Chase smiled genuinely for the first time. “There are. And their experiences are just as promising as yours.”
With that, I suspected the rest of my friends were on board. Without exception, we were a bunch of curious fuckers.
We might not be able to be certain about much, but we did know a few things: our parents were most definitely liars—we just didn’t know to what degree. We could likely survive most danger and be no worse off than we currently were. And I wanted to know how far this rabbit hole went with a fervor that kicked any reservations and desire for prudence swiftly in the ass.
“If we were to go with you,” Hunt said, “would we still get to choose whether we stay or not?”
“You would. But I won’t make it easy for you to go.”
Truth.
Hunt looked at each of us. One by one, we nodded. I understood I might regret the decision even as I nodded to accept it. But if there was a better option, I didn’t see it.
Hunt faced Chase. “Fine. But I keep the gun.”
Chase laughed. “Of course. It won’t make a difference.”
Shit. We were so majorly fucked.
6
Not Entrapment, Enticement
The very instant Chase secured our hesitant agreement to check out this sketchy-sounding “special school” of his, his people swarmed into the room to get us ready to roll. Unease pricked along my skin as a nurse attempted to whisk everyone else away so she could prepare me for discharge. No surprise: none of my friends were willing to leave my side. Chase excused himself while Brady, Hunt, and Griffin looked away. The nurse removed the IV line and stripped me of my hospital gown and gauze. I discovered I now sported five angry pink scars the size of nickels across my chest—narrowly missing both my boobs. Fuck Chase hard for that, though at least my girls were safe. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Layla helped me into a set of scrubs that matched theirs. Griffin alone wore street clothes, the sole one of us to not have a single bullet hole marring his beautiful skin.
The five of us crammed together on the long bench seat of Chase’s limousine, leaving the billionaire alone on the equally sizable seat across from us. I barely dared to look away from him, though he was theoretically the one who was vulnerable here. We were the supposed immortals, not him, and although Hunt still carried a gun, Chase ordered Jaggar and Raynar to ride in the matching black Cadillac Escalade that tailed us. The medical staff rode along in another Escalade.
Our convoy resembled the standard bad guy parade in pretty much every movie I’d ever seen. According to Hollywood 101, this scene made Chase a drug lord, mob boss, or worse—the secret big bad who pulled everyone else’s strings, letting them do the dirty work while he raked in the benefits.
“Where are you taking us?” Layla asked.
The windows were tinted but I could still make out the forested outskirts of Ridgemore as we swept past. We were headed in the direction of the Fischer House, which sat at the edge of town.
Chase crossed an ankle over his knee, his charcoal slacks sliding up to reveal a crisp argyle sock that looked as expensive as everything else about him. He tipped his head to one side and studied Layla. “I already told you where we’re going.”
“You told us we’re going to some school. I want to know where said school is located.”
“Yeah,” Brady said, backing up his twin without hesitation now that we had a common enemy.
Chase arched a brow. “It’s in Ridgemore, of course.”
Confusion was pinching my forehead when Griffin asked, “Ridgemore? You said we had to hurry to get out of there so our parents wouldn’t find us before we could learn the truth they wouldn’t tell us.”
“Again, not your parents.” He swirled the crystal tumbler he held casually with the fingertips of one hand, ice clinking softly in amber-colored booze that probably cost more per shot than I could fathom. “And we had to get out oftherebecause it wasn’t fortified. None of them are soldiers, surely, but I don’t underestimate my opponents, especially not when they believe themselves to be well motivated. Since Brady first died, I’ve been preparing for this moment.”
An accusation burned on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to blame him for Brady falling atop that awful rebar, even though it had to have been an accident. There was no way he could have orchestrated Rich and Brady fighting, the balcony collapsing beneath them. It was random, an unpredictable tragedy.
Wasn’t it?
Chase seemed to think his reach was endless …
“Were you responsible for Brady dying that night?” I asked.
The stares of my four best friends whipped to me before narrowing on Chase.
“Well, were you?” Hunt pressed when the man didn’t respond quickly enough.
He sipped at his bourbon or scotch or whatever the fuck, then chuckled. “No, I didn’t do that.”
