Page 82 of Severed Heart
“As I said, we can’t help you tonight, officer, and seeing how you’re in uniform and haven’t stated anything of abusinessnature, I’m thinking this ispersonal,” Dom quips, taking a menacing step forward without closing any real space. When the cop’s hand starts to inch toward his hip in response, I ready myself to shut this shit down. “But we can leave him a message,” Dom offers as I decide exactly howSean’s messagewill play out.
Dom stares off with the sheriff for excruciatingly long seconds before the cop slowly shifts his gaze over to me. “You’re Carter Jennings’s boy.”
I nod because it wasn’t a question.
“He was a buddy of mine back when.”
“Oh yeah, I think I remember you,” I lie.
“Be a shame to waste your potential here,” he mutters, scanning Dom, his implication clear.
“I plan to enlist soon.” I play the game as fury lights inside me that I have to go diplomatic by letting the cop know I’m following suit to protect and serve. But unlike this piece of shit who just tried to diversify us with a loaded, overtly insinuating look, I plan on serving all people, not just those who will take contributions from a killer to win his next election.
“I think I’ll deliver that message myself,” the cop finally says, stepping back from the garage as I will Sean to dissolve into the floor until the cruiser clears our driveway.
“Have a good night, Sheriff,” I manage cordially before he dips his chin, shooting Dom a withering look before finally taking the wheel. The second the police cruiser speeds out of sight, Dom and I collectively close all open bay doors and kick back in wait, arms crossed. Not long after, grease-stained boots appear, as does Sean, sporting the complexion of a ghost, which only pales further as he meets our furious stares. Dom and I bristle, ready to pounce, as Sean tries to shrug it off.
“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 toget awaywith 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.”
