Page 36 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

“All right, I’ll admit it was not my best moment,” he drawls. Dom and I close in as Sean starts to back away, palms up. “But think about it, what’s the use of having a getaway car if it isn’t used to get away with shit?”

* * *

The Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage” blares through the whipping air in the cabin of the Ranger between the three of us as I floor the gas, rocketing us over the hills surrounding the orchard. Sean roars with a mix of laughter and words of encouragement from where he sits behind me.

Even Dom—who’s riding passenger—is failing to bite away his grin as he keeps a tight grip on the bars while I barrel us around the steep hills.

After pushing the Ranger to its limits, I steer us in the direction of the faint trail’s entrance, which is heavily canopied by dark green, low-hanging branches.

As I slow, bright rays peek through the gaps in the hovering trees, the air cooling dramatically beneath their cover while shielding us from the last of the fading season’s sun.

The further we travel along the path, the more it starts to feel like we’re not headed toward any destination but back in time.

It’s memories of exploring with Barrett when we were kids that keep the land familiar and easy to navigate.

Some of the mysteries of the generations-old acres revealing themselves as we go.

Especially when an ancient, partially dilapidated house comes into view, perched on some cliff rock to our right. An eroded fuel tank sitting next to it.

“Holy shit, brother,” Sean spouts in intrigue. “How old is that house?”

We all scrutinize the wood-constructed shack as I slow to a stop. “A hundred years easily, maybe more.”

Dom cocks his head next to me, peering up at the house from where we’re parked. The interior facing the path clearly visible after decades of exposure and erosion. An antique bed frame and mattress are easily seen from our vantage point, as well as other outdated furnishings.

“Early 1900s,” Dom deduces.

“Agreed,” I add, eyeballing the protruding frame of the vintage brass bed.

“Let’s check it out,” Sean says, hopping off the Ranger.

“Fuck no, man, it’s too dangerous,” I object in a warning that Sean completely ignores.

“I’ve got this,” he says, hauling himself up the rocky terrain as easily as the Ranger would before making himself at home in the remains of the house.

In a matter of seconds, Sean’s pilfering through the contents as Dom and I exit, propping ourselves against the side of the Ranger, already on edge.

“Careful, dumbass,” I shout as Sean rummages around the house like a bull in a china shop. “That damned thing could collapse any minute, and I don’t fucking like you enough right now to go in after you.”

Sean pops his head up before peering between us. “How many times do I have to apologize?”

“For fucking the sheriff’s daughter and catching both the attention and wrath of the Triple Falls police force?” I snap. “We’re letting Tobias decide.”

Sean visibly jerks back at this, which would be comical if we weren’t still pissed. “You ratted me out?”

“Fuck that noise, you fucked up,” Dom clues him in unapologetically. “If Tyler hadn’t told him, I fucking would have.”

“It was stupid and blatant, and you deserve whatever is fucking coming,” I grit out.

“I’m not afraid of Tobias,” Sean spouts with shit conviction.

“No?” I ask, shooting him a menacing smile. “I guess we’ll see about that.”

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’t want to do this without 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 I had , 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, and thieves.” 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’ll be digging them remains subjective. ”

“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.”

“The fuck,” Sean rasps out, his eyes frantically scanning my face for any sign of a bluff as I make sure he finds none. “Get the fucking gun out of my face.”

“Make me,” I taunt.

“You’ve made your fucking point,” Sean hisses in a tone I’ve never heard. One that reeks of calm before the storm. I can hear the intrigue in Dom’s voice as he recognizes it and speaks up, his comment for me.

“Goddamn, brother. I think you better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

“Nah,” I counter, “this clown poses no threat to anyone, and it’s getting fucking embarrassing. Tell me, clown , what kind of gun is this?”

“It’s a Glock,” Sean spits, face reddening with fury.

“No points for the obvious, Roberts. What caliber?” I grit out, letting my own anger through. “How many rounds fit in the clip? Is the safety on? Is there one in the chamber? Where should I position my finger when I’m not using it?”