Ride or Die (Rattlesnake Ranch #1)

Prologue

CLARA

Iopen my eyes, counting every thud of his heavy bootsteps as they fade down the hallway.

Three. Two. One. My heart hammers so loud I almost miss the sound of the front door clicking closed.

Three. Two. One. The silence explodes, disintegrating into chaotically fluttering fragments from the roar of the engine as it rumbles through the darkness.

Three. Two. One. The flash of the single headlight flickers across the bedroom wall, followed by one last angry snarl of the V-twin before it tears off down the street, finally dying into the silent calm of nothingness.

Lying so still, I release the breath I’ve been holding and stare up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast from the streetlight outside as they dance across the stark canvas.

Eleven minutes. I have eleven minutes. Six hundred and sixty seconds.

Throwing off the duvet, I jump out of bed and struggle to lift the corner of the heavy mattress, sliding my hand into the gap and blindly feeling around until my fingers graze the plastic.

I close my eyes on a shuddering exhale. I’d hoped more than anything that it was still here, but I couldn’t be sure.

Tugging it out, I double check the contents of the bag, my shoulders sagging with relief to see that it’s all there.

I drop to my knees and reach under the bed, dragging out the old suitcase and lifting the lid.

Unzipping the inside compartment, I tuck the plastic bag inside and zip it up again before scrambling back to my feet and hurrying to the closet, plucking clothes from hangers I’ve been secretly rearranging over the last few days, strategically placing them closest to the door for easy reach.

Dumping everything into the case, I pull on a pair of leggings and toss a hoodie over my sleepshirt before zipping the suitcase and hoisting it off the floor, dragging it with me out of the room.

Nine minutes. Five hundred and forty seconds.

Outside, the morning air is frosty, too cold for even the most die-hard of the early morning neighborhood dog-walkers.

The ground is wet from last night’s rain, and I ignore the burn as my bare feet hit the freezing pavement.

Unlocking my car, I heft my suitcase off the ground, sliding it into the trunk before hurrying back into the house.

In the kitchen, I grab the trash bags from underneath the sink, the ones I tore off the roll, and left here last night between the dishwashing liquid and the oven cleaner.

I almost sprint down the hallway, pushing open the door and pausing in the doorway when I see Tom sitting up in bed.

His eyes are wide and full of fear and something else, something knowing, something no ten-year-old should have to understand.

“Mom?” he whispers, his small voice shuddering just a touch.

I nod quickly and he throws his covers off and jumps down from the top bunk, his socked feet hitting the floorboards with enough force, Billie stirs in the bed below.

“Mommy?” Billie’s tiny voice croaks through the darkness.

Seven minutes. Four hundred and twenty seconds.

“Hey, baby,” I whisper, rushing toward her, trying so hard to act cool when deep down, I’m anything but. “I need you to get out of bed, okay?”

“But it’s still dark.” Billie rubs her eyes, squinting from the light of the hallway streaming into the bedroom.

“I know, baby,” I say, looking over my shoulder to see Tom grabbing clothes out of the dresser and shoving them into one of the trash bags. Turning back to Billie, I offer her the biggest smile I can manage. “We’re gonna go on an adventure.”

“To the beach?” Her blue eyes light up through the darkness.

“Yeah!” I nod, ignoring the pinch in my chest from the lie. “We’re gonna go to the beach. And we’re gonna have ice cream. And build sandcastles. And play in the waves.”

Billie sits up. “And collect seashells?”

“Yeah, baby.” I nod again, carefully pulling the covers off her small body. “But we gotta hurry, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“What’s Tommy doing?” Billie asks, looking around me.

I glance back to find Tommy stuffing some of Billie’s things into the trash bag and my heart cracks, tears stinging my eyes. He’s only ten, goddammit.

Blinking hard, I turn back to my daughter. “Come on, baby.” I tug on her hand, urging her out of bed. “Grab Morris.”

Billie collects her beloved stuffed dog and I pick her up, holding her close.

“That’s fine, Tommy.” I touch Tom’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Hurry, okay?”

Grabbing one of the over-stuffed trash bags, I carry it and Billie out of the room while Tom stays back to change out of his pajamas.

“Are we going now?” Billie asks incredulously, looking around the house all confused and wide-eyed. “What about breakfast?”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “We’ll get breakfast on the way, sweetie.”

“McDonalds?”

“Whatever you want, baby girl,” I huff, heading for the side door.

“I gotta pee, Mommy.”

Five minutes. Three hundred seconds.

Shit.

“Okay. But we gotta be super quick.” I let Billie down and follow her as she scuffs her way to the bathroom.

Tom passes me in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, a look of steely determination on his face as he drags the trash bag that’s almost as big as he is behind him, making a beeline for the side door.

“Be careful,” I whisper back at him. “It’s slippery out there.”

“Mommy?”

I continue into the bathroom. “What is it, baby?”

“Where’s Daddy?” Billie asks as she sits on the toilet.

“Daddy’s… gonna meet us at the beach,” I lie, pushing my blonde hair back from my face with trembling hands.

At that moment, I glance at myself in the mirror above the sink, and I’m momentarily caught off guard by my reflection staring back at me. What happened to you? I try to avoid mirrors as much as I can because no matter how used to it I am, it’s never not a shock.

I reach up and gently touch the fading bruise that frames my left eye. It no longer hurts, but it’s still there, yellowing around the edges. The finger-shaped marks dotting my neck are new, red and painful to the touch, making my voice hoarse, my words crack.

The flushing toilet pulls me from my reflection and I spin around, moving aside so Billie can wash her hands. When she goes to grab her toothbrush from the jar, I stop her, swooping in and collecting her in my arms again.

“Mommy, I have to brush my teeth,” she says, pulling back and looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. Years of reminding her to brush her baby teeth or else the tooth fairy won’t visit, coming back to haunt me.

Three minutes. Two hundred and forty seconds.

“We can brush our teeth after we eat some breakfast, honey,” I say on a rushed breath, hurrying back down the hallway.

“But how will I brush my teeth without my toothbrush?”

Smartest damn five-year-old I know, I swear to God.

Ignoring Billie’s question, I grab her coat from the hook by the side door and walk out of the house, finding Tom loading the bags into the back of the car.

The sun is starting to make its appearance, illuminating the layer of cloud that covers the sky, birds coming to life through the light of dawn.

“It’s cold,” Billie whines, nestling closer to me.

“I know, baby.” I cover her with her coat.

Tom opens the back door for me, and I help Billie into her booster seat, securing her carefully while he makes his way around the front, climbing up into the passenger side.

I’m breathless by the time I make it behind the wheel, heart slamming hard against my sternum, hands shaking like leaves in an autumn breeze as I slide the key into the ignition. But when I turn it, the damn thing won’t kick over.

“Come on!” I hiss under my breath, turning the key again.

The engine tries, but fails.

I check the time on the dash.

One minute. Sixty seconds.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep, steadying breath.

Please.

I don’t believe in God. I gave up on her a long time ago.

But there’s got to be something. Something, somewhere out there.

Because in forty-five seconds, he’ll pull up to work.

And the first thing he’ll do is check the cameras.

And if he finds me here, trying to leave, I won’t survive.

And I need to survive. For my babies, I need to survive. I’m all they’ve got.

Please.

Opening my eyes, I turn the key again, holding my breath as the engine tries and tries, and tries before finally kicking over, the steady rumble of the motor like music to my ears.

“Thank you,” I murmur under a breath to whatever God may or may not be listening.

I ease the car down the driveway, pulling out onto the street, a weight lifting off my shoulders the farther we drive away from the house.

“Morris!”

Startled by Billie’s shriek, I’m torn from my momentary relief, looking at her in the rear vision mirror to find her searching the back seat frantically, her cheeks turning red the more panicked she becomes.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Her eyes fill with tears, her bottom lip wobbling and then, meeting my gaze in the mirror she sobs, choking out, “I left Morris in the bathroom!”

I look around for what, I don’t even know. We can’t go back. Not now. We can’t ever go back there.

“It’s okay, Bil. Morris’ll be fine,” Tom says, turning as best as he can and reaching out his hand to console his little sister. “Besides… We’ll be back home in a few days,” he lies, and I feel his gaze slide to me.

My teeth clench together, molars grinding as I stare at the road in front of me, unable to say a thing because I’m scared if I try to talk, I’ll burst into tears of my own and that’s not going to help anyone.

Billie sniffles again, and I look in the mirror to find her wiping tears from her cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve, and seeing her so heartbroken while trying her hardest not to cry as her brother comforts her, causes fresh tears to prick my eyes.

Tom sits forward then, staring straight ahead.

I try to swallow around the lump that’s wedged itself in the back of my throat, but it’s thick and painful, and it’s making it almost impossible to catch a breath.

Reaching across the center console, I give his arm a squeeze to both thank and reassure him, despite having no plan whatsoever.

“Where are we going?” he asks quietly.

I grip the steering wheel so tight my fingers ache, glancing up at the sign that hangs over the road, directing the way to the interstate on-ramp.

“As far away from here as we can get,” I whisper back to him as I flick on the blinker.