Chapter 21

LENNOX

The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the junkyard. The acrid smell of rusted metal and old oil fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the impinging evening. This place, with its mountains of twisted metal and decaying vehicles, feels like the perfect backdrop for my current state of mind. For the things I want to do to Sweet Dreams and anyone else who lays a hand on Stevie.

But since I can't, this is the perfect place. A safe place to let out my anger and destroy something. Lots of things.

Today's target, an old trailer, its sides covered with rust and graffiti.

Two days ago, Stevie and I found Micah and Jesse murdered in her shop. The scene flashes in my mind, but it's not the blood, the carnage or the stillness we walked in on that haunts me. It's the look on Stevie's face, the way her eyes lost their light, and the sound of her cries that still echo in my ears. It's like a knife twisting in my gut, a constant reminder of my failure to protect her.

To protect those close to her.

With a growl, I bring the hammer down on the trailer, the impact reverberating through my arms. Each swing is a release of the frustration and anger boiling inside me. It's the whole reason I even come to this shit hole anymore. It's the perfect and willing outlet I need, especially lately.

Stevie has refused to stay with me since that night, and is unwilling to let me stay with her. She says she needs space, that she can't handle being around anyone right now. I understand, but it doesn't make it any easier. So, I've spent every night since then sitting outside her apartment, either in the courtyard on one of the benches or in my car, keeping watch.

Making sure no one leaves or goes, without me seeing.

I've tried to convince her to let me in, to let me help her, but she shuts me out. I want to force her, to make her see that sometimes it's okay to need someone other than yourself. That letting the people who care about you help, doesn't make you weak.

That she can trust me.

But thanks to the shit she's been through, she's afraid to let me in, and having her friends slaughtered in her shop and their bodies displayed like some sick fucking spectacle didn't help.

She's afraid being close to me will make me their next target. But she doesn't need to worry about me. I can handle myself.

And I'll protect her too, even if she doesn't want me to.

What she doesn't know can't hurt her, and there's no fucking way I'm just going to sit idle while some trafficking ring moves into town. Snatching kids off the street to use and sell for their own sick and twisted needs. Fuck that.

Messing with Stevie was their first mistake, coming here, sealed their fucking fate.

This is my fucking city, my home, and she's my girl.

They think Stevie fucked them over? They haven't seen the shit I'll bring to their door. The fires I'll set on their little organization.

The hammer comes down again, harder this time, and the metal crumples under the force. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pause, breathing heavily as I pull it out. Greyson's name flashes on the screen.

I answer, still panting from the exertion.

"Greyson," I say, trying to steady my breath.

"Lennox," he replies, his voice calm and steady. "I've got some information for you. Made a quick visit to the station, had a look at their computer and files. The police have an ID on the man who attacked Stevie at her apartment and one of his known accomplices."

"What? How the fuck did you manage that?" I ask, pulling out a joint from my pocket. I pinch the end between my lips, and use my zippo to light it while I support the phone with my shoulder.

He laughs, "That's really what you're worried about right now?"

I puff hard on the joint, filling my lungs with the toxic smoke, "I mean, I'm a little curious."

"I had a meeting with the precinct today, finalizing some of the sales for the puppies. The detective left the room, I did a little digging on his laptop,"

My grip tightens on the phone as I laugh. I don't know why I'm even surprised. Greyson is a sneaky fuck when he wants to be, and fuck if I'm not thankful for it right now.

"So, who was he?"

"Which one?" Greyson asks.

"The one who's still alive, you fucking idiot," I sneer. Knowing full well he's being a smart ass. Whoever the first guy is doesn't matter. He's fucking dead, reduced to the ash sprinkled around the ground at the junkyard.

"Guy's name is Carl Hastings. He's known to law enforcement. Got a rap sheet a mile long, man. Some fucked up shit, pedophilia, child abuse, rape, assault. Not a good guy."

The name burns into my mind. Hastings. I can feel the anger rising again, hotter and more focused. "And the murders at Stevie's shop?"

"Connected. He is a suspect. Looks like they have evidence but haven't made a move yet. I'm guessing they know he's tied to Sweet Dreams and don't want to interrupt any investigations going on behind the scenes with that." he explains. "They also flagged a transaction: all-cash offer to buy out an old bed and breakfast in the bayou. Hastings came into town about a week ago. Fits the timeline."

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my rage in check. "You have an address?"

"Yeah. Sending it to you now. Be careful, Lennox. This guy's bad news."

"Thanks, Greyson," I say, ending the call. I take one last hit of the joint, before tossing it to the ground. A moment later, my phone buzzes with the address.

I look around the junkyard, the rusting metal and decaying vehicles silent witnesses to my resolve. Sweet Dreams came to my city, to my home, and they think they can mess with people who live here. The people I care about.

Not fucking likely. If they thought her wrath was bad, wait till they see what I have in mind for them.

I toss the hammer aside and head for my car. The smell of burned rubber and old oil clings to me as I slide behind the wheel. The engine roars to life, and I take one last look at the junkyard. It's a mess, just like my life right now, but it's also a place where things can be rebuilt.

Opening my messages, I copy the address Greyson sent me, and search up the directions. It's farther out than I wanted to go, but a long drive might be a good thing. Sticking the key in the ignition, I turn over the engine and wait as it comes to life beneath me.

Time to handle this shit.

The drive to the bayou is long, and the roads grow darker as the sun sinks below the horizon. I replay the events of the past few days in my mind, the images seared into my memory. Stevie's tears, the sight of Micah and Jesse's bodies, the helplessness I felt as she clung to me while her heart was ripped out. It all fuels my determination. I won't let them win. I won't let them take anything more from us.

As I get closer to the address Greyson sent, the landscape changes. The bayou is a wild, untamed place, full of shadows and death traps. It's fitting, really when you think about it. The bayou is a place where monsters hide, thinking they're safe. But in this case, they're wrong.

I'm coming for them.

The bed and breakfast comes into view, a ramshackle building surrounded by overgrown vegetation. From the outside, it looks abandoned, but I know better. I park a little way down the road keeping to the shadows the tree provides. The place is eerily quiet, the only sounds are that of the chirping of insects and the distant croak of frogs.

I eye the building from where I'm parked, looking for any signs of movement in the windows. There's a faint light coming from one of them, but other than that, nothing.

Needing a better look, I climb out of my car, quietly closing the door behind me before approaching the house. I use the shadows of the bayou to my advantage, as I creep my way closer.

I slip around to the back of the house, where I find the back door. Testing the handle I find it's unlocked. Of course, it is. I step inside, the smell of mold and decay hitting me immediately. I move silently, my footsteps barely making a sound on the old wooden floors. Every muscle in my body is tense, ready for action.

As I approach the first room, I find it empty. Nothing but stacks of dusty boxes and a few cabinets. Continuing down the hall, I come across a few more rooms, but all empty. It's not until I reach the last one, and I peer around the corner where I find just the guy I was looking for. Hastings.

I can hear him muttering to himself. He has no idea I'm here. I step into the doorway, and he looks up, surprise flashing across his face. But before he can react, I'm on him, slamming him into the table. The bottle of whiskey crashes to the floor, the sharp scent filling the air.

"Who the fuck are you?" He snarls, trying to push me off.

I lean in close, my voice low and deadly. "I'm the guy who's going to make you pay for what you did to Stevie. For what you did to Micah and Jesse."

His eyes widen, and I see a flicker of fear. Good. He should be afraid.

The fight is brutal, but short. Hastings is strong, but he's no match for the rage and determination driving me. I land blow after blow, each one fueled by the memories of Stevie's pain. When it's over, he's lying on the floor, unconscious and bloodied.

I stand over him, breathing heavily. It's not enough. This bastard deserves to suffer for what he's done. But I can't risk killing him, not yet and not here. I need answers. It won't be long before someone else shows up here, and I can't be caught.

I tie him up and drag him out to my car. tossing his body in the backseat When he wakes up, he's going to wish he never crossed paths with Stevie, with me. I'm going to get every piece of information out of him, and then I'm going to make sure he never hurts anyone again.

Heading back inside, I find the rest of it empty. I clean up the blood and glass. Leaving no trace of the struggle, and head out the back door, leaving it unlocked behind me. When I get back to my car, I climb inside, and start it up.

The sound of his ragged breathing fills the car as I allow myself a few moments to process the situation at hand. The junkyard is the safest place for me to take him, and the easiest place for me to dispose of him when I'm done.

My phone buzzes again, and I glance at the screen. It's a message from Greyson, checking in. I quickly type a reply, letting him know I've got Hastings and I'm going to get some answers.

As I put the phone away, I think about Stevie. She's been through so much, and she doesn't deserve any of this. I want to protect her, to keep her safe, but I know she needs to heal in her own way, on her own terms. I'll give her the space she needs, but I'll also make sure she never has to face another threat alone.

Hastings groans, starting to come around. I crack my knuckles, and glance over my shoulder before gripping the steering wheel tightly. My hands are still painted in his blood. He's going to tell me everything he fucking knows, and then I'm going to make sure he pays severely for his crimes. Sweet Dreams messed with the wrong fucking people, and they're about to find out just how big of a mistake that was.