Page 82 of Hide and Seek
“ID, now!” he barks and points his rifle right at my chest.
I freeze again as my mind goes utterly blank. The world around me fades in and out as I’m hit with a slew of memories that play in my mind like a highlights reel of one of the worst days of my life.
The guard says something, but I’m too out of it to do more than gape at him like a moron.
“What the fuck!” someone exclaims and jumps in front of me.
“Get out of the way!” the guard yells and waves his rifle in a shooing motion.
He abruptly stops when a taller man rushes into my field of vision and puts himself between the guard and the guy who stepped in front of me, blocking both of us from the guard and his gun.
That shakes me out of my stupor, and I blink a few times as I’m brought back to reality and the flow of memories stops.
Time seems to slow down as the man looks over his shoulder at the first guy like he’s checking to make sure he’s okay, and I almost choke on nothing when I see his face.
Holy shit. Is that Killian Hawthorne?
The Hawthornes are one of the most powerful families around and are considered Silvercrest royalty, and that’s saying something when dozens of students are literally descended from the aristocracy and royal families of old on campus.
They’re also one of the founding families of the Rebels, and they’re known for being ruthless and willing to do whatever it takes to protect their family, their businesses, and their frat.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around Killian being involved in this at all when a flash of movement next to the guard catches my attention, and I stupidly lean around Killian and the other guy who stepped in front of me so I can see what’s happening. This time I do choke on nothing when one of the Hawthorne twins appears at the guard’s side like he materialized out of thin air.
The guard swings his gaze, and his rifle, toward him, but he disarms the guard with a lightning-fast move, leaving the guard empty-handed and him holding the weapon.
The guard splutters something unintelligible and reaches for his sidearm.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the other Hawthorne twin says, his tone and posture unbothered as he saunters over to stand next to his brother.
The guard pauses, his hand hovering over the butt of his sidearm.
The twin who disarmed him does something to the rifle, his hands moving so fast they almost look like a blur as several loud clicks ring out and the magazine slips free of the magazine well. He catches it like he’s done this kind of thing a thousand times, and without taking his eyes off the guard, he tosses the magazine to his brother, who snatches it out of the air in a fluid move.
As casual as can be, he yanks on a lever or something on the back of the gun, and a round flies out of the chamber and falls to the ground about five feet away from them. He pulls on the lever a few more times, clicks a button or something, then extends the rifle back to the guard.
He looks between the rifle and the twin holding it and reaches for his sidearm again.
“I’d think twice about doing that,” the twin who disarmed him says in a calm voice. “Unless you want to see what happens to assholes who pull weapons on unarmed students. If that’syour aim, then go ahead, but you’d better make sure your draw is faster than anything we can do to you.”
“I can have you all arrested,” the guard says, his voice high and shrill as his eyes dart wildly around the group. “You’re interfering in house business.”
“You look like you can identify different brands of pepper spray by their taste,” the other twin says conversationally as he pops the bullets out of the rifle’s magazine one by one and collects them in his open palm. “But then again, I’m sure I’d have a giant chip on my shoulder and take my insecurities out on unarmed students too if I could fuck a Cheerio without breaking it.”
The guard glances at the gate, and it’s then I notice three other guards standing in front of it, gaping at the scene in front of them. I also notice how none of them are carrying rifles or have their hands anywhere near their sidearms.
I return my gaze to the group surrounding me, more of my fear melting away now that it doesn’t look like a shootout is imminent.
The twin holding the rifle pushes it against the guard’s chest, and he finally takes it from him with wide, terrified eyes.
“Now how about you and your friends get the fuck out of here before you piss us off,” the twin who disarmed him says in that same low and eerily calm voice. “And trust me when I say you don’t want to piss us off.”
“You really don’t,” his brother says and pops the final bullet out of the magazine. “Not unless youwantto have your balls separated from the rest of your body, of course. Your call, bro.”
The guard looks between the twins, then takes off toward the gate, still clutching his unloaded rifle against his chest like a shield and disappears inside the guard hut. The other guards follow him, and the door slams closed so hard the whole structure shakes.
“Well, that was fun,” the twin with the magazine says and tosses it at the hut. It bounces off the door and clatters to the ground in front of it. “He forgot his bullets,” he says to his brother.
“He did,” the other twin says, but his gaze isn’t on his brother. It’s on me.
