“There’s morethat you don’t know.” I have my hands around Callie’s waist, and we’re standing in Noah’s oversized garage as the door descends. He’s run inside to prepare the room for Shane, who is currently kicking around in the bed of the truck, his muffled shouts music to my ears. I’m tempted to use the baseball bat on him myself since I didn’t get to earlier, but Noah gave me strict orders to wait for him to come back out.
“Like what?” Callie’s forehead furrows
I reach down and tuck a stray chunk of dark hair behind her ear. How the hell am I going to tell her what Noah and I figured out? She knows her ex is a fucked-up human being, but I don’t think she has any clue just how much.
“Callie—” I start, but Noah appears at the door to the house.
“Let’s get this piece of shit out of Red Daisy. She hates him.” Noah walks around to the back of his truck. “Callie, can you hold the door open for us while we get him inside? We’re pretty isolated out here, but I don’t really want to give him a chance to cause too much of a ruckus. We respect our neighbors in Lake Savage.”
“Sure.” Callie’s mouth twitches, and I’m impressed my brother almost made her smile.
Noah and I walk around and pull back the truck bed cover. Shane’s face is red with fury. Not only is he still duct-taped all over, but Noah secured him in the truck bed with tight ratchet straps so he wouldn’t roll around or bounce up and out of the truck. Shane’s got a huge knot forming on the top of his head where Noah got him with the baseball bat—twice—and he winces as he struggles against the duct tape. His ribs probably don’t feel great from when Ikicked him repeatedly and the straps are holding him down.
He’s having a bad day.
Noah unhooks the straps, and we pull Shane to the edge of the truck bed by his feet. I grab his feet, double checking the duct tape is holding strong, and Noah takes his arms. We pull him out of the trunk and accidentally drop him face down on the cold, hard garage floor. Oops. Shane screams—muffled by the duct tape, of course—and kicks his connected feet. I snort a laugh and look up at Noah, who is also smirking.
We are so fucked up.
I shoot a look at Callie, who has her arms crossed and is staring at Shane on the ground, throwing daggers with her eyes. She’s absolutely stunning when she’s angry. Then I take in the bruise on her cheek that’s darker than it was in the barn, and I give Shane another sharp kick in the abdomen. Her eyes flash to mine. I shrug.
“Ouch. I really wouldn’t want to get kicked by you,” Noah notes.
“I promise not to kick you.”
I flip Shane over—don’t want to be mean and drag him face down—and groan at the mess that is his bloody nose.
“For fuck’s sake,” Noah grumbles. “Let’s not get blood on my carpet inside, okay?”
“Noted,” I say. We grab his legs and drag him through the garage and up the single step into the cabin. He shrieks when his head bounces on the step. Oops again!
“Hey—” Callie follows us in with her bag from the truck and shuts the door behind her.
“Can you lock that?” Noah asks.
“So, what are we doing with him here?” She locks thedoor as we drop Shane’s feet and toss our jackets on the coat rack.
“We’ll explain it all soon.” I hold up a finger to have her wait, then jog to Noah’s kitchen and turn the oven on to preheat at 350 degrees. I practically squeal with excitement when I open Noah’s freezer and locate two pies: a mince pie and an apple pie. We need a snack, obviously.
The mince pie is wrapped in layers of red plastic, and even though I spelled outnoon the top crust in flakey, delicious dough, I also added black X marks on the plastic wrap and tin since these live at Noah’s cabin.
I unwrap the pies and pull out a tray from Noah’s bottom cabinet, then place the pies onto the tray and slide it into the oven. It won’t hurt them to be inside as the oven preheats. I set my timer for an hour and return to Callie, who’s standing in the family room watching me with a shocked expression. Noah’s got Shane halfway down the hallway to his special room.
“Did you just put a pie in the oven?”
“Two pies, actually. One’s a snack for us—the apple pie—and one’s a snack for Shane. A mince pie.”
“I love mince pie.”
“Jesus fuck. Of course you do.” I swear under my breath and glance to the ceiling. “Listen to me: You can never have these mince pies.”
“Why?” She scoffs and plants her hands on her hips.
“Damn, Wes.” Noah chuckles and calls from down the hall. “You found the one woman who loves mince pie?”
“This mince pie is not for eating,” I try to explain, keeping my voice down so Shane doesn’t hear.
“You drug your mince pies?” Her eyes widen. “Yeah, of course you do.”
