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  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 23
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 23

SUMMER 2005
I FUCKED UP.
I let my guard down. Despite my best attempts to conceal them, Delphine glimpsed my attraction and sensed my feelings when I pitched a bitch, and I’m now paying hell for it. Since our movie night, she’s withdrawn almost completely from me. Dismissing our game nights only to send me on fool’s errands by way of physical training. She’s checked out, and after months of embarrassing brush-off texts, my battered pride is letting her.
While resentment brews for the ease in which she’s dismissed me, my ache and missing of her only grows. Whether it be the resentment for the space she’s purposely putting between us, or the gnawing of her absence, I raided the entirety of Delphine’s cigar box when she and Dom were working their shifts this past weekend.
I spent hours discovering what haunts her—one of them in which I arranged the letters by what postmarked envelopes remained. The postmark itself timestamping their correspondence lasted only months before Celine and Beau fled to the States. Celine’s and Delphine’s escalating situations leading to multiple letters sent by one or both per week. It was the last few letters that kept a stinging ball lodged in my throat as some understanding of what triggers Delphine started clicking into place.
When I lock myself in the bedroom, he uses a butterknife to release it. To get to me.
A sting which only increased as I arranged the letters back in the way I found them—not that they’re ever hidden. Delphine’s foolproof safe, at least where I’m concerned, is in thinking there’s a language barrier. A barrier I’ve spent months eradicating—my intent to surprise her—but have now used instead to wrong her by invading her privacy in a way I can’t take back or fucking forget. Not for a second.
He’s raping me now, Celine.
That backfire becoming increasingly painful as her translated words scrape my insides daily. Continually driving me back to the patch of blacked-out cement between streetlights after my nightly runs to peer into her living room. A ritual I haven’t stopped, even after she called me out for it last winter. In truth, her haunts have become mine since the night I read the first letter last fall.
I am poison to the men I love.
Riddled with guilt and rage, I ran for endless miles after repacking her cigar box, utterly gutted by what she’d suffered—or rather survived at the hands of her ex-husband. With every single step, I battled to temper an anger I’d never experienced. One I was barely able to control in the days that followed. The lingering guilt from invading her privacy is only curbed now by the mystery of what transpired after Celine and Beau joined Delphine and Alain in Triple Falls—though Celine and Beau’s fate is no mystery. It’s Delphine’s missing pieces of what happened in the years before Alain left and why that I’m starting to grow desperate for.
Not that I have any ground with her to get answers. She was as close to happy as I’ve ever seen her before she slammed up her defenses. As of now, I can’t, for the life of me, seem to regain that ground in getting our easy dynamic back. Somehow she fucking saw it—my infatuation—and I let her. And I knew better. I fucking knew better.
My frustration grows as I tighten a bolt on Dom’s newly delivered part, feigning focus. Doing what I have for months—camouflaging my ache and shortening temper while obsessing over an unattainable woman.
“Getting there,” I mutter to Dom to show a sign of life when his weighted stare lingers on my profile as he works with me to get his part installed. Russell—now completely in the know—had taken off after supervising us for a few minutes before hauling ass home, summoned by his overbearing and highly demanding mother. Russell’s sentence seemingly passed right along with his father’s, who is still serving hard time for tax evasion.
So far, Dom’s restoration is taking the longest. Not because we can’t get it done at a quicker pace but because he is obsessed with perfection—not to mention the cost. I can’t blame him in the least, being just as anal and adamant about my own. As of now, we’re running low on cash, and all of us are getting frustrated with the snail’s pace and the idleness of our current lives. Sean especially, acting out more than usual—especially since the paint dried on his Nova.
A Nova which roars with his arrival as Dom and I collectively glance out of the bay to see Sean coming in hot. The heavy repeat of his engine rumbles through the garage as he expertly dodges the cars lined up for service to round the side of the building. Just after, a lone police siren sounds, its increasing wail telling that it’s headed straight fucking for us.
“The hell,” Dom utters as Sean bursts through the side door, chest heaving while hauling ass toward the open hood of the Dodge Ram sitting in the last bay. Pulling a tool from his box, Sean hedges our inquisitive stares as he makes his request. “If anyone asks, I’ve been here all night.”
Before we’re able to utter a single question, the crunch of gravel sounds as the cruiser appears, scattering rocks. A few of them thwack against the shop door, the rest shedding like a wave into the bay as it comes to a threatening stop.
The officer behind the wheel scans the garage, and even from where I stand, I can clearly see the wrath of hell in the livid cop’s eyes.
“You stupid motherfucker,” Dom grits out. “Please tell me you didn’t . . .”
“Didn’t what?” I bite out as the cruiser door cracks open, mentally trying to prepare myself for whatever’s coming.
“Jesus, you did,” Dom seethes next to me, and I know it’s because he just spared a glance at our red-handed brother.
“Did what?” I repeat through clenched teeth, dread settling in my chest as we both prompt Sean, who refuses to meet our hostile stares behind the open hoods.
“Fuck the sheriff’s daughter,” Dom supplies in a muted tone just as the cruiser door closes. Dom and I both snap to, ready to defend our brother even as our fury grows.
The recently elected sheriff—whom one Roman Horner heavily endorsed—fixes his ready glare on Dom and me when we both round the hood of his Camaro. Though unspoken, I know we’re both banking that the cop is unaware Sean’s in the garage. Our relief is short-lived when he sounds up, asking as much. “Where is he?”
“Pardon, officer. Who?” I ask, wiping my hands on a soiled shop towel as Sean plays statue behind the hood of the Ram. From where he is in the bay, the sheriff would have to step in and physically search the garage to see him.
“You know good and damn well who,” he spits, looking between Dom and me. The second his eyes linger on Dom, I see that this exchange could go further south, and fast.
“We have four employees here, Sheriff,” I drop casually while helping to intercept him, “so you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Sean Roberts, red Nova, specific enough?”
“Afraid we haven’t seen him yet tonight,” Dom interjects, fucking us both as I mask my wince at the gamble we’re now risking.
“Mind if I have a look around?” he asks.
“Actually,” Dom drawls, straightening his spine, “we do mind. We’re closing up shop, and business hours are long over. So, unless you have just cause, which you don’t, or a warrant, Sheriff, a search would be illegal, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t fuck with me,” he snaps. “Where is he?”
“Well, he’s around, bright red car, and his parents own a restaurant you frequent with your daughter. What’s her name, again?”
Goddamnit, Dom!
“Lacey,” he grits out.
“Right, Lacey,” Dom taunts. “So, you’re sure to catch up with him at some point.”
“I prefer we converse now.” The sheriff digs his heels in.
“As I said, we can’t help you tonight, officer, and seeing how you’re in uniform and haven’t stated anything of a business nature, I’m thinking this is personal,” 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 how Sean’s message will 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 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?”
I take another menacing step toward him, knowing my expression reflects my wrath.
“The answer is you don’t know and have done fuck all to remedy that. See, Dom’s been spending endless nights researching how to invest the fruits of our upcoming labor, compiling a list of possible hits to add to our net value while earning us some side cash. A cash pool that you’ve drawn upon but don’t often fucking contribute to. And me.” I stretch the gun further in his direction, palming my chest with my free hand. “I’ve spent most nights learning tactics, others mastering weaponry, practicing hand-to-hand, and have gained ten pounds of muscle all the while working my King’s shifts, you?”
Sensing his snap a nanosecond before it happens, Sean tackles me to the ground. I allow him to land his predictable but punishing right before easily tossing him off me. In an instant, we’re both back on our feet, squaring off before I again lift my Glock.
“Uh-oh, dead again,” I taunt. “What’s your part in the club, Sean?”
His death glare lingers before it drops to the bag full of guns at our feet.
“Those, my friend, are loaded, as is this one.” I offer him the handle of the Glock in my hand. “But the safety is on.”
He eyes the offered gun but doesn’t take it, a new grudge stinging in his eyes as he swallows the heavy blow I just dealt to his pride. But it’s my fear for him that has me silencing any apology on my tongue and delivering the brutal truth instead. “Playtime is over, Sean, you need to wake the fuck up, or rather grow up.”
“Fuck you,” Sean rattles low, his tone lethal.
“No, fuck you,” I counter. “We don’t want to do this without you, man. You’re the beating heart between us, but you’re pissing your position away.”
“I know what’s at stake,” he defends weakly.
“Then act like it!” I shout. “But our question for you is, do you even want to be in this? Because we haven’t been inked yet, but it’s coming. We haven’t had guns pointed at us, but it’s coming. Gunpowder coating your hands with a body on the other side is fucking coming, Sean. One day, it won’t be talk, and you have to want this. You have to do the work and put the time in to be ready. Either you don’t want this, or you aren’t sure what you want from this yet. Dom can answer the question in a heartbeat, and so can I. I have major skin in this game. So, I’m going to ask you again, what’s your part and stake in this?”
His chest heaves as he finally starts to scatter his stare between Dom and me. “What is this? Some fucking intervention?”
“No, this is our way of begging you to stop sabotaging your place in our club and to actually fucking figure out what you want from it before we take both your place and choice away. If you haven’t already lost it, and Sean, there is a very good fucking chance you have.”
“When the fuck have I not shown up?” Sean spits, his posture drawn tight, still ready to brawl.
“That’s not enough anymore. Loving your brothers enough to go to war—to become a fucking outlaw—is not enough. There’s got to be something in it for you. And make no fucking mistake, you will be the most instrumental in knowing everything about this. As you’re well fucking aware, Dom and I are leaving to do our parts, which means it’ll be on you to bring them here. To teach them hand-to-hand and how to carry discreetly while making sure they don’t shoot their dicks off. Their fucking lives will rest on your shoulders. Which includes leading by example as well as enforcing how to keep a goddamn secret. Your capabilities are nowhere close to being able to carry out that task. Last chance, Sean,” I warn, “or I’m not going to bat for you with T.”
“Me neither,” Dom adds, “I’ve lost faith.”
Sean’s eyes sting with fresh betrayal as his mouth parts.
“This isn’t a fucking bluff or some lame attempt at tough love,” Dom relays gravely. “You might already be out, and you know you would fucking deserve it.”
“Jesus.” Sean cups his mouth, sliding his hand down his throat as he looks between us. A few tense beats pass before he finally speaks. “I want my parents’ restaurant to survive.” He shakes his head. “Fuck that, I want them to thrive. Matter of fact, I don’t want a single door from a struggling business owner in this town to close due to the corrupt and greedy fucks demanding so much of what they break their backs for.”
“Modern-day John Dillinger?” Dom nods approvingly, speaking of one of his heroes. “I can get behind that.”
Sean nods, his eyes watering as his anger dissipates and his fear thickens the air between the three of us.
“I heard my mom crying last night. They’re terrified. They don’t know how long they’ll be able to keep Pitt’s doors open. I don’t want to live in that fear, and I don’t want my children to feel it. I’ve seen what it can do.” He eyes Dom, his voice cracking with his admission. Dom stiffens but allows it, his fear for Sean’s place in our club overriding his pride.
“That’s all part of it,” Dom assures. “That’s really all you want?”
“No, as much of a fuckup as you both think I might be, I want to do something important with my life. My other dreams are simple, but this isn’t. I need this, and I do want it. I don’t see any other future for myself.”
“Then why the fuck are you sabotaging it?” I demand.
“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he states, “it was a cheap thrill, a distraction. It was reckless and stupid, and I get it, okay? I do. It won’t happen again,” Sean declares in a rare serious tone. “I’ll figure my shit out, but please, don’t let him take my wings.” He piles his hands on his head as he does when he’s really upset. “Fuck. I’m just . . . I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t ever cut it again,” I state emphatically, “no matter your fucking headspace.”
Sean slowly nods as I drop the Glock and step up to him before palming his shoulders.
“The days of your parents’ struggles are numbered, I swear to you, and I’ll sweeten the deal and play fucking Friar when the time comes to pass out your blessings. That’s if you still have a place with us.”
“Don’t let him take my wings,” Sean croaks between us, “please—”
“I won’t,” Tobias interjects, emerging from the nearby trees where I messaged him we’d be. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, expression unforgiving, his wrath-filled fire-colored eyes are fixed on Sean, whose complexion is now ashen. “And it would do you some good to remember that your place in the club is not up to them,” Tobias spits, kneeling before pulling an AK out of the bag, his gaze as unforgiving as his tone as he continues to level Sean with both. “So, consider this day one of a very long fucking probation and your first and last fucking warning from the decision maker. Brother or not, if you ever fuck up like that again, you’re done.”
Dom shakes his head at his brother’s unexpected appearance, a broadening grin on his face. “You’re really playing your part these days, ghost of fucking Triple past.”
Tobias keeps his pointed stare on Sean a beat longer before embracing his brother in greeting. Glancing over, I see Sean bat away a few tears of relief.
“Thank fuck,” I say on exhale, my shoulders sagging as Sean stares back at me in a way I know the fresh sting between us will take some time to fade.
“I’ve been waiting a very long time for this day,” Tobias says between us, “but that day is finally here, and the true work starts now,” he reiterates to Sean, who slowly dips his head in response.
Just after, Sean disappears between the trees for a beat, and I resist the urge to follow him, helping T and Dom unpack the duffle instead. My fear for Sean outweighing my need for us to be in good standing. Not long after, I know I made the right call when Sean emerges without a trace of animation in his expression. Eyes sharp, jaw set, and focused, he chooses his weapon and joins our lineup. It’s then I start to feel it. A feeling similar to the day we stood outside the garage just after Dom signed for the key. The beginning . . . of something more. More meaningful. Our purpose.
It’s on the silent ride back to my granddad’s that I sense the last of the shift—the true end of summer. Of our lives as we once knew them.
The end of our innocence.
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