"Scott, can you get someone to grout that tile?" I thumb behind myself toward the kitchen. "I have to take off."
Scott doesn't look nearly as concerned or confused as Jo. "Yeah, sure."
"I'll call you later," I say to Jo, kissing her temple.
When I get outside, I press my phone back to my ear. Farley's still there.
"Are you on your way over there?" he asks.
"Yeah," I grunt as I throw myself in my truck and shift into reverse, navigating the sea of trucks.
"I have a bad feeling about these guys, Wyatt."
"Don't go soft on me now."
"For real. Can you call your brothers or something?"
"You don't want me to swing by and pick you up?" Adrenaline allows me to make jokes right now. I love this feeling, this sharp euphoria. Wes gets all the credit when it comes to protecting those he loves, but it's the way I operate too. Our methods aren't even that different, it's just that what he does is straightforward and visible. I operate more subtly, a torpedo moving undetected in the depths.
Farley snorts. "Not unless you want a partner who runs screaming into the woods at the first sign of danger."
I tap the side of my thumb on my steering wheel in rapid succession. "You sound like a liability."
"I would be. What are you going to do about Bennett?"
I pinch the skin at the bridge of my nose. "Not much, for now. Seems there are bigger threats to handle first."
Someone calls for Farley. His mom, I think. Sometimes I forget he's a teenage kid.
"I gotta go," he says. "Call your brothers, okay?"
"Will do."
I hang up, considering my phone for a moment. Do I really need to call Wes or Warner? I don't want to need them. Ideally, I'd save the day and they'd find out later, and begrudgingly respect me. I want them to stop seeing me as the wayward little brother, the guy who comes and goes as he pleases.
I toss my phone into the cup holder.
I can do this on my own.
Nobody is home.
I can't think of a time when Mrs. Calhoun wasn’t here, but that's because I always show up at a previously agreed upon time. Showing up out of the blue like this means I should've expected to be met with an empty house.
I knock once more, even though her car is missing from its spot under the covered carport. I go down the stairs and walk around the side of the house. Hands cupped against the windows, I squint and try to peek in. The midday sun makes it difficult to see anything through the dark sunshades on the windows.
I don't know what I'm looking for anyway. Just… something. A sign of what the Marks brothers are really doing here. I know what they've got going on up on that mountain, in Dixon's old spot. But what are they doing here, with his grandma?
I try one more time to see into the house, blocking the sun from different angles around my head, and give up. I'm backing away from the window when it happens.
A blunt force, something like a fist, lands in my side. "Oof," I grunt, air hurtling from my throat. I spin, fists raised, and lash out before I see my attacker's face.
Just as I connect, my brain processes who it is, and it comes as no shock.Ricky.
He stumbles back, at the same time Chris's meaty body bull-rushes me. Together we fly into the house, my back taking the brunt of the contact. I use the heel of my hand to jam against his nose in an upward motion. He screams and stumbles back, both hands on his face. Blood is already pouring down, bright red drops squeezing around the cracks in his fingers.
I don't have a second to recover, because Ricky's coming at me now. His fists are flying, and I duck. He makes contact with the house instead of my face. I'm not so lucky a moment later, when his next punch lands. The pain ricochets through me, and I blink against it. He uses the seconds I'm taking to absorb the pain to his advantage, hitting me two more times. My back is still pressed against the house, I don't have the ability to move much, but I do the best I can. One benefit to having been in my fair share of fights is that I have experience getting myself out of the losing end.
Instead of protecting my face or throwing a punch at his face, I go for a cheap shot, driving my knee into his crotch as hard as I can. When he's bent over and gasping, I bring my elbow down in the middle of his back. He yells and falls over, writhing on the ground. I kick him in the stomach, not as hard as I can, but just enough.
