Page 67 of Ly to Me (Devils of Alliston Springs #1)

Carver

The Hunt

M any cans later, Lyra finally hit the edge of one. I assured her, just like The Sanctuary and her horse, she could come out and practice whenever she pleased, although she’d have to warn me so I could make sure no one drove anywhere near where she was.

As night came, Grant and I slowed down on the drinking, letting the girls have their fun.

Lyra’s skepticism peaked when I brought out the rolling tray and kissed her forehead, but when I told her Grant and I were going hunting for a bit, her tipsy shoulders raised and fell with ease.

Soon enough, they’d be asleep with the boxes of pizza and Chinese food they insisted they needed spread out on the floor between them.

I had Hayes wait by his truck, not wanting Lyra to get it in her head that we were up to no good, because she’d be right—we were about to fuck up Jamie within an inch of his life.

The chains I’d used on her the night before were coiled by the foot of the stairs, and when we stepped outside, I grabbed them and draped them over my shoulders.

“This can’t take all night,” Hayes said, leaning against the hood of his muddy truck.

“What else you got goin’ on in your life where you can’t spend all night beatin’ up a piece of shit?” Grant hollered back as he went to his truck and pulled out a bat from the backseat.

Hayes’ reaction was minimal as he replied, “Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

“You got the same race coming up as Tallulah?” Grant asked.

Hayes smirked. “Sure do.” His chin jutted toward me. “Address?”

“Already sent.”

“Yeah, maybe if you put your bike down and checked your phone more often, you’d’ve seen it,” Grant muttered.

“Been quite busy lately,” Hayes shot back as Grant and I hopped into the bed of his truck.

“Well, aren't we lucky you had some free-time,” Grant said sarcastically as he tapped on the top of Hayes' truck. Hayes' response was to get into the driver's seat and peel out of my driveway, sending Grant on his ass.

Grant narrowed his eyes at me. “Stop laughin’, asshole.”

I pointed at him. “You deserved that one. You know it.”

The night was humid, thick with the promise of a late night rain storm as we drove through the outer edge of town. Barely any porch lights were left on in the older, more run-down streets. Had Jamie’s truck not been parked in the driveway, I’d be sure Leo had made a mistake.

Exiting the truck, I tilted my head between Hayes and the back gate, signaling for him to go around the back, then gestured for Grant to follow beside me to take the front.

With a baseball bat over Grant’s shoulder, I tested the front door—locked.

I cupped my hands and peered inside the home—pitch-black.

Without missing a beat, Grant looked over his shoulder, then swung his bat through the front window. Glass rained down around us, littering the floor inside.

“Real fucking subtle,” I said as Grant punched out the rest of the glass with his bat.

“What? Shit like this happens all the time in this neighborhood. Cops don’t even bother comin’ by here anymore.”

I followed behind Grant, sliding the chains from my neck and wrapping the end around my fist while the rest dragged behind me along the tiled floor. Hayes stood by the back door, his crowbar pointed toward the couch.

Jamie was still sleeping, passed out holding a beer bottle that barely touched the floor. The three of us lined up and stared down at him. Hayes tapped Jamie’s foot with the crowbar, startling the bastard awake.

“What the—” His eyes shot between the three of us, fear filling each feature. I wanted to see more of that tonight. He made to sit up, but Grant’s bat jutted into the space, barring him from moving.

“Uh-uh.” Grant tutted, sending Jamie back.

His eyes grew wide as he stared at my chains.

“This place is a shit-hole, Jamie. Even for you.” I cocked my head, wrapping the chains once more around my fist.

“What do you want?”

“Your hands,” I answered.

“M-my hands?”

“You touched my wife and stole from my facility. So, yes. What do you think? Fair trade?”

“Sounds pretty fucking fair to me,” Grant tossed in, bouncing the end of his bat on his open palm.

“I never stole a damn thing!” Jamie shouted.

I brought the video Leo had sent me hours before up on my phone. Hitting play, Jamie’s eyes grew wider.

“That isn’t me,” Jamie said instantly, not even glancing at the phone. He knew what was on it and knew exactly what he’d done.

“No?” I turned the phone to Grant. “That look like that fucker on the couch there to you?”

Grant smirked. “Sure does.”

“I-It isn’t what it looks like,” Jamie countered, trying a new angle. Nothing was going to save him, though. “I was j-just—”

“Save your breath. You’ve been outed by more than just camera feeds.” And those camera feeds showed him stealing, not that I needed proof of it. Lyra’s words had been enough.

“I swear, I—”

“Hayes.” I jutted my chin. “Hands.”

Hayes stepped forward with a twisted grin, forcing Jamie to cower deeper into the couch.

“I’ll go! I’ll even sign the papers your lawyer sent, giving you the company, I swear. Just leave me the fuck alone!”

I tsked. “Pretty sure I told you to do the same for my wife, and you ignored me.”

Hayes shuffled closer.

“Please! I swear, I-I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“Now,” I corrected. “You will leave now and if I catch you around these parts ever again, you won’t have only me to worry about. Think these boys here want you to pay for all the trouble you’re tryin’ to start just as well as I do.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing to them,” Jamie spat.

“You hurt my wife. Stole from me. Tried to weasel your way out of a bet you lost. Someone like that will only get worse. What happens when you decide you want what they have?”

Hayes scowled, gripping his crowbar tighter.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed on his clenching fists. “I wouldn’t—”

“You keep sayin’ that.” I leaned down, rubbing the back of my chain-covered knuckles over the wetness on his cheeks as I chuckled. “But we don’t believe you.” He whimpered right before I reared back and slammed the same fist into his cheek.

Blood spat from Jamie’s mouth near Grant’s boot. Grant’s knuckles turned white on the bat, and with a single nod from yours truly, he swung it into Jamie's chest, forcing him flat on the couch. As Hayes raised his crowbar, Jamie lifted his hand. “Stop! Stop! Please!”

“Beg,” I ordered. “And maybe I’ll give you a ten second head start.”

“Fucking shit, Carver. You know I won’t do it anymore!”

“Ten, nine, eight,” I started counting as Hayes slung the crowbar over his shoulders, resting his wrists over the metal, looking more unhinged than the friend on my left who had murder on his record.

An excellent choice in asking both to come, if you ask me.

“Seven, six,” Grant continued.

Jamie scrambled to his feet while Hayes picked up the count.

The front door slammed shut, and by the time he hit one, a truck’s engine roared to life.

We strode outside and watched Jamie’s nerves get the better of him, his truck going in and out of gear as the tires spun in place.

Hayes stepped up and swung his crowbar over the headlights, while Grant dented the hood with his bat.

None of us seemed to care about discretion anymore in the desolate streets.

Jamie slammed his hands into his wheel as I stepped up and swung the chain at my side, cocking my brow.

Waiting.

And waiting.

But two seconds of waiting was long enough. My chains busted through his front window, and he shouted as he finally found the right gear and ripped it from the driveway.

Hayes spat on the ground and came to my side as Grant ran down the driveway, watching the show continue. “Never told me what he did.”

His jaw was tight, and I knew my comment about Jamie coming for what they cared about had gotten to him. Grant may have needed a motive, but Hayes? He was down for anything. I settled the chains back over my shoulder. “Would it have mattered?” I asked, arching my brow.

“No.” The crowbar settled back over his shoulder. “Anyone else?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”