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CHAPTER THREE

“This is my life now,” Ryden muttered as a twelve-year-old in a cowboy hat and dinosaur gloves streaked by, wielding a Nerf blaster in each hand.

The kid released a war cry that could have shattered glass—or Ryden’s hearing.

The array of foam-firing assault weapons at this children’s party was concerning.

Another Nerf bullet hit him in the ass. “Ten,” he counted.

How had this happened? What could he possibly have done to deserve this fate?

Okay, so maybe he’d done plenty in his lifetime to get him here, but in this instance, the blame lay solely with a certain annoying, pouty-lipped pain in his ass.

Ryden should have known better. This was what happened when you pissed off Jay.

“Professional my ass,” he muttered under his breath.

Ryden worked for Red in Risk Assessment, but they were occasionally called in as backup for certain events.

Children’s birthday parties were not those events.

Why? Because children were often unpredictable, unreasonable, and loud.

So loud. Then you stuck a bunch of them together, gave them toys and mountains of sugar, and what did you get?

Chaos. Short chaos that could outsmart, outmaneuver, and outrun him.

Unfortunately, since King was still away on his honeymoon, this event fell to Red.

And thanks to Jay, now Ryden as well. The family’s mansion had a huge yard facing the ocean, where the party was being held.

At least it was surrounded by an eight-foot-tall fence with equally high hedges so none of the kids could Houdini their way out.

That and the dozen security agents in cowboy hats posted around the yard, keeping surveillance.

It was pretty hilarious. The father seemed to think sticking cowboy hats on the security guys dressed in black would help them blend in. They did not.

Ryden’s earpiece buzzed to life, and he braced himself.

“Status?” Was that amusement Ryden detected in Red’s tone? Then again, it was easy to be amused when you got to observe the mayhem from the safety of your makeshift command center inside the mansion. Bastard.

Ryden sighed as he took in the whirlwind of activity around him.

Where did he even start? “I’m surrounded by screamin’ kids armed with foam weapons usin’ me for target practice, a DJ playin’ a country remix of the Jurassic Park movie score, and a robot Stegosaurus named ‘Susan’ who just tried to impale the snack table.

That’s my status.” He sighed again. Rich people.

There wasn’t a doubt in Ryden’s mind that Red and whoever was with him observing from their child-free base of operations were laughing their asses off.

It didn’t matter that the kids had been warned to leave the security personnel alone, as if a spoiled twelve-year-old boy armed with a double-barrel Nerf gun who’d just eaten a chocolate dinosaur egg the size of his head gave two shits.

For some reason, Ryden ended up the target more than anyone.

They probably sensed his aversion to them.

“Copy that,” Red replied gruffly. He’d so been laughing. “Keep your eyes on Susan. You lose her and we’re liable.”

“King would love that,” Ryden muttered. “Do we have a code for that? Lost robot dinosaur?” Susan hit the side of one of the tables. “Hope we’re not liable for the fruit because we just lost a melon Triceratops.”

“Code Rex on the Run,” Saint called out through their earpiece. “I repeat, Code Rex on the Run!”

Ryden threw his arms up. “The fuck are you talkin’ about? Y’all are just makin’ shit up now.”

“On your six,” Saint hissed. “The T-Rex is on the run!”

Ryden spun around just as a nine-foot inflatable T-Rex sped across the yard on a Segway. What the hell? What kind of party was this?

Unlike Susan, this dinosaur was not a robot. It had a human inside. Kevin. Not far behind Kevin, a small army of children driving Power Wheel Veloceraptors and Jurassic Park Jeeps chased him, waving Nerf guns. Why would you give motorized vehicles to kids high on sugar and wielding foam weapons?

“Um, what’s happening right now?” Red asked through their earpieces. “Why are they chasing Kevin?”

“Fuck’s sake.” Ryden took off to join the chase.

“Damn fool is makin’ off with the parent gift bags!

” Because no kid’s birthday party was complete without adult swag bags worth a hundred grand each.

The parents were too busy gossiping and drinking expensive wine or liquor to notice anything happening around them.

One guy didn’t even pretend to care as he watched the madness from behind his designer sunglasses. Thanks for nothing, pal.

Red cursed under his breath. “Stop him. And for the love of everything, don’t let him run into the pinata line again. Almost strangled himself the first time.”

“Where’d they find this guy?” Ryden asked, dodging a flying rubber Pterodactyl. Oh great. Now he had aerial assaults to look forward to.

“He’s friends with Bertram’s older son,” Saint replied.

That tracked, considering the guy had consumed about as much sugar as the kids. Ryden sped up, and Kevin made the mistake of looking behind him, driving right into a giant sand pit set up to be an “excavation site.”

Kevin went down with a dramatic roar, gift bags flying everywhere. Ryden tackled Kevin before he could take off again. Trying to keep hold of a guy in a nine-foot inflatable T-Rex costume was not easy. Ryden had wrangled livestock less slippery.

“Damn it, Kevin,” Ryden growled. “Stop tryin’ to run, man.”

The more Kevin struggled, the more he fell over, kicking sand everywhere. Ryden stopped struggling and stood. He wasn’t about to get sand kicked into his eyes. He brushed the sand off his clothes as Kevin flailed, then rolled onto his back, arms and legs flailing.

“Stop. Please. It’s just sad now.” Ryden hauled Kevin to his feet as the kids cheered, then fired their Nerf bullets at Kevin, who forgot he was in a nine-foot-tall suit and tried to hide behind Ryden.

There was no use trying to avoid it. Ryden stood with his hands on his hips and just whacked any of the Nerf bullets that came at his face until it was over.

When the kids finished their foam assault, they returned to their mini vehicles and drove off, cheering and waving their small fists in victory.

This party was less Jurassic Park and more Mad Max .

“I’m sorry,” Kevin groaned, his voice somewhat muffled by the dinosaur suit. “I think I had too many lava cakes.” From the smell of him, he’d had too much of something else, too.

Saint jogged over to them, three security agents trailing behind. How conveniently tardy of them. “We’ll take him.” Saint looked like he was trying so very hard not to laugh. Asshole.

“Next time, you’re chasin’ the high dinosaur,” Ryden grumbled.

Saint laughed. “There’s something you don’t hear every day.”

“Am I going to jail?” Kevin whined.

Ryden handed him off to Saint. “I don’t know. That’s up to the Rusticuccis.”

“Rusticucci,” Kevin giggled. “Ohmigod.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go,” Saint said, chuckling. “I can’t wait to tell Val about this.”

They hauled Kevin away, and Ryden snuck a photo with his phone. Yeah, okay, so this was one for the books. A ten-year-old cowboy riding a dinosaur hobby horse stopped before Ryden and tipped his hat. For the love of—Now what?

“Marshal,” the kid drawled.

Ryden tipped his hat in return. “Howdy there, partner. What can I do ya fer?”

“There are dinosaur hunters in the Raptor pen trying to wake up the volcano.”

Ryden blinked at the kid. “I have no idea what that means.”

The boy sighed like Ryden was the most frustrating person in the world. Because why wouldn’t what he said make total sense?

“The volcano. In the Raptor pen,” the boy repeated. “Dinosaur hunters are trying to wake up the volcano! You have to stop them.”

“Okay, those are the same words, just in a different order.” Ryden tapped his earpiece. “Red, I’m at a loss here.”

“Just here?” Red teased.

“Ah ha ha. Funny guy. Somethin’ about dinosaur hunters tryin’ to wake up a volcano in the Raptor pen. I got nothin’.”

“Give me a sec.”

While Ryden waited for someone to make sense of whatever was going on, he stood awkwardly, the kid staring up at him with a curled lip, like he’d looked into Ryden’s soul and found him lacking. How could something so small be filled with so much judgment?

“So, uh, what do ya feed that thing?” Ryden asked, pointing to the dinosaur hobby horse.

The kid’s unimpressed expression could have sent even the hardest person crawling away with their tail between their legs. “It’s not real.”

Wow. “Let me guess. You want to be a CEO when you grow up.”

The boy snorted. “Please. I’m going to be a senator.”

“That sounds ’bout right,” Ryden muttered. His earpiece came to life. Thank goodness. This day could not be over soon enough.

“Okay,” Red replied. “You might want to get over there quick. The volcano is a cake on a timer. It’s supposed to erupt on the table to signal cake and ice cream time.”

Great. Why did these things happen to him? As he headed for the Raptor pen, the cowboy kid followed him, riding his not-real dinosaur.

“Why’d ya come to me?” Ryden asked.

“Because you look the most like a cowboy. And those other bros probably wouldn’t fit in the dino pen.”

Ryden wasn’t sure how to take that, so it was probably best he not respond.

They reached the “Raptor pen,” a plastic fort-like structure created to look like a metal fence with fake barbed wire and caution signs.

What was the point of having a Raptor pen if it didn’t look authentic?

At least they hadn’t electrified it, though Ryden would have liked to see that.

Inside the pen, two kids dressed like they were on safari sat in the grass, and sure enough, the volcano cake, on its rocky terrain base, was angled between them.

“I’m gonna need that back,” Ryden said.

The kids eyed him.