Eventually, she smiled and chuffed a laugh, even running a hand through her bangs, currently tinged a pale powder blue. “Better be careful there, Uncle Magnum, or I might feel the need to prove myself and challenge you to a round.”
While Magnum threw his head back to laugh, Layla glared at him like she had laser vision and was trying to burn him up.
Our instructors were observing her. There was no way any of them missed how her look only turned friendly again when the billionaire looked back at her.
Shit.Our instructors were too sharp for us not to be busted. The question was: would they give us up?
When theirs and Magnum’s backs were turned, my friends and I shared a loaded, anxious look. But then everything proceeded more or less as expected.
Yolanda played a berimbau, a stringed percussion instrument commonly used to accompanycapoeira,while Armando kicked our ever-loving asses in his personalized melding of its constant dancing with crazy effective sweeps, strikes, and kicks, some of which I recognized from karate and kung fu, making me wish I were as proficient as he was. Hell, I wished I were as skilled at any martial art as he was. The man, small and light as he was, was an obviousbeastin the ring, on a mat, on the grassy floor of a forest clearing—anywhere. He leapt and twisted and turned so quickly and with such agility that none of us stood a chance against him.
An hour or so later, when training was finally over for the day, my friends and I plopped onto the ground and looked up at our instructors and Magnum, who were speaking together off to the side.
Griffin asked via the group chat.
Brady said.
Hunt added.
I said.
Layla said.
Magnum approached, our teachers a few steps behind him, and I had to coach my body not to react when, boy oh boy, I wanted to launch at him, claws first.
“All right, guys, I have to go. Rich texted saying he wants to borrow the Aston Martin tonight, so I have to get home to talk him out of whatever trouble he’s planning on getting into.”
Griffin chuffed a rasp of a laugh. “Good luck with that.”
Magnum smirked as if we truly were all friends, and we all knew no one was going to be talking Rich out of anything. In a time when I wasn’t certain of much, I’d bet Rich wouldn’t admit to the drag racing. He’d lie through his teeth.
Unless.
Unless of course the drag race was all part of the plan.
And why wouldn’t it be?
Everything about our lives seemed to be planned down to their minutiae—it’s just that we weren’t in on any of it.
After more promises of owed hugs I hoped to fuck we’d never have to deliver, Magnum left the way he came, and our instructors stood around us.
“We’ll see you again here, tomorrow at four,” Homer said. “And soon we’ll start meeting at the institute. Better equipment.”
Tersely, I smiled up at him. The last place I wanted to go was the institute. We’d only just escaped the cursed place.
We said our goodbyes, and when the three of them walked off down the path toward the houses and their cars, Armando was a pace behind them. He flicked a lingering look at us before swallowing markedly enough that I couldn’t miss the action despite the growing distance.
Then the path curved, and the forest swallowed them whole.
“Well, that wasn’t encouraging,” Griffin said.
“Nope,” I replied. “Don’t race tonight.” The plea spilled out of me before I realized it would.
When Griffin looked over at me, his eyes were troubled. “I have to.”
“No. You don’t. Not really.”
“And let Rich win?”
