Page 145 of Love Bleeds Red
By the time we pull into the driveway, I’ve made a decision.
I hold Bailey’s still shaking hand and help her into the house, get her settled with a cup of tea and tell John and Amanda that she had a panic attack but she’s okay now. It doesn’t stop them from coming out of their bedroom to hover over her. If she’s pissed at me for involving them, I’m sure I’ll hear about it tomorrow.
“I’m going to put my bike in the garage,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
Instead, I head straight to my laptop.
License plate HDR 4792 gives me everything I need. Twenty minutes of searching through DMV records and I have a name. Brayden Hutchins, twenty-one, registered address is ten minutes from Burger Palace.
From there, it’s child’s play to find his social media accounts. Brayden’s not very careful about his privacy settings. His Instagram shows him with the same two friends from tonight, tagged as Easton Stewart and Gabe Morrison.
I spend the next hour digging deeper. Brayden’s a business major on academic probation. Gabe is pre-med with a pristine GPA he’s probably desperate to protect. Easton’s on a partial athletic scholarship from the wrestling team.
They all have something to lose, and that’s just from me scratching the surface. I’m sure the deeper I dig, the more I can find.
I scroll through months of their posts, looking for more ammunition. It doesn’t take long to find what I need. Photos from parties, comments they probably forgot they made, tagged posts from other students involved in various scandals on campus.
By midnight, I have enough information to destroy all three of their futures. A few anonymous tips to the right people, some strategically leaked screenshots, and their lives will implode. Academic suspension, scholarship revoked, medical school dreams crushed.
But that’s not enough. They need to understand consequences in a more immediate, physical way.
I close the laptop and grab my keys.
First, I drive by Brayden’s house, searching for his Jeep. It’s not there and the other two don’t live as close. I doubt they finished their night early and there’s only one place in town three drunk college kids would be. I twist the throttle and gun it toward O’Connell’s Pub.
The Jeep is right there in the lot, parked crooked as fuck. A little work with my blade and two of his tires are slashed.
You’re not going anywhere tonight, Brayden.
I wait next to it, and like clockwork, the three come stumbling out a half hour later. It must be my lucky night because they don’t come toward the Jeep, but instead head a few feet away from the pub’s door, toward a dark area on the side of the building. Pulling out smokes, they fumble to get them lit, laughing about some bullshit loud enough for me to hear.
It’s time.
“Having a good night, mates?” I ask once I reach them.
They turn, and I see the moment recognition hits Brayden’s face. “Oh shit. It’s the boyfriend.”
“That’s right.” I move closer, and they inch toward each other on instinct. “That business earlier isn’t sitting well with me. It seemed you lot thought my girl was just being dramatic?”
“Look man, we don’t want any trouble,” Gabe says. “We were just having some fun.”
Ah, the quiet one finally speaks up.
“Fun.” I repeat the word but it tastes sour in my mouth. “Let me tell you what I think happened. You three saw a beautiful young woman alone in a dark parking lot and thought you could intimidate her. Thought you could corner her and make her do whatever you wanted.”
“That’s not—” Easton starts, but I cut him off.
“I’m not done.” My voice comes out in a harsh whisper. “See, here’s the kicker, boys. That woman you decided to terrorize? She’s been through more hell than your privileged little minds can imagine. And you assholes thought it would be fun to add to it.”
Brayden tries to puff up his chest. “Calm down. We didn’t do anything illegal, dude. We were just talking to her.”
I move fast, grabbing Brayden by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the brick wall. His skull connects with a crack, knocking his precious cap onto the ground.
“Just talking?” I say with my face inches from his. “Then why was she locked in a car having a fucking panic attack?”
I release him and step back as he stumbles, grabbing the back of his head. When he brings his hand into the light, it’s covered in crimson.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I tell all three of them. “You’re going to remember this conversation every time you think about approaching a woman who doesn’t want to talk toyou. You’re going to remember what it feels like to be scared and cornered.”
