The two punks lying on the ground had completely lost the ability to fight back. Even though Owen had deliberately held back, it was still more than enough for them to feel the pain. People coming out of the supermarket saw the scene and instinctively steered clear. Owen glanced around with a displeased expression, then looked again at the two guys at his feet. He could feel the uneasy stares of the bystanders.
If he could help it, he truly didn't want to get tangled up with trash like this—it was beneath him. But when he looked at the flat tire and the deep scratch across the car's paint, he kind of regretted not hitting them harder.
"Beep-beep~~"
From across the street, a car horn blared. Owen and Amanda turned to look. A police cruiser was slowly approaching from behind, with the town's sheriff clearly visible in the driver's seat, uniform and all.
Behind him, the two punks suddenly scrambled up and bolted while Owen and Amanda were distracted by the patrol car. At the far end of the parking lot, they jumped on a motorcycle, revved it to the max, and sped away.
Watching them vanish into the distance, Owen didn't bother chasing. Neither did the sheriff.
The sheriff pulled up, parked, and stepped out of the car. After giving Amanda a brief glance, he turned to Owen. "You two together?"
"Yes," Owen replied.
The sheriff nodded, then asked, "What happened just now?"
Owen gave a helpless shrug and pointed to the flat tire and the scratch down the side of the car. Amanda had told him yesterday that the police had gotten involved in her situation, and this guy was apparently the only law enforcement officer in the town.
The sheriff glanced at the car and nodded with an expression of understanding. "You want to file a report?"
Owen rolled his eyes. This sheriff was clearly trying to avoid trouble—typical small-town mindset: less paperwork, less hassle. He probably figured Owen was just another outsider and didn't want to stir up unnecessary drama.
But the truth was, Owen really didn't want to make trouble—not because of fear, but due to security concerns. Amanda's situation the day before had been unavoidable, and having a police report on file wasn't a big deal. The local department wasn't nearly high-clearance enough to uncover Amanda or Susan's real identities. But Owen... Owen wasn't officially related to them by blood. If he were to leave an official record, things could get complicated and hard to explain.
Seeing Owen shake his head, the sheriff got the message. "Alright. Be careful out there. This town doesn't have a problem with outsiders—those two punks, Harry and Scott, I'll make sure they get a proper warning."
And just like that, the sheriff officially closed the case.
Owen nodded. The sheriff got back in his cruiser and drove off as if nothing had happened. Owen looked at Amanda with a resigned expression, then pulled out tools from the trunk and started replacing the tire. This whole thing had been incredibly irritating—and he sincerely hoped there wouldn't be a second time. If there was, well... then he wouldn't be so polite.
When they got back home, McCall was out on the half-covered porch, reading a book and soaking up the sun. He looked up as the car pulled in, greeting them with a nod. Then his eyes narrowed slightly, casting a questioning glance at Owen.
Owen just shrugged. "Ran into those two punks again from the other day."
McCall's brows relaxed. He didn't ask about the outcome—because he didn't need to.
After stuffing all the groceries into the fridge, Owen headed to the living room. Amanda was already on the couch watching her favorite Saturday show. With nothing else going on, Owen went upstairs to his room.
Feeling a bit bored, he pulled up the files that "Sweet Dummy" had sent him—the data collected earlier from various sources. He remembered the sheriff calling those guys Harry and Scott. Time to see if their names popped up in the reports.
There were tons of documents. Sweet Dummy had done an incredibly thorough job. After some digging, Owen finally found the profiles for the two.
The files didn't go into much depth, but there was enough. Both had criminal records and documented histories of drug use—something Owen despised above all else. He hated not only dealers but users as well. In his eyes, they were societal cancers. When an addict hit withdrawal or hallucinations, they were capable of anything.
Owen and his team had dealt with plenty of cases over the years, many of them caused by drug users. These weren't classified as terrorists, but the damage they did was often just as bad—many mass assaults were committed during drug-induced psychotic episodes.
One detail caught Owen's attention: neither of them was a native of Reville. They were outsiders too. So where did they get off harassing other newcomers?
They worked at a local ship repair yard owned by a man nicknamed "Crocodile Billy." According to the files, Billy wasn't a law-abiding citizen either, but being a Reville native, he had only a few minor infractions on record. Still, Owen's instincts told him Reville's true nature was much wilder than the reports suggested. Otherwise, someone like Billy wouldn't be able to keep guys like Harry and Scott on a leash.
As he was going through the files, a sudden female scream pierced the air. Owen instantly leapt from his bed and rushed to the window. The sound had come from Brock's house.
"What happened?" Amanda and Susan both popped their heads out as Owen came downstairs.
"I don't know. I'm going to check it out. You two stay here."
McCall casually tossed a handgun his way. Owen caught it and tucked it into the back of his waistband before sprinting out the door.
Behind him, Susan and Amanda stood in the doorway, watching his retreating figure. McCall stood quietly behind them—ever vigilant.
When Owen arrived at Brock's place, he spotted the pickup truck parked outside. From the stable came the unmistakable sound of a little girl sobbing—Mandy's voice.
As he got closer, the crying became clearer. Then he saw Brock standing nearby.
"What happened?" Owen asked, stepping out into the open.
Brock saw who it was and stepped aside.
When Owen got a clear view inside the stable, his expression darkened.
No wonder Mandy had screamed. The walls of the stable had been defaced with offensive words painted in red spray paint. Even worse, the two horses had been doused in the same red paint, clearly distressed and in pain.
Immediately, Owen thought of the two punks from the parking lot. His mind raced. It was impossible not to connect them to this. His and Amanda's encounter and now this attack on Brock's property—they had to be linked.
Was the reason they came after him at the supermarket not just because he and Amanda were outsiders, but because of what had happened the day before?
Thinking about it, the only obvious connection between his family and Brock's was yesterday's incident.
But that had been a fight between kids.
Was it really that serious?
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