Page 83 of Severed Heart

His fuckup could cost him his wings, and he’s not taking it seriously enough. Dom seems to read my thoughts as he speaks up, his words for me.

“He’s got the attention span of a gnat lately,” Dom quips as a crash echoes back to us. Dom and I both tense, and I curse him in a heartbeat before Sean pops back into view with, “all good!”

“Motherfucker!” I bellow, relaxing slightly. “Seriously, brother, are you purposely trying to piss us off? Get the fuck out of there.”

“Sorry, man, sorry. Jesus, you could use a little Lacey yourself,” his rebuttal one of a petulant child speaking to an out-of-touch parent.

“He’ll get bored soon enough,” Dom cuts in, gauging exactly where my temper is while eyeing the duffle bag I loaded onto the Ranger. “So, what’s with the impromptu field trip?”

“Because Sean’s got the attention span of a fucking gnat”—I parrot his words—“and lately the sense of one. T might very well clip his wings.”

“I know, and he would deserve it ... but fuck, I don’twant to do thiswithout him.” He shoots me a look full of rare vulnerability.

“Same. Let me handle this,” I tell him, and he gives me an easy nod, seemingly lost on how to remedy this. Unlike the two of us, Sean doesn’t withdraw or brood much when shit gets tough. He just becomes fucking reckless. A habit we have to curb—if not cure him of—before we can go any further.

“Come on, idiot,” Dom shouts with a bite, “I’m not digging you out of that shit if the roof collapses.”

“Yes, you will,” Sean spouts confidently, further convincing me that we did the right thing telling T.

“Holy shit, found something,” he says, popping up, a leather-bound book in hand as he glides down the steep, jagged terrain with ease. The three of us stand perched against the Ranger, collectively scrutinizing the scribblings after Sean opens the book.

“It’s nothing but a list of bank names,” Sean says, looking at me. “Who owned this place?”

“Don’t know,” I tell him, and he drops his eyes back to the book so as not to press it, knowing that my dad’s the historian of the family—one I no longer speak to. The last time was my graduation day months ago, a call he made from rehab apologizing for not being there to witness his only son walk. The conversation had been strained, and I all but tossed the cell phone back to Mom to free myself of it. Not even a month later, Carter flung himself off the wagon and back to the starting line—this time in rehab for a ninety-day stint. I haven’t visited once and dread the day he’s released despite my mission. I’m still heavily dedicated to investigating the military for myself. But for the dad Ihad, who now feels indefinitely lost to me.

“Bank robbers?” Sean asks between us. “Has to be. Who writes a list of nothing but bank names? Look, maybe these are the dates they planned to hit?”

“Or maybe it’s a ledger of deposit dates, Nancy Drew,” I quip with an eye roll.

“Not so far-fetched.” Dom scans the dilapidated house. “Have to admit, it’s the perfect place to hide out.”

“It’d be ironic, huh”—Sean grins, nudging me—“if you came from a bloodline of farmers, Marines,andthieves.” He glances back down at the book and stills. “Shit... no fucking way.”

Dom and I frown as he lifts a heavily weathered page, his finger hooked on the top of the book next to some scribbled initials. “Tell me I’m full of shit but is that not a B and a C?”

Dom scrutinizes it. “Has to be a coincidence.”

“I highly doubt this was a hideout of Bonnie and Clyde, bro,” I agree.

“Well, I’m keeping it,” Sean declares, tossing the leather-bound book into the Ranger. All three of us silently peer at the house for a few moments, no doubt curious as to what life was lived inside the shack, before loading up. I steer us out for a few more minutes onto the path before pulling to a stop.

Pulling out my cell phone, I managed to get enough signal and fire off a quick text, seeing the one I sent Delphine weeks ago has still gone unanswered. Ignoring the sting it brings, I jump off the Ranger and grab the duffle as Sean and Dom scan the land.

“What is this place?” Sean asks, glancing around. “Are we sparking one up here or—” His question is cut short as he turns to me, where I hold the barrel of my Glock an inch at most from his nose. His eyes widen before he stumbles back a few steps. I press in, closing the space as Sean continually shuffles away from me, his footing unstable, hands fruitlessly palming the air for leverage that isn’t there, his sun-tinted skin rapidly paling. “The fuck, Tyler?”

“Disarm me,” I challenge.

“What?” he croaks.

“You’re already fucking dead,” I snap, feeling Dom’s heavy stare on me due to my extremes. Taking his silence as trust, I advance on Sean, cornering him with the gun alone as he continues to stare at the barrel, transfixed.

“What’s wrong, Sean? Never had a gun pointed at you?” He swallows and, to his credit, doesn’t look over to Dom.

“You’re right,” I say, “this land holds a lot of secrets, and I’m pretty sure there’s some unmarked graves around here somewhere. Bound to be more at some point.Who’llbe digging them remainssubjective.”

“Tyler.” Sean looks just above the barrel now, as if he’s never seen me before, but I hold the gun steady, though his expression pains me.

“See, we can go around talking shit, making plans, saying we’re going to do this and that, but I’m afraid the few months of karate class you took only a handful of years after your foreskin was snipped isn’t going to cut it.”