Page 25

25

Mess with Me and You’ll Die

O ur teachers’ assessment that day was just as brutal as it had been at the institute’s training center. With keen stares, they’d studied the five of us as we’d cycled through striking and kicking every dummy, bag, and board we owned. They’d had us do pushups, burpees, sit-ups, and every other exercise I’d ever heard of that used our bodies as resistance. They’d noted how much weight we each could lift, what weapons we thought we were proficient at—while making it plain their opinions of our skills weren’t nearly as high as our own.

I of course understood we weren’t actual ninjas. I wasn’t an idiot. Compared to the levels of mastery of, say, a Shaolin monk we were probably more like baby ninjas just learning to walk.

At that point, we hadn’t yet seen our instructors in action. It was easy enough to guess they were royal badasses. Not only did their sculpted physiques suggest it, but there was something about their postures, ready for anything at any time, a vibe they put off that said, Mess with me and you’ll die. Goals, right there.

I only truly began to comprehend a bit of why they seemed so utterly unimpressed with us when, after they lamented that the treehouse didn’t boast climbing ropes like the institute’s training center, they asked us to climb trees instead. As children who’d spent more time in the forest than indoors, we’d spent our fair share of time climbing trees. Hunt was a freaking monkey, and Griffin was nearly as agile, swinging from branch to branch.

But after we’d all taken turns going up and down a few trees, first untimed, then competing against our previous records, Armando had shucked off his shirt and shown us how it was motherfucking done .

I’d never again think of Hunt as a monkey, not after Armando’s performance. The man was Tarzan, so fluid and swift I had no trouble accepting that he’d grown up in Brazil’s Amazonian jungles and later become a master teacher of capoeira, among other martial arts.

That night, the five of us collapsed into our beds. I was grateful I was so exhausted that my mind quieted, putting the gazillion worries on hold until the next day.

When they’d attack with renewed vigor.

Several days eked by like this, and we settled into a pattern. In the mornings, we exited our houses as quickly as possible to diminish our time with our traitorous not-parents. During school, we largely kept to ourselves, which was pretty much our norm anyway, and occupied our time during classes searching for a way out that didn’t involve us murdering Magnum. The more we discussed, the more convinced we became that it truly was the only way to secure our freedom.

After school, we trained with the badass trio until we sweated our guts out and every muscle felt like it was dying a torturous death. Then we did a little homework while we hung out together before finally stumbling to our beds.

Every day like this contributed to lulling me into a growing sense of complacency—like maybe this time no one would try to kill us, maybe they’d let us live our merry lives and forget about us and whatever powers we had.

But then I would observe the five scars on my chest and be reminded how very close to death my friends and I were in all moments. The hypnosis had explained away the continually shrinking scars as hornet stings, but I couldn’t see them without remembering in too vivid detail what it had been like to watch Layla and Hunt gunned down in front of me. To witness Griffin’s anguish when he’d thought he might be about to lose me forever. To hear Brady’s heart shattering as he screamed and attacked the soldiers.

I’d never forget what it felt like to stare down the barrel of Jaggar’s gun, knowing it might be the last sight I ever saw.

No, the feeling of growing complacency only made me all the twitchier. Like really bad shit was just on the horizon.

You’re rubbing at your chest again, Griffin said into my thoughts one afternoon in Ms. Tott’s British Lit class, in that gentle tone I’d only ever known him to use with me, though our other friends would hear it too.

Despite how much we’d practiced our telepathic communication since we’d returned home, the channel continued to broadcast to all of us no matter our intentions. We’d also discovered we could only speak like this so long as we remained somewhere in the range of a couple hundred feet of each other. Across the length of a football field, yes. From the newly constructed gym to the cafeteria, also yes. But from the gym to the classrooms on the other end of the school campus, no. And we couldn’t reach each other when we were in our separate houses either. Whenever Layla and Brady were in their house together, they could speak to each other without us hearing since the rest of us were out of range.

After a final rub of my chest, I leaned back and dropped my hand to my desk, absently looking at Ms. Tott. Our British Lit teacher seemed trapped in the wrong decade, more at home as a flower child of the ’60s. Today she wore one of her usual long, airy, ruffled skirts and a fitted shirt that revealed much of her ample bosom. She spun expertly on velvet-lined platform heels, her long hair swinging behind her as she lectured about … Jane Austen, I realized. I hadn’t heard a thing she’d said in quite a while.

You okay, Joss? Hunt asked from my left. Griffin sat on my right.

I blinked a few times, bringing myself back to the present. Yeah, fine. Just kind of got lost to how crazy the last few days have been.

I glanced at the clock at the front of the classroom. Ugh, we still have twenty minutes left? Did I miss anything good while I zoned out?

From Ms. Tott, no way, Brady said. If she mentions Mr. Darcy in that swoony voice one more time, I’m gonna puke in my mouth.

That’s rich, coming from you, Layla said. The twins sat beside Hunt. You’ve been talking in that same swoony voice about the triple-threats of badassery. I swear, if you talk about how fucking tight our ninja teachers’ techniques are one more time, I’m gonna puke in my mouth.

And if I talk about how tight Yolanda’s ass is?

That would be marginally better. Though I don’t believe you for a second that you’re focused on her body and not how fucking sick her moves are.

Brady sighed so dreamily that a couple of students around us glanced his way, but he didn’t care. You can’t blame me, Lay. They’re insane . Everything they do is so fucking lit.

Keep it in your pants, bro, jeesh. How am I supposed to make it through my day like this? Even when we’re not with them, I have to listen to this crap. Don’t worry, Brade, in no time they’ll be barking orders at us while they try to kill us with sheer exhaustion alone.

Don’t even pretend you’re not loving it too.

I don’t have to pretend. I’m not a sadist. Every single muscle in my body hurts. Even my fingers hurt, and I don’t even know how that’s possible.

I’m definitely not complaining, Hunt started.

That’s ’cause you’re a maniac, Layla said. You actually enjoy running till your legs and lungs give out. It’s not normal to want to run marathons every day, Hunt. Not normal.

I felt a wry chuckle from Hunt travel down the line of our internal dialog. That’s not what I was talking about. I meant Zoe.

Since we’d come back and Zoe had pushed her tongue into his mouth by way of hello, he’d been using our training as an excuse to delay the date she kept pestering him about.

As one, we looked to where she sat immediately in front of us. When we’d arrived for class, she’d lingered around us, no doubt trying to snag a seat next to her “babe.” So we’d guided Hunt toward the middle of the rest of us and occupied the entire row of seats. She’d already snuck a hundred glances at him so far this class.

You’re not going to be able to put her off forever, I said. And that’s a problem.

Yeah, a major one, Brady said. If she tries to make out with you one more time, I might just punch her, and you know I don’t punch girls.

You’ve punched me before, Layla pointed out.

Of course I have. You’re the most annoying sister a brother could ever have. I’m practically a saint for putting up with you.

I glanced down the row at Layla. She didn’t usually get offended. In fact, I was often shocked at just how much didn’t seem to bother her. But Brady could get to her sometimes, and when he did, she did nothing to hide her hurt.

She merely smirked and rubbed at the tattoo that wound around her wrist. You. A saint. As if, dude. You might just spontaneously combust if you ever try to walk into a church.

I haven’t punched you since we were twelve, Brady responded. Now I’m thinking it’s been too long.

While they squabbled, my thoughts drifted again, back around to the questions I’d asked myself dozens of times already.

What if one of these times one of us doesn’t come back to life? No power can be completely foolproof, can it? Can we even risk a single other time?

And if the only real way to avoid anyone coming for us is to kill Magnum, how will we feel after we do the deed?

When I’d seen Brady broken across that pillar, the rebar puncturing his heart … when I’d heard Griffin go over the cliff to his death in a groan of crunching metal … when I’d had to watch Magnum’s soldiers kill Layla and Hunt and threaten the others …

In those moments of terror and loss and anguish and righteous rage, I would have killed Magnum, had I known he was responsible. Gutted him from neck to balls or cut off his fucking head, without hesitation.

But contemplating the act now felt more like premeditated murder than self-defense. And unlike us, we’d be ending him forever. I still couldn’t shake the sense of wrongness every time I anticipated what we’d have to do.

Why couldn’t there be a super-max prison that could actually keep filthy rich assholes like him for a lifelong sentence instead?

Something bumped my leg and I glanced down to find Griffin nudging my foot. Ms. Tott was busy listing the many noteworthy qualities of Mr. Darcy on the whiteboard up front, so I turned in my seat to really look at him.

He didn’t speak. But his eyes said what he didn’t. Their hazel was bright, his brow furrowed in evident concern for me.

I smiled my reassurance. But it didn’t look like I managed to convince him, probably because I wasn’t actually okay, and the man knew me as well as I knew myself.

My fingers twitched with the need to reach for him. My skin longed for his touch. I’d only gotten to really kiss him that one time in my bed at the institute, and now it felt like every single minute I suffered from the urge to kiss him.

I didn’t realize I was biting my lip until I felt his gaze on my mouth.

I grinned. He grinned back.

Fuck our parents . I was going to have to have at him today after school, hidden away in the forest where the many sets of prying eyes wouldn’t follow.

“Ms. Bryson,” Ms. Tott’s voice suddenly interrupted. “Is there something more interesting going on than what I’m teaching that you’d like to share with the class?”

Practically anything’s more interesting than what she’s been saying, Brady groaned into my mind.

Along with several other students, Zoe swiveled in her seat to look at me, her stare immediately traveling to Hunt.

Every single thing about Griffin was more interesting than this class. My blood simmered just looking at him, feeling him this close. He was so fucking beautiful, everything about him. I wanted the fuck out of him.

But I’d be damned if I’d share any of him with the rest of the students or Ms. Tott.

He was all fucking mine.

His eyes danced with mischief. His mouth tipped up on one side. And he winked at me.

“Ms. Bryson?” Ms. Tott pushed, her tone stern.

Still staring at the man I loved, I answered, “My apologies, Ms. Tott.” I turned to face her. “I got distracted.”

She frowned. “I can plainly see that.”

She can’t blame you for that, Layla said. You and Griff’ve got no choice but to eye-fuck each other since our ‘parents’ are cunts.

I very nearly snort-laughed out loud. With effort, I composed my expression into a respectful smile and told the teacher, “I’ll be paying attention now.”

Yeah, right, Brady said into my mind with a chuckle.

As Ms. Tott finally turned back to the whiteboard, I couldn’t help but wonder if the Rafferty twins and their constant snark would be our undoing. They, at least, never changed.

What remained of class rolled by slowly enough that I checked my cellphone against the classroom clock twice to make sure the school clock hadn’t fallen behind. Ms. Tott mentioned the swoony Mr. Darcy sufficient additional times that Brady was the first to barrel out of the room, desperate to flee.

When the four of us filed out with the rest of the class, we found Brady in the hallway, facing off with Rich. Brady’s arms were coiled at his sides, and he was leaning ever so slightly toward Rich, as if the momentum of his internal ire were pulling them together.

Brade, I told him right away. Remember, we’re supposed to be friendly with the prick this time around.

I don’t care. Look at the twerp. He’s already checking my sister out.

Only, I wasn’t so sure that he was …

I looked from Rich to Layla, then across Hunt, who had Zoe clinging to him like she had four arms and intended to never let go.

Rich craned his neck to see around the mass that was Brady and all his muscles and stared straight at me.

“Hey, foxy Joss-y.”

Students walked by, avoiding our group while also rubbernecking to make sure they didn’t miss any action.

Rich sidestepped Brady and stalked toward me. Suddenly, Griffin was pressed against my side, staring him down.

Rich ignored him, doing nothing to conceal his appreciation as he dragged his gaze up and down my body. “Mmmhmmm.” He wagged his head, running a careful hand across the surface of his gelled hair. “Lookin’ fine as always.”

After a strong reminder that in this timeline he was supposed to be the nice nephew of our dear family friend, Uncle Magnum, I forced my distaste into a smile. “Thanks.” The guy had pestered Layla for years. My fingers kept wanting to curl into fists as I fantasized about punching in that sleazy smile.

In truth, who knew if he’d been a creep to her solely in the latest timeline we remembered? He had denied sending her notes and gifts when I’d confronted him about it, though now that small bit of stalking had somehow become the least of our problems.

Rich openly leered at me as Brady shouldered his way to my other side.

Will the dudes ever stop thinking they need to protect us from the assholes? Layla asked, almost wistfully.

I was too concerned that one of us—maybe even me—was about to knock the guy out and blow our cover.

Steady, guys, Hunt said. Let’s just walk away.

When none of us budged, Hunt added, We can kill him after we kill his uncle.

Sandwiched between Griffin and Brady, the anger rolling off them both was a tangible heat against my limbs.

“Can we help you with something?” Griffin snarled at Rich when his stare began to drag down my body another time.

Rich snapped his eyes up to meet Griffin’s for a quick instant before grinning down at me. Mr. Charm himself waggled his brows.

Dude does not know how to read a room, does he? Layla commented.

“Don’t want anything from the rest of you,” Rich answered Griffin, “but I wouldn’t mind a little help from Joss here.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, injecting danger into my voice. “And what’s that, Rich?” I practically spat out his name.

“Why don’t you come closer and I’ll tell you?”

Griffin growled and stepped between us. His jaw was clenched hard, and from the corner of my eye I saw Hunt disentangling himself from a reluctant Zoe, preparing for the fight that seemed inevitable at this point.

“What?” Rich asked Griffin. “You’ve got no claim on her.”

“Claim on me?” I repeated just to be sure I’d heard him right, treating me like I was some fucking object to be owned.

Rich ignored me to tell Griffin, “You and Joss are just friends.” He paused as if he might know exactly what he was doing, might know we had feelings for each other. “Right?”

“What we are or aren’t is none of your fucking business,” Griffin barked back in a tone that seethed with suppressed violence. If I were Rich, I would have taken a giant step back.

Rich had no such street smarts.

His hungry gaze landed back on me, and I had to wonder if this was part of his role this time around, or if he just enjoyed perving on chicks and any of us would do.

“Whaddya say, Bryson?” he asked. “Wanna help me out with something?”

Then he adjusted himself.

I waited for one of my friends to cry out a warning through our shared bond. To remind us we had to play it cool. We couldn’t beat the asshole to a pulp. We had to keep up the act if we were ever going to break free of Magnum’s hold on us.

But the group chat was silent.

“Do that one more time,” Griffin seethed at Rich, “and I’ll break off your dick and feed it to you.”

Rich barked a laugh that was purposefully loud, drawing even more attention our way. I spotted a similar crew from the Fischer House party heading our way from both sides of the wide hallway. Slater Moore and Duncan Mills headed in from one direction, Pike Pills and John B. from another. And Wade Jones and Reed Carter eyed us warily. Their dads were the sheriff and deputy sheriff.

Noticing his buddies inching closer, Rich laughed again. “You wouldn’t be able to wrap both hands around my dick to get a good grip on it.” Rich eyed me again. “It’s made just to be slick.”

Beside Brady now, Layla crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, sure, Rich. Your dick’s so big it’s round as a fucking hoagie.” She huffed incredulously as she held up both hands, pretending to barely be able to hold said hoagie in the circumference of her fingers. Seen like that, the girth he was implying was laughably absurd. “No wonder you scare all the girls away. You’re just too much man for them.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.

“Watch your mouth, Rafferty,” Rich said.

Instantly, Brady lunged, meaning to wedge himself between Rich and her.

But Layla pushed a hand to her brother’s chest, keeping him at her side. Layla stalked into Rich’s space. “Go find somewhere else to be.”

“I pretty much fucking own this school.”

“Not you, your uncle.”

“Same thing.”

“No, Rich, it’s not the same thing.”

We really will have to kill both of them, Brady said. I just decided. I call dibs on this asshole.

After another glance to either side of the hallway, where he spotted his jock friends among the crowd, near enough to rumble on his behalf, Rich pinned his stare on me as if my friends weren’t even there.

“I’m not talking to any of you. This only concerns Joss.”

“Whatever concerns Joss concerns me,” Griffin said, his voice still deep, like building thunder moments away from booming into existence.

“I’m pretty sure Joss can take care of herself,” Rich insisted.

“Of course I can,” I snapped. “But I’m not interested. Not now, not ever.”

“Aw, come on.” Rich put a “how can you resist this?” look on his face, causing our audience to laugh on cue. “We’d have so much fun.”

“And we’d have fun beating your ugly face in,” Griffin said. “You heard her. Now fuck off.”

I wouldn’t have thought violence did it for me until I heard it from Griffin’s beautiful lips.

Rich got up in Griffin’s face, his buddies moving in. “You don’t tell me to fuck off. I’m gonna tell you to fuck off.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Rich,” Layla grumbled with annoyance. “Just—”

“What’s going on here?” a teacher called out, and the crowd began to scatter.

While Mr. Lauderbeck walked toward us, the football coach’s eyes narrowed at the members of his team. Rich leaned in so that his cologne felt like an assault.

Eyes narrowed to slits, distorting his objectively handsome face into something truly ugly, he hissed at Griffin, “Tonight. At the crossroads. You and me. We’ll settle this then.”

The “crossroads” referenced an old farming route at the edge of town that was never used at nighttime, where locals met up to drag race.

Without hesitation, Griffin responded, “You’re on.”

Rich leaned back a few inches and smiled good-naturedly. “Great. I can wait till then to beat your ass.”

Then, without missing a beat, he spun to offer a blinding smile to the approaching teacher. “What’s up, Mr. Lauderbeck? What do you think of the upcoming game against Mountain Laurel? What are our odds?”

As Rich steered him away, and everyone else dispersed, I exchanged looks with my friends.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan,” Layla said.

“It sounds great to me,” Zoe piped up. I’d forgotten she was there. “I love watching you guys race. Hunt especially.” She paused, seemingly only to moon up at him.

Hunt swallowed a long-suffering sigh, but I didn’t think anyone other than the four of us would notice. Of all of us, he was actually managing to keep it together the best, even with Zoe draping herself all over him every chance she got.

“I’ll be there tonight for sure,” Zoe added.

I smiled tightly. “Great. Can’t fucking wait. Guys, ready to go train?”

“So fucking ready,” Brady snarled.

“Fuck yeah,” Griffin echoed.

Griffin and Brady looked ready to pulverize something Rich-Connely-shaped. And I knew I was ready. After blowing off steam with our new instructors, we were going to need to order new dummies.