Page 1 of Ride or Die

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. Tuggingit 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 goingnow?” 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.”