Page 113 of The Way We Win

“How do you know?”

“I saw the light from his cigarette. He’s sitting up smoking. Watching.”

My throat aches. “Did he see you?”

“I don’t know.” Garrett looks over his shoulder at the way we came. “Maybe.”

My heart ticks faster, and I’m ready to confront this asshole. “Could you see Allie?”

He shakes his head. “I saw that cherry and jerked back as fast as I could.”

We freeze at the creak of a screen door opening. It’s right above us, where a short landing leads to a flight of five concrete steps down to the narrow strip of weeds constituting a backyard.

Garrett pushes my shoulder, and we roll around the corner away from the light.

“I know you’re there.” Rip’s voice is about what I expect.

He sounds like a con artist.

He sounds like a voice I remember well from my childhood, when I was the only one old enough to understand. Jayden Wells would sit on our porch swing with my parents, talking about all the things they were going to do together when they opened the restaurant.

I remember their smiles, the hope in my mother’s eyes as they made plans. I remember him talking a big game…

Before he double-crossed them and stole all our money.

“You’re not takin’ her,” that asshole continues. “She’s going to help me get out of this, and if you try and stop us, I’ll put a bullet in you and a bullet in her.”

My lungs are tight with anger, and my hand is on the gun in the back of my jeans. Garrett grips my shoulder, stopping me from storming around there and shooting him right in his fucking face.

“Now get on back to where you came from,” he continues. “You got no business messing with what’s mine.”

“Mine…” It’s a low growl from my burning throat.

“Rip Sinclair?” Garrett’s voice is loud and authoritative. “This is the sheriff of Newhope. I know you broke parole, and I know you kidnapped Allie. You’re only digging a deeper hole with all this. Now you hand her over to us, and we’ll take her home and leave you be. You still have a chance to turn things around. It’s your choice.”

My brow furrows, and I glare at my brother. He doesn’t have a chance at anything. This motherfucker isn’t going to stop until he gets what he wants, and apparently he’s delusional enough to think that somehow includes Allie.

I shake my head, but Garrett holds up a hand to wait.

Leaning closer, he speaks directly in my ear. “I’m trying to get her out of there. We’ll deal with him once we know she’s safe.”

Clenching my teeth, I concede. He has a point. The last thing we want is a shootout with Allie caught in the crossfire.

“You’re not law enforcement,” Rip snarls. “You’d be swarming this place if you were. You’re that fucking coach who’s fucking my wife.”

I start for him again, but again, Garrett grabs me around the waist, holding me back.

“It’s your last chance, Sinclair,” he shouts. “We’re just here for the girl. Now give her to us, and we’ll be on our way.”

My breath is coming in heaves, and it’s taking all of Garrett’s strength to hold me in place.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Rip spits over the rail. “You want her? Come get her.”

“With pleasure,” I growl, pushing my brother aside.

Storming around the corner, I rip the gun from the back of my jeans, holding it straight out in both hands. Garrett jogs to catch up with me, and the minute we clear the side of the house, two staccato pops echo from the back door.

A splintering noise blasts near my head where one bullet hits the wooden structure behind us.

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