Page 38 of Revenge (Elite of Elmwood 3)

“Positive. It went off when I unlocked the car.” Blew the driver’s side door clean off. It was sitting in disarray on the other side of the parking lot. Lucky for Brock and me, we’d been hanging out on the passenger side of the SUV with the others. I shuddered to think what would have happened if Brock had been at the driver’s door, trying to get inside.

The blast could have killed him.

My head reeled, still trying to wrap around the idea that someone had deliberately set a bomb on Brock’s car. Until Brock has voiced his suspicious out loud, I hadn’t thought about why his car was on fire or how.

“Do you have any idea who would want to hurt you?” Officer Davidson asked just as the flashing lights of the ambulance turned the corner. I saw the red and white before my ears picked up the sirens.

Brock’s gaze connected with Micah, Fynn, Grayson’s before he replied to the officer’s question. “Yeah,” Brock admitted, forking a hand through his hair, shaking out bits of debris. “Carter Patterson.”

My heart sunk out of my chest. It was the only name that made sense, particularly if Brock had been the target. If it had been me they were looking to kill, the suspect list would have been longer. I had managed to make a fair share of enemies. Carter. Ava. Izzy. Emily. I’d even add Angie and Steven to the list.

“You and the Patterson have history, if I recall,” Officer Davidson commented. I might have been seeing shit, but I could have sworn that his gaze flickered to Kenna.

“We do,” Brock said solemnly.

“I’m going to need to take statements from all of you, so don’t go anywhere. Get checked out by the paramedics and then come back here to see me. Only after we’ve spoken, can you go home. Those of you who are under eighteen, call your parents. I’m going to clear this place out.” A fire truck pulled up behind on the side of the street as close as it could get to Brock’s car. The firemen immediately jumped out, and Officer Davidson strolled over to give them the details of the scene.

“This is insane,” Mads hissed. She was still curled up against Micah, his arm around her. “I need a fucking cigarette,” she proclaimed, her fingers fumbling to her back pocket.

“No!” came a series of protests.

Her eyes snapped up, and she let out a long exhale as if to steady her frayed nerves. “Right. Fire. Not a good idea.”

“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Ray demanded, hands on her hips. I had to give the girl credit. She didn’t shrink or balk in front of the Elite, not even when they turned their distrustful eyes on her.

Brock lifted a brown, his lips pressed into a firm line. “We’ll talk later. Not here,” completely dismissing Ray as if she didn’t exist, and in the Elite world, she didn’t.

“I’ll call our parents,” Grayson offered.

“I’m going to take Kenna to get examined, get this cut cleaned up,” Fynn said.

My eyes ran over Kenna, who had more or less been dead silent. Her brown eyes were so big and bright. She had a small wound on her arm, but we were all scratched up.

Grayson nodded his approval. “Thanks, man,” he said to Fynn, and there was a lot more conveyed in that small statement. Fynn had protected Kenna, put himself in the line of danger to shield her from the majority of the blast.

“It’s what we do,” Fynn replied and then ushered Kenna away from the crackling embers eating up the SUV.

The firemen were unraveling their hoses as Officer Davidson and a few other policemen who arrived made their rounds around the parking lot, instructing anyone who was not hurt or didn’t need medical attention to leave once they’ve been spoken to for statements.

As we were waiting for someone to take our statements, I dragged Brock to the paramedic, forcing him to have the cut on his temple cleaned and bandaged. He wasn’t pleased with my insistence but still humored me. Brock insisted they looked me over and tended to my wounds before he would let anyone look at him. I reluctantly complied because it was the only way I’d get him to behave. After the EMT cleaned the few cuts I suffered and looked me over, I was given the all clear. I stayed sitting in the back of the ambulance as a paramedic cared for Brock’s wound. He only winced once when the guy dotted swaps with solution over the cut.

“This might need stitches,” the EMT informed, avoiding Brock’s hostile glare that hadn’t left his expression since his car exploded.

“It’s fine,” Brock insisted. “I’m not going to the hospital.” Finality laced his already-firm voice. I knew better than to push him further.

I gave the young paramedic an apologetic smile. “He’s just doing his job. Don’t be difficult,” I said to Brock.

He was about to reply when something else distracted him. Leaning slightly to the side, he reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone. As he checked his message, I asked the EMT a question.

“How long until the ringing in my ears goes away?”

The paramedic treating Brock and me was in his midtwenties with a short trendy hairstyle and trimmed facial hair. He was attractive if you were into a guy in uniform. I wasn’t. He offered me a friendly smile. “It could be a few days.”

“Wonderful.”

Brock stood up suddenly, his phone clutched tight in his hand. “Let’s go, Firefly.” He held out his hand.

Without hesitation, I dropped my hand into his and jumped off the back of the ambulance truck. “What’s wrong?” I’d gotten pretty good at reading Brock, although he kept his expression schooled—a constant mask shielding his true feelings. But for those who were close to him, they could see beyond the front.

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