Page 121 of The Villain

“Officer?” I looked at the card. “Paroleofficer.”

“Yes.” He bristled, his sharp eyes narrowing further. “Is Mr. Bates here or not? I need to speak with him.”

“What’s this?—”

“I’m here.” Ty’s voice boomed as he pushed me to the side, staring Mr. Daws down with a glare that I hadn’t seen in a long time. “What do you want?”

“I’m here about Ms. Brant.”

Daws was too nervous to notice how my friend’s entire body tensed. I couldn’t remember the last time Ty had been affected by any kind of news or anything…like this.

Who the hell was Ms. Brant?

Wait.

Brant.

The familiarity of the name hit me. Jon Brant had been Ty’s mentor—his friend—in Special Forces. While the rest of us had come home emotionally and physically benched after our last mission and Ryan’s death, Ty had gone back. One more mission at the request of his mentor, Jon.One more brother lost.

“I can handle this, Dare,” he uttered his dismissal to me but didn’t take his eyes from Daws.

“Are you?—”

“Go.”

I swallowed my protest and nodded. We all had things—times when questions were off the table. This was one of those times.

I walked away, but I went slow—slow enough to hear the last vestiges of their conversation.

“What about her?”

“She violated her parole again, so I’m remanding her to your custody.”

“What? No.” Ty spoke with so much emotion I swore I felt the earth move.

“Either that or I report it and she goes to jail—real jail this time, Bates, not juvie.”

“Dammit. What the hell did she do? I’ll fix it.”

“You need to fix her,” the other man snarled, and even though I’d reached my bike, my head whipped when I heard the car door open.

Both men glared at the woman—girl?—who got out. If thedictionary were a picture book, I had a feeling this girl’s picture would be undertrouble.Jet-black hair.Piercings. Tattoos.But it was her give-no-shit swagger that really sold it for me.

“Uncle Tynan.” Her voice was sarcastically sweet, especially on the worduncle. “Sogoodto see you again.”

I’d never seen Ty’s jaw look like it was about to snap. The whole of him, really.

“Six weeks. Six weeks until her parole ends. Six weeks until I suggest you start letting her clean up her own messes,” Daws said low, but the breeze carried his voice over to me.

Instantly, Ty was in the man’s face, towering over him like a hungry ogre ready to bite his whole damn head off. “Get out.”

Damn, Ty was pissed.

Flustered, Daws shook his head and rushed back to his car.

“Sutton.”

Sutton Brant.

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