Damn, those dogs were getting loud. Too loud.

Manson and I both paused. There was a strange sound I could faintly hear over the music playing in his bedroom, a repetitive screeching. We looked at each other, his frown deepening as he said, “Is that—”

Before he could get his thought out, Vincent burst into his bedroom, tugging a shirt over his head to hide the pistol tucked into his jeans.

“Garage,” was all he needed to say before he sprinted down the hall and we both scrambled to our feet.

It was our alarm. Someone was in the garage.

We sprinted downstairs, where the dogs were crowded in front of the door, barking frantically. I grabbed the baseball bat in the corner, a weapon we kept close by in case shit like this went down. Jason was carrying a bat too, likely the one we kept near the back door. After the night we’d had, we weren’t taking any chances of being caught unarmed.

The dogs burst outside the moment Manson opened the door. A cloud of dust rolled across the yard as a truck sped away down the road, but the dogs weren’t interested in the truck. They sprinted toward the trees at the back of the property, their growls and frenzied barking making it clear they weren’t only chasing shadows.

Those assholes had left one of their own behind. Someone was running around back there, and I had every intention of making an example out of them.

We ran after the dogs, following them into the trees. We were forced to slow down as we spread out, trudging through the overgrown weeds. There was a click and a beam of light came on, the flashlight in Vincent’s hand illuminating our way.

“There’s no way out back here,” I called, raising my voice so it echoed through the trees. “You can’t run forever, motherfucker!”

I twirled the bat in my hand, energy vibrating through me. This was it. This was fucking it. I hadn’t even seen inside the garage yet, but they’d gone too far the second they stepped foot on our property. This was years of harassment coming to a head. It was time for someone to take the fall, a lesson had to be learned here.

They’d be lucky to get their friend back in one piece.

To my left, a few yards away, Manson was flipping his knife in his hands. It caught the moonlight when it flipped open, flashed, then quickly disappeared.

“There’s nowhere else to run,” Vincent called. His words were punctuated by maniacal laughter as he said, “Come out, buddy! It’s just a little beating.”

There were some strange noises ahead — grunting and puffing, then a shriek. God, I hoped it was Alex. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on that little shit. The coward probably thought he could find a way out back here, but the fence was topped with barbed wire and there was nowhere else to run.