.

In the seconds before the commander tightened his finger around the trigger, I shoved Griffin out of the way. Unprepared for it, he stumbled and fell, landing on his ass.

Immediately, he pushed up, scrambling to get his feet back under him, already reaching for me.

His eyes were a bright hazel, panicked and desperate. I met them, my entire face softening with acceptance.

No matter my desires, my wishes, my love for my crew, apparently death was still coming for me.

And if it was, I knew what I wanted my final words to be.

Holding the eyes of the man I loved more than I’d allowed myself to accept until that precise moment, I whispered to him, “I love you, Griff.”

“Noooooo,” he yelled as he brought the knife down and into the commander’s shoulder.

The man flinched but didn’t allow the injury to interrupt him from completing his mission.

I didn’t look at the gun, only at Griffin. Agony transformed his beautiful face, the one I loved studying, that I could spend happy years memorizing, each day finding more to love about it.

His mouth twisted as he screamed again.

Brady shouted.

I neither heard nor saw the gun fire at my head.

Without any idea whether there would ever again be light, my life went dark.

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