The attacker in the fox mask behind me is yanked back with a grunt, and I can see that the boys have finally caught up to me.
“Drive,” the bleeding man commands, shoving me out of the way and heading for the door. But if he thought I’d be easy to subdue, he’s wrong. I’m not a superhero, but I’m a little scrappy. Shit, I really should’ve been Scrappy-Doo for Halloween, huh?
I leap onto the man’s back as he tries to close the door, knocking him to the floor as the limo’s tires squeal across the pavement and it starts to take off.
There’s a person right there, though, just outside the door. On a whim, I fling my hand out, praying it’s one of the guys and not one of the Fellowship assholes. My fingers curl around Tobias’ and he yanks me out just as the limo really gets some speed going and disappears up the hill.
Two of my three attackers are fleeing in the opposite direction, the third lagging just slightly behind. Spencer grabs onto the back of the guy's hoodie, but the fabric slips through his fingers and the asshole takes off running.
“Ranger!” he shouts, and then there he is, bursting from the front entrance and slamming full force into the guy. The two of them go tumbling across the sidewalk and into the cobblestone street, coming to a stop with Ranger on top. He doesn't hesitate either, throwing a punch into the side of the man’s head that makes a cracking sound. I can hear it, even from all the way over here.
Damn.
My friends are as ruthless as my enemies, aren't they?
Ranger doesn't stop punching the guy until he goes still.
“Alright, that's enough,” the twins say, pulling their friend off while Church puts a hand on the side of my face.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod before he turns away and heads over to the downed man, bending low near the guy's face as Spencer grabs me by the hand. I curl my fingers through his and we make our way over.
When the mask comes off, I find myself … slightly less shocked than I should be.
“Hello Mark,” Church says, and the way those words come out of his mouth … I’d be scared if I were Mark fucking Grandam.“Get the hell off of me!” Mark shouts, but we’re not at Adamson right now, and there is no headmaster to save him. There will, however, be plenty of onlookers if we don’t wrap this up quick. It’s a quiet, drizzly day, but this isn’t exactly a ghost town.
“Get off of you?” Ranger asks, his voice this cloud of darkness that makes me shiver. “You just attacked our girlfriend, and you want me to get the hell off of you?”
“It was a practical joke,” Mark sneers, as if he’s got the moral high ground here. I remember that day we went into his room to check the ceiling; he told me, quite easily I might add, that Eugene was in Cancun. But if he’s involved in the cult then surely, he knew his best friend was dead. Yet the lie came that easily to him, like it meant nothing. “You have no right to keep me here. I’ll start screaming, man.”
“Why are you in London, chasing after Charlotte, Mr. Grandam?” Church asks, circling around the pair with murder in his eyes. He’s smart enough not to mention the cult. Because if we do, then they’ll know that we’re aware of their existence. Part of me feels relieved, like maybe I’m seeing the end of this nightmare. What are you planning on doing with Mark though? Killing him? Tying him up and throwing him into a basement until we can get the rest of this mystery sorted out?
I realize than that we haven’t accomplished anything here—except, you know, for stopping my kidnapping.
“I said get off of me!” Mark screams, just as a pair of schoolgirls comes around the corner, pausing as they see the scene in front of them. To be fair, Mark is bleeding from the head, and Ranger is lording over him like he might very well strangle him to death.
Seeing no choice in the matter, Ranger stands up with a scowl, gritting his teeth hard as he curls his hands into fists.
“We knew you were guilty,” the twins say together, standing on either side of me and Spencer, ready to move in if needed. They exchange a look and then nod, turning back to point at Mark. “You killed Eugene.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mark asks, stumbling over to the sidewalk and swiping blood from his lip. He pulls out his phone and dials a number, putting it to his ear as it rings and watching us warily.
We’ve literally caught him red-handed and there’s nothing we can do about it right now.
