Page 136 of Ruthless Reign

Hardin gripped my chin, making me take another two deep, long breaths with him.

“You can’t die, Hawk,” he told me. “And neither can I.”

My brows furrowed.

“Believe it and nothing can hurt you.”

I can’t die.

I’m fucking immortal.

So is he.

So are we all.

He released me just as the sound of doors opening all over the silent university clicked like falling dominoes.

Gut up, bitch.

The rattle of metal on tile had Hardin curling his body around mine, knocking me to the floor.

Deafening blasts exploded into my ears and in all the spaces between Hardin’s limbs there was a white light. Brilliant and blinding. And then the rain of shattered glass on the floor.

I blinked, shaking my head, trying to make my vision clear and my ears stop ringing.

“What was that?” I didn’t realize I was shouting until Hardin’s hand clamped over my mouth and he tucked me in against his body against the back of the desk.

As my mind caught up, I realized it wasn’t an explosion. Not the kind meant to destroy, but the kind meant to disorient.

Flashbangs. So many of them, thrown into the building from every entrance. Had they used up all they brought at once? Or was one of our worst fears just realized? Did they manage to restore their arsenal?

As the ringing cleared, I realized I could hear them. The Sons. They poured into the halls, the echo of their footfalls sounding like a landslide down a mountainside. Getting closer by the second.

It was only another few seconds before the shooting started.

Before the screaming started.

I moved to stand, but Hardin tugged me back down.

“Wait,” he hissed in my ear. “We hold until they’re all inside.”

Right.

I curled both hands around the grip of my gun and breathed, waiting.

In the halls, the insistent pop of gunfire came louder. Faster.

And as the Sons reached the gymnasium, it sounded like an all-out riot.

The Sons still lingering in the halls started to move faster. We listened as they passed the office door, their voices coming clear through the windowless panes.

“Clear the classrooms,” they said. “Sweep the halls.”

The handle of the door to the office turned with a creak and Hardin was up in an instant. I moved with him, like a shadow made of flesh and bone. He fired once, the discharged bullet tearing straight through the skull of the Saint at the door.

The one closest to him turned, whipping his gun around, and I aimed with my heart in my throat and a gasp on my lips, but Hardin’s bullet found him first.

“This way!” an unfamiliar voice called and the running steps that were retreating toward the gymnasium turned around—headed in our direction instead.

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