Chapter 23 Don’t Bring a Knife to a Gunfight
Don’t Bring a Knife to a Gunfight
Magnum’s fancy institute—whatever the hell he might be calling it in this current iteration—was carefully concealed from view of the street.
No sign indicated the turn, and the towering entrance gate didn’t loom, grand and formidable, until beyond the first swooping bend in the drive, perhaps half a mile from the city road.
Dotted with dense brush and old-growth trees, Ridgemore’s lush foliage provided the perfect cover.
Magnum also had cameras everywhere—he must—monitoring the vast chunk of land that housed the institute, ensuring nothing happened outside of his control.
And we couldn’t forget his zealous band of ready guards and shooters, all with eager trigger fingers, twitchy with their need to obey his every unhinged command.
My crew and I had been ready for much of the previous hour. But we’d only just arrived, not wanting to ruin our element of surprise—if we even still had it.
We didn’t know how far along the road the cameras watched, nor what other kind of alert systems Magnum might have in place.
At the very least we were in danger of a vigilant busybody cruising by, spotting us along the road where we weren’t expected, and tattling about our presence for Brownie points.
Parked fifty feet from the unmarked turn to the institute, I sat in the passenger seat of Clyde with Griffin at the wheel and Bobo on the back bench seat.
Bonnie was parked directly behind us. Brady was driving, with Hunt up front and Layla in the back.
With the Mustangs’ bumpers almost kissing, we were plenty close enough to use our telepathic link across cars.
We’d debated whether or not to bring our cell phones since they were tracked, and we didn’t have anyone trustworthy to call anyway.
In the end, though we’d scoured our cars for anything amiss like trackers or explosives and found none, the Mustangs were still probably being tracked regardless—shit, we might have our own satellite at this point, thanks to psycho Magnum and his endless resources; and our phones were just one more tool with potential to help us out of a bind.
After the doomed Raven’s Lagoon outing, when we’d desperately needed to call the paramedics and didn’t have our phones, we’d learned our lesson.
The cells were off but in the cars with us.
Also in the vehicles was a pile of ambitious weapons. We’d ransacked my lie-rents’ kitchen and garage, and then the treehouse. If it was pointy and stabby, or sharp and slicy, or hard and blunt enough to cause real damage, we’d brought it along. We had
a chef’s knife set, several jackknives and hunting blades, including the one that killed a Magnum, even a fully-charged, battery-
operated saw and nail gun. We had nunchucks—a recent acquisition since we began working with the trio of ninja trainers—staffs, and wooden practice katanas. Sadly, we had no real swords, but the wooden ones could still knock someone out if we landed the blow just right.
Of course, if we weren’t up against a minibattalion of professional mercenaries, killers by nature, our odds would look much better.
We didn’t have guns, though the paramilitary dudes most certainly would.
We also didn’t have tactical batons or Tasers.
We didn’t have armored vests or helmets, not even a foolproof plan.
We did, however, have immortality on our side. That was going to have to make up for every other disadvantage. The only other alternative was failure, and we weren’t going there. Not now, and not when the fighting began.
Layla said while we waited for the ’rents to arrive.
The two hours we’d given them would be up in ten minutes.
Brady said, but he sounded distracted, as if he, just like me, couldn’t quite stop thinking about what kind of crazy situation we might be about to charge into—and how many of us would survive it, without at least one resurrection.
Layla said bitterly.
I said with a glance at Griffin and then Bobo.
I’d already made sure Bobo was set with a pee break and water.
Griffin was bouncing the leg closest to his door without ceasing. A hand roved up and down my thigh, then to tap on the steering wheel, then back to my thigh, my knee.
Hunt said.
The designated time at midmorning came and went … and no lying, scheming, traitorous lie-rents had shown.
Not even one.
Layla asked, her disappointment loud despite how softly she muttered her question into our shared bond.
Brady said.
Hunt said.
Griffin said with a glance at me. His gaze lingered, heating my skin.
I said.
Griffin’s stare was still on me. He smiled.
I didn’t.
I fucking didn’t.
But I didn’t dare say it.
I said instead, and maybe that was just as bad of an admission.
Brady said with feigned enthusiasm. His pep was fizzling fast.
Griffin said.
His eyes blazed with emotions I hesitated to name.
He swallowed twice before eventually adding,
His eyes seemed to vibrate as they continued to bore into mine.
Brady said.
Layla said with an affected accent,
Griffin muttered.
Griffin turned over Clyde; the Mustang rumbled to life, vibrating like a fine-tuned muscle car should. Moments later, Bonnie purred behind us.
I said.
Hunt asked.
Brady said.
Layla snorted.
Hunt said. I could feel his frown from a car over.
Layla said.
None of this was news. We’d talked it all over already. It wasn’t like there was all that much to talk about when we were flying in on a prayer—and had hoped to have a little helpful intel from the lie-rents.
Griffin squeezed my knee and offered me a reassuring smile that was so beautiful, I latched on to it hard. It would get me through.
he said to all of us while staring deep into my eyes.
My saucy grin at a time like this surprised me.
His voice, a sexy rasp, I latched on to as well.
Layla first gagged then whined into our link, undisturbed by her contradictory reactions.
I offered her.
An empty distraction. It was what I had.
Layla said, trying to sound like Barry White.
She laughed; it sounded strained.
Brady said flatly.
Layla asked hopefully.
Brady started.
I couldn’t help but fret on the old adage, Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.
Seemed like sound advice.
Still looking at me, Griffin said,
Then he mouthed, I love you.
As my smile bloomed, just for him, he told the others, too,
Layla said.
Brady chimed in.
said Hunt.
Which all left me sniffling and blurry-eyed.
Griffin said.
the rest of them chorused.
Then Griffin pulled out onto the road, with Bonnie lining up right behind us.
A breath before we reached the unmarked turn toward the institute, a horn tooted several quick, soft taps behind us.
I swiveled in my seat.
I breathed.
Layla said.
It was the fucking liars indeed.
They were driving an armored freaking truck.