Page 43 of Theirs to Hunt (Girls Like Us #1)

Chapter forty-three

Grayson answered first. “Devon.”

Devon’s voice came cool and even. “Bobbie is safe. Took a sleeping pill. How about Reagan, is she asleep?”

Grayson glanced toward the hallway. “She is. Brooks?”

“On,” Brooks said, voice gritty from adrenaline and no sleep.

Silence. The line wasn’t empty, just loaded with unspoken anticipation.

Brooks broke it. “Tell me again what he did. Every detail. I want to picture it.”

Grayson didn’t hesitate.“Grabbed her from behind. Hand down her dress. Exposed himself. Grinding into her.”

Devon’s voice was flat. “She froze. Reagan didn’t. Taser. Boot to the face. Left him seeing stars. Could’ve left him brain-damaged.”

“Shame she didn’t,” Brooks said, low.

“I assume you had eyes on?” Grayson asked.

“Three angles. Facial ID hit thirty seconds after. He’s local. Contract security downtown. I could get him fired, but that’s not enough.”

“You want him disappeared?” Brooks asked.

“No. Not yet.”

Grayson understood. “You want to make it a message.”

A slow smile crept into Devon’s tone. “Exactly. Gator farm’s got a new intake policy. Swamp levels are low. Owner’s a fan of favors.”

Brooks didn’t miss a beat. “You feeding him to gators?”

“No,” Devon said. “Not the whole thing. That’s mercy. I want him to think it’s coming. Make him sweat. Make him beg. Let him see the gators first.”

“And then?” Grayson asked.

Brooks answered. “Then we take something from him. Something he won’t get back. Thumb, maybe. Hand.”

Devon was calm. Almost casual. “The same thing he touched Bobbie with. His dick.”

Brooks didn’t bat an eye. “Copy that.”

“Make it messy, but controlled,” Grayson said. “No bodies. No cops. We send a message, not a headline.”

“Already planned,” Devon replied. “Two boys take him off the grid before sunrise. Backwater spot by St. Bernard Parish. Chain of custody ends there.”

“What about Reagan?” Brooks asked.

Grayson’s voice turned to stone. “She doesn’t find out.”

Devon didn’t argue. “She’ll know something.”

“She doesn’t need to know. She did her part. Our job is to make sure he never breathes in her direction again.”

Brooks hesitated. “She’s going to ask.”

“Then you lie better,” Devon said flatly.

Grayson let silence stretch before he spoke. “Let’s be clear. That man didn’t just touch Bobbie. He put his hands on ours. This isn’t punishment. This is policy.”

Devon’s quiet approval was unmistakable. “Now you’re speaking my language. ”

“When?” Brooks asked.

“Truck leaves in fifteen,” Devon said. “Gators get lunch by 0500.”

Grayson nodded once. “Clean. Silent. No fanfare.”

“As always,” Devon said.

No goodbyes.

Just three phones clicking off, one after the other.