I grunted. “We’ll see.”

His eyes found mine and lingered. “Yes. You will.” He stepped back. “Text me when you get there,” he told Cross. “I have one more thing to add.”

It took us ten minutes.

When we pulled up, Jordan’s truck was first, pausing at the mouth of the clearing before pulling over and parking. Cross’ truck lights lit the way, and we could see Drake’s present.

“What the fuck?”

Cross texted Drake.

His phone buzzed back, almost right away.

He showed the screen to me. Don’t kill him. Don’t cause any permanent damage. Beyond that, this is my crew sending their apologies for what happened to Taz.

This was payback for her, payback we’d never collected.

In the middle of the lot, sitting cross-legged with his head hanging down, was Alex Ryerson.

Drake had left his brother for a beatdown.