Deviant (Boys of Winter #3) - Sheridan Anne Page 0,75
guns and weapons from who the hell knows where, and not a second later, Carver is reaching over to the passenger side glove compartment and pulling out a small handgun. His arm stretches back and the gun is pressed into my chest as Carver looks back, his eyes boring into mine. “Whoever did this could still be in there,” he tells me. “Shoot first. Ask questions later. Got it?”
I swallow hard and let out a shaky breath as the rapid pulsing in my ears makes it nearly impossible to hear. “Got it.”
CHAPTER 19
The boys share a quick glance, each of them meeting one another’s hard stare with a million messages passing between them. Then as if on cue, they nod, and every door handle is pulled hard.
They dive out of the car, and before I can even think about trying to keep up with them, Grayson’s fingers are curling around my wrist with a hard, impenetrable grip.
He pulls me hard and I fly out of the Escalade behind him, barely getting my feet under me before the boys start running toward the house. Carver goes straight for the front door, racing up the stairs three at a time and not even breaking a sweat while Cruz races around the back of the house, catapulting himself over the side gate.
King also heads for the side gate, but instead of jumping straight over it, he uses it to launch himself up to the second story of the house while Grayson pulls me around to the side of the garage and hoists me up through the window.
He comes down beside me, landing on his feet like a cat. He instantly grabs my wrist again, pulling me through Carver’s massive garage and skimming his eyes over the ruined car collection. Whoever the fuck came in here threw buckets of acid over his cars, the paint dissolving before our eyes. The fumes are the worst part, coating our throats and burning our eyes as we forge forward.
The wreckage is heartbreaking, but I can’t focus on material things right now. Houses and cars are replaceable; the lives we stand to lose today are not. God, even Lady Dante; if anything happens to my puppy, I can’t fix that. Just the thought of her running around this house scared and alone sends my heart into overdrive.
Grayson moves through the garage with me on his heels, his tactical training apparent in the way he rounds each dark corner, letting the barrel of his gun sweep right to left as we move. When the garage is clear, we approach the internal door, my gun held down at the ground in a sweaty death grip.
We stop for a moment and Grayson silently pushes the door open and peers into the house. I doubt the assholes who did this are still here, but we’re not taking any chances on this. The boys’ lives are too precious.
He looks back at me and nods, silently telling me that it’s all clear, and without a spoken word, we slip into the main part of the house, keeping to the walls and scanning every inch of the rooms as we go.
There’s devastation everywhere. Broken windows, shattered vases, destroyed couches. Whoever the hell did this, did it with the intention to scare us, and something tells me that they were kinda hoping that I’d be here as well.
Within moments, we meet Carver and Cruz who both nod. “It’s clear,” Carver tells us, keeping the emotion out of his tone despite how broken he must be feeling at seeing his home like this.
“Lady Dante?” I question, keeping my voice as low as humanly possible.
Both Carver and Cruz shake their heads. “Nothing yet,” Cruz murmurs before nodding toward the stairs.
We all walk as one, and I don’t miss the way the boys create a protective circle around me as we start creeping up the stairs. With every step we take, heaviness sinks into my chest. Something is wrong. Every time I come home, Lady Dante meets me at the front door. I hear her yapping from inside and she jumps up and down until I scratch her belly.
“She’s not here,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head.
“You don’t know that,” Grayson says, keeping his stare focused on every little thing around him, but he’s wrong. I do know it. I know it deep down in my heart. If she were here, she’d be at my feet, yelping and trying to tell me exactly what’s been going on, but