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We crouched between a couple of trees, scanning the street.
And I was right on the fucking money.
Simon’s car Emmett had stolen was parked in front of someone’s garage. It was hidden in the shadows of their house on the opposite side of the street but with a perfect view of us in the parking lot and maybe even a shot between the houses and down through the back garden where all he’d be able to see was flashlights moving about.
“If we come straight at him, he’s gonna start the car and run,” Rip pointed out. “The fence beside him is at least six feet, so we can move down the side of it until we’re behind the car. Hopefully, surprise him.”
This was why my brother was going to make president one day. Rip might seem like he talked too fast and joked too much sometimes, but he’d been working with my dad since he was little, learning the skills he needed to lead, to respond, and to be the person his club would rely on and trust to look to.
“Let’s go.”
We hurried, trying to keep out of the streetlights as we crossed the street and scaled the front fence of this person’s house. The tall fence worked perfectly to hide us as we made our way down the side, past the garage, and into the other backyard.
My heart felt like it was going to give me away with how hard it was beating, and I couldn’t stop my fucking hands from shaking, ready to grab this bastard and haul him to hell with my fists.
I looked to Rip, squinting in the shadows.
He nodded that he’d take the passenger side, and I should go for the driver’s side.
“Move quickly, so he doesn’t have time to see us in the mirrors and start the engine,” Rip whispered before holding up three fingers.
Then two.
Then one.
I held my breath, taking all of two steps to the front of the SUV and yanking the door open, reaching in, grabbing the front of his shirt, and dragging him out on the concrete. “Help!” the bastard screamed, his eyes wide as I slammed him against the fence and got right up in his face.
“Tell me where she fucking is, Emmett.”
“Help!” he screamed again, and instantly lights began to flicker. “Help!”
“Drake.” I looked over my shoulder to Rip who was now holding a fucking shovel.
A dirty shovel.
No.
No fucking way.
I was frozen.
My fist gripped his shirt.
My heart stopped fucking dead.
“You buried her.”
“Hey!” More lights lit up the driveway we were standing in, and suddenly, a man appeared in the doorway. “What the fuck is happening here? I’m calling the police.”
I let my grip loosen for a second, but he used it, taking off at a run down the driveway and out onto the street. Rip and I were only seconds behind, though when we hit the street, I turned, and Rip kept running straight ahead, and I realized he still had the shovel in his hands. “I’ll let them know. You get him,” he called, taking the path down the center of the buildings, instantly disappearing from sight.
They would find her.
But I wasn’t letting this bastard get away with it.
I wasn’t letting him win this time.
Not after what he’d done.
