: Chapter 12

God, I don’t want to go home.

He’s there. He’s always fucking there, and he never leaves anymore. It’s like being in a room that’s on fire. You’re constantly aware of it. Never not aware of how much time you have until it reaches you.

I pull off my shirt, using it to wipe off the sweat on my back and forehead before tossing it into the cab of the truck. Clouds block out the sun, while the wind cools my skin.

“I think she’d pay me,” Trace pipes up.

I follow his gaze, seeing Elaine Bertrand and her perfect timing as she walks to her pool that we just cleaned, behind hedges we just trimmed, in her white bikini. She casts us a glance that lingers just long enough that there’s no mistake what she wants. Daniel Bertrand’s young wife wouldn’t be a chore.

I tighten the strap, securing the equipment. “I’d get more.”

“Is that a bet?”

He stares down at me from where he stands in the bed of the truck, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” I shake my head. “If you do anything like that for money, we’re both dead.”

Macon will kill me, too.

Dallas throws trash bags filled with clippings into the truck as Trace jumps down, sweat matting his hair to his temples. “But you have already, haven’t you?”

I stop, gaping at him. “How many rumors are flying around about Macon and me exactly?”

“No, that one’s just about you.”

I grumble, “Great.”

I grab the cooler off the driveway and slide it onto the floor in the back seat.

Trace follows me. “You know, I wouldn’t care,” he tells me. “You were my age when you and Macon had a houseful of kids to take care of. And that doesn’t even count the people you guys took care of in the Bay. If you did what you had to, then …”

I don’t look at him, every muscle inside of me tensing. “Then what?”

“Then I’m glad,” he says. “I mean, not glad glad. I would wish you didn’t have to do it, but I’m grateful. I never would’ve been able to do whatever it took to take care of us.”

I didn’t do whatever it took. I never had to.

I draw in a breath. “When you’re tested, you find out exactly what you’re capable of.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “And what you’re not.”

“So, then you did—”

“I didn’t fuck for money,” I blurt out. “Dipshit.”

He smiles, and I roll my eyes. Trace never asks questions. Usually.

I know they all know the rumors about what Macon and I did to pay bills. Some of it’s true, some of it’s not, but none of it I care to relive. Iron’s old enough to remember some things, so he knows better than to ask. Dallas doesn’t get personal, and Liv doesn’t want to know, because it would hurt her to learn how much we put ourselves through for them. What’s done is done.

Who knew Trace would be the brave one?

“Well, I know what I’m capable of,” Dallas chimes in, walking up. “I might be able to put up with getting paid to get laid.”

I throw him a look. “Macon is looking for a reason to kill you.”

But he just scoffs, cupping his hand under the spout of the cooler and filling it with water. Throwing his head back, he splashes the water over his hair, smoothing it back. “He can barely haul his ass off that stool in the garage. You seen him? He looks like shit lately.”

He’s looked like shit before; they’re just too young to remember. I close the tailgate, ignoring Elaine’s eyes, which I know are still on us.

Macon wouldn’t kill Dallas if he screwed for money that we no longer need. He would just realize it was all for nothing.

Trace looks at me. “Is something going on with him?” he asks.

“No.”

“Would you tell us if there were?”

“No.”

He hits me over the head, and I laugh and jog backward around the truck as he pursues me.

“But just think!” I point out. “If he killed Dallas, it would be one less mouth to feed. And with Iron gone, it would be an extra bedroom. We could move Krisjen in.”

Trace comes at me, but I plant my hand on his head, pushing him away.

“Can’t you just fuck her already,” Dallas yells at me, “so she can move on to Macon, and then she’ll finally leave after she’s made the rounds?”

Trace stops, looking over at Dallas. “Leave her alone.”

“She’s a good kid,” I add, heading back to the driver’s side. “And I’m not going to have sex with her.”

“But you look at her.”

I glance at Trace even though it was Dallas who said it. Iron already went after Krisjen. I raised Trace like a father. It’s different.

“She’s beautiful” is all I say. “I’m a visual person.”

Trace laughs, throwing open the door and dropping into the seat next to me. Dallas climbs in the back.

“It’s okay,” Trace tells me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off her there for a while, either. And she’s a Saint. Something about them is a little more exciting because we can’t have them. Feels forbidden.” He looks over at me. “As you remember.”

I pause, my hand clutching the key in the ignition. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

He knows better than to bring that up.

“She’s good,” he says, not grinning anymore. “Really fucking good. Sorry to say, the best I’ve ever had.”

Sorry because he doesn’t love her and wishes he did.

“When you’re not fucking her,” he goes on, “you’re thinking about fucking her.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” I turn on the car, hoping that shuts him up.

She works hard; she’s reliable, trustworthy, and cute as hell. And she’s perceptive. More than I like sometimes.

I have no intentions toward Krisjen. She’s a kid. But she’s somebody, and she’s his friend. He shouldn’t be acting like she’s something to use to blow off steam.

“I think you need another Saint,” he says. Before I can tell him to shut up, he looks back at Dallas. “And maybe you need one, too.” He smiles at his brother. “She’s a biter.”

Jesus Christ. “Give me a beer,” I bark back at Dallas.

Trace laughs, diving into his phone as Dallas reaches into the cooler, handing a can to me over the seat. I pop the top and take a gulp, setting it in the drink holder in the console and shifting into Drive.

But then Trace growls, “Ah, son of a bitch!”

And I hit the brakes.

“Goddammit!” he yells, and I look over to see him pull on his seat belt, which he never does.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“That little shit!” He scowls. “A constant pain in my ass!”

“Who?”

“Krisjen!” he says, like he wasn’t just singing her praises. “We gotta go to her damn house.”

“But we’re expecting a storm.”

He holds up his phone, and I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but I know it’s Milo, and I know it’s our sister. Liv and Milo. In the same photo. At Krisjen’s house.

I floor it, not even checking traffic before we skid onto the road, hooking an immediate left.

Itell Trace to text Macon, letting him know we’ll be home later. It’s already getting dark, and Dex needs to be picked up at the sitter’s and fed dinner.

I don’t know what Liv—or Krisjen—is thinking right now.

When we pull up to the house, the gate is wide open, the driveway filled with cars.

Trace sighs. “Fuck …”

Yeah. Something is wrong. Krisjen has never had a party at her house. In the time I’ve known her, anyway.

And I can understand if Milo heard about it and showed up, but she was taking a shot of something with him. In the photo posted two hours ago. Two fucking hours. Who knows what’s happened since then?

Liv was there, too—with Clay—after what he did last spring? It doesn’t make sense.

Krisjen also didn’t invite us. She comes to all of our parties.

I pull around the well-manicured trees in the middle of the driveway and park alongside a black BMW, not caring that I’m blocking them in. We jump out and head to the house, but I veer for the backyard. A couple makes out in the back seat of a convertible, and I do a quick glance around for cops or parents.

Rounding the corner of the house, we slip between two cypresses that make up part of a privacy wall and step onto the back patio.

If you can call it that.

It’s damn near half a football field. Beautiful light-colored stone tile with a pool that almost looks like a Tetris pattern. A square, attached to a rectangle, attached to another square. Trees shade three different seating areas, two of them with firepits. A swarm of partygoers dance and loiter, talking and drinking.

I recognize some faces. Some who graduated with Liv who are back from college for the holiday. Some are even older, and some … way younger.

Krisjen stands waist-deep in the pool, dressed in a yellow bikini, talking to my sister, who leans back into Clay’s arms.

I scan the deck. No Milo.

Trace starts for her, but I shoot out my arm, stopping him. I head over instead, he and Dallas following closely behind.

I approach the edge of the pool, seeing Liv’s eyes dart up first, and Krisjen turning to follow her gaze.

I lock on her face. “What are you doing?” I ask.

She parts her lips, but all she can manage is “Hi.”

Flyaways from the bun on top of her head dance in front of her blue eyes—which are huge as she looks at me right now. A little scared.

Squatting down, I crook my finger, bidding her to come.

She does, slowly, because she knows she’s in trouble.

“I can’t believe they came,” I hear someone say in the pool, but I keep my eyes fixed on Krisjen.

“Is Callum here, too?” Dallas asks.

But Clay chimes in. “Don’t worry about Callum. I don’t think he’s coming back for Thanksgiving.”

Dallas falls silent, and I lower my voice, so only Krisjen can hear. “Did you invite Milo?”

“Not exactly.”

“But you let him in?”

She hesitates. “You didn’t have to come,” she says instead. “I just wanted Trace and Dallas.”

I cock an eyebrow. So she posted that photo on purpose. She did want a few Jaegers here. Just not me?

I let my eyes fall down her body. Having Milo here. Dressed how she is. Why?

I’m pissed enough at Liv for being here, but my sister can protect herself. Krisjen can’t. Not in a way where she’ll win.

She’s soft. And I like that about her.

I flex my jaw. “Why are you partying with him?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

Her eyebrows are pinched together in concern, and I reach down, grabbing her under the arms and hefting her out of the pool. She yelps a little, Liv and Clay rushing up to stop me, but I already have Krisjen’s feet planted on the deck. I glare down at her. “Then let’s go somewhere private where you can make me mad.”

I take her hand and pull her behind me, gazes following us as we pass a firepit and then a crowd of people outside the back patio doors.

She follows, holding my hand just as tightly as I hold hers, and a jolt hits my heart.

As soon as we’re inside her house, though, I stop. What the fuck?

Neon glows everywhere in the otherwise dark space. On people’s stomachs, their bare legs, their backs …

Most of the lights are off, and I spot a black light under the chandelier in the kitchen. Taking a step, I continue past the stairs and into the crowded foyer, as naked, sweaty bodies painted in yellow, purple, and pink move with the music. Some people are in bathing suits, others in their underwear.

I stop again, the dim glow of light making the wallpaper look blue as it climbs the stairs. “Your Woman” plays over the speakers, and I’m surprised she can hear me when I ask, “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a black light party,” she replies. She comes to my side, looking around, a little pleased with herself. “I told everyone to come scantily clad and I’d supply the highlighters.”

Some chick is topless as others draw all over her, some guy signing her ass while a girl colors in her nipples. There are vulgar drawings and asinine words on some people, while others have exotic designs and flowers and “Class of …” labels.

“Some of it’s kind of pretty, huh?” she asks.

I turn to face her and see that she, too, is covered. I hadn’t seen it out at the pool.

There’s a heart on her cheek, hand-drawn abs on her stomach, and I smile at the Wonder Woman symbol on her chest. Words are written up and down her arms, and I make out a few. Beautiful. Smells good. Happy. Sweet. Kind. Safe place. I wish I’d kissed you.

“Some guy I graduated with wrote all this.” She looks up and down her right arm. “He was pretty quiet back then, but I guess I was nice to him and he remembered.”

I look at her face, taking her chin in my hand and rubbing my thumb over the spill marks at the corner of her mouth. “Did Milo draw that?”

I have to fight not to rub her too hard as I try to wipe it off. “Why? What does it say?” she asks.

Why didn’t she check what he drew?

I lean in, the pink marker slowly coming off, but it’s smearing.

She looks up at me, I look down at her, and an urge hits me. I don’t think. I dive in and lightly suck the corner of her mouth.

She plants her hands on my stomach, her breath hitching, but she doesn’t push me away.

I’m gentle, licking her skin, and my mouth just barely touching hers.

God. I haven’t touched a Saint in a long time.

Rising back up, I hold her eyes as I wipe her mouth clean with my thumb and pluck a fresh highlighter out of the bowl on my right. I draw a thick line down the middle of her forehead, five daisy petals under her left eye, and a string of triangles from her nose to her upper lip, down her chin and neck. I stand back and recap the marker.

“What did you draw?” she asks.

“No idea.”

Some kind of war paint, maybe? She looks good.

Taking the marker out of my hand, she pulls a chair in front of me and hops up on it. Uncapping a marker, she rolls it on like lipstick, holds me in her stare, and I almost raise my hands to glide them up the backs of her thighs.

But I don’t. I just watch.

Tossing the marker off somewhere, she wraps her arms around my neck, and I catch her as she circles my waist with her legs and hangs on to me.

She kisses my shoulder, leaving a print of her lips as my sole evidence that I was here and only she touched me.

Tightening her arms around me, she leans into my ear. “Milo is locked in a storage room in the pantry,” she tells me.

She’s not whispering, but no one else can hear over the music.

“All of these people were heading to the Bay tonight. Into the cemetery.” Then she pulls back and looks me in the eye, giving me a chance to respond.

The cemetery. Our cemetery.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask her.

“Because you would’ve protected your property,” she says into my ear again. “And who knows what would’ve happened.”

“So you lured them here with a party?”

“Just about.” She nods, looking kind of proud of herself. “I also promised the Jaegers would be here, and that ensured the females would come and stay out of the Bay, too.”

So, she did need us here after all.

“That’s why you posted,” I say, more to myself. “You knew Trace would see it.”

“And he’d come and bring at least Dallas, and the two biggest reactionaries aside from Iron would be here, and not in the Bay, in case Milo and his friends went anyway.”

So when she said “You didn’t have to come,” she wasn’t worried about me. She knows I don’t come out swinging if Saints invade the Bay.

But she wouldn’t want Trace and Dallas here if Milo were here, would she? There would definitely be a fight.

And then it clicks. The pantry.

“But you had to get rid of Milo before Trace actually showed up,” I think out loud.

She smiles like a parent proud that her kid finally got the point. “Milo doesn’t care where it happens. He’ll strike wherever will get a Jaeger arrested. So now, Milo is pounding away in the pantry, you’re here like I promised everyone, and the Bay is safe. Seriously, it was like rocket science, putting all this together.”

I shake with a laugh, pulling her in tighter. “I’m glad someone else thinks like I do. We’d make a good team.”

I could use the help babysitting Iron, Dallas, and Trace.

“But …” I point out, “if someone is coming to dig up graves, I need to know in the future.”

I know exactly what they would’ve been after in the cemetery.

She fires back, “No, you don’t. You know how it’ll go bad if you try to stop them. Saints don’t always win, but they never pay. You bide your time.”

I hold her, never liking it when a Saint thinks it’s their place to handle me or my family.

But she can handle me anytime. She cares about us.

“Besides …” She starts swaying to the music as I hold her.

“Saints? Digging? Six feet of anything? In the rain? Yeah, no.”

I laugh.

“They would’ve just resorted to destroying headstones,” she says, but rushes on when I try to interject. “Which I understand are old and sacred, but the bodies would never have been disturbed.”

They won’t be deterred forever, though. They’ve been fucking with us since their ship landed.

“Thank you.” I inhale her fruity body spray, and stare at her neon purple lips. “You’re good at this.”

“At what?”

I shake my head, trying to find the words. “At … being a friend.”

She smiles, a gorgeous light hitting her eyes. “Thank you.”

Sweet and sincere, she says it as if it’s the best compliment she’s ever gotten. She circles her arms around my neck, hugging me tight.

“But I still don’t want you to do it again,” I say as she holds me. “Milo, I mean. He will hurt you. Every time.”

“Okay,” she agrees, and I like how quickly she does it. “I won’t do it again.”

Not sure if I believe her, but I hope she involves me quicker the next time she decides to take matters into her own hands.

I keep holding her, people passing by, the music pumping, and there’s no way in hell I’m dancing, but there’s no way I’m leaving her here, either. Not with him.

“I’m too old for this party,” I say.

I have to be the oldest person here.

She pulls back, her smile softening. “Me, too.”

She keeps one arm around me and pulls out her bun with the other.

“But if I tell them to get out,” she states, “Trace and Dallas will hear Milo beating the walls of the pantry. And you know what happens then.”

Her chestnut-brown hair spills down around her, but I can barely focus with the heat between her legs pressed against my stomach.

“So how long should we wait?” I play along.

“Until the rain starts.”

The cops won’t let anyone in the Bay who doesn’t belong there after that point.

“So what should we do?” I ask.

“I think it looks like we’re doing something now.”

I tighten my grip on her thighs, Krisjen pressing her body into mine, and déjà vu floods my head, and I’m warm all over. God, she feels good.

“Why doesn’t Dallas like me?” she asks.

I narrow my eyes. “Do you want him to?”

“Of course.”

The quickness of her reply surprises me almost as much as the answer.

“I mean, I’ll live if he doesn’t,” she’s quick to point out, “but I hope I know you forever. It’ll make it a lot easier if he stops trying to pick fights. What’s his problem?”

“It’s not you,” I tell her. “He’s been like that for a long time.”

Albeit worse the past year or so. He’s been intolerant, short-tempered, and pissy for years, but I’ll admit, he’s pretty fucking awful to Krisjen. I’m not sure why.

“Our parents died at the wrong age for Dallas,” I tell her. “He was fourteen—too young to be treated like a man, and too old to be protected like a kid. Macon didn’t know what to do with him. Neither did I. He just … He wanted to be alone a lot, and we let him.” I pause. “We shouldn’t have.”

We had other things to worry about. It was easier to be lazy about it and hope that whatever was eating him sorted itself out.

“I don’t think Macon would know what to do differently even if he could go back,” I admit.

“And you?” She cocks her head. “How were you doing then? You were only what, twenty?”

I hesitate. I don’t like these questions.

But it’s nice to be asked. Liv, Dallas, and Trace were too young, and I never wanted Macon to worry about me. He had enough.

“When you’re tested,” I tell her, “you find out exactly what you’re capable of, and what you’re not.” Those are the same words I said to Trace not even an hour ago, but I didn’t explain what I meant, and he didn’t ask. I clear my throat. “A few months after it all happened, Macon and I were struggling to keep everything going. People in the Bay needed help, and we could barely feed the kids in our own house. Customers had taken their business elsewhere when my father died, and St. Carmen was breathing down our necks. We were going to lose the land any day.” I hold her eyes. “They were hitting us while we were down.”

Her eyes search mine, and I can see the concern etched on her brow. She knows this story isn’t going anywhere good.

“We were finishing up at this house,” I continue, “doing their landscaping shit. It was late. And I remember wondering why they had asked us to come so late in the day. That house was usually early in our rotation on the first of every month.”

Someone squeals, but I don’t look. I don’t even see the party anymore.

“The husband called us inside,” I tell her, “made small talk. Macon just wanted to leave.” I breathe out a weak laugh, realizing how he hasn’t changed. “Then he asked us.”

She goes still, waiting for me to say it.

“He wanted us to go up to the bedroom with his wife.” I pause.

“Both of us. And he wanted to watch.”Her face falls. “You didn’t …”

“Maybe I should have. It was thousands of dollars,” I explain. “But that’s the thing, Krisjen. I found out what I wasn’t capable of, but maybe I had that luxury, because I had Macon. And he always took care of us. He found money somewhere. And then more. And then more. And I honestly don’t know if he was stealing it or killing for it, I was just grateful he never allowed me to be subjected to people like that again.”

It wasn’t even about the sex. Maybe I could’ve fucked her. Maybe I could’ve been paid to do it, and maybe even with her husband watching.

It was the embarrassment of them always thinking we could be bought and sold, and the shame of living just across the tracks. Of having to see them over the years and be constantly reminded that they could do that to us. I was twenty. I almost threw up in the driveway on my way out.

I’ll never let Dex find himself in a situation like that.

I look down into her eyes, glaring now at those blue pools and gripping that soft skin that I like more than I’ll ever admit, because Saints all feel the same. Like they’ve never worked a day or broken their backs under the hot sun. “You assume Dallas is the only one who doesn’t like rich little bitches who dangle us on a string.” I get in her face, my nose nearly brushing hers. “But as sweet as you are, I think you’ll be one of them in ten years, won’t you?”

She draws in a short, shallow breath, her fingers curling and her nails digging into my skin. She shakes her head, and I shake her.

“You’re not different,” I state. “You’re not. We can pretend for as long as we want, but we know where this story goes.”

I squeeze the backs of her thighs, hearing her whimper, and I don’t know why I’m taking it out on her.

But it feels good. I’m not twenty anymore, and I want to fuck one of this town’s daughters, even though I told Trace I wouldn’t touch her. She was bred to be desirable. This is what they’re for.

I’m hard in my jeans.

But she speaks, touching my face. “Look at me,” she says.

I do.

“I’m only looking at you,” she whispers.

The party swirls around us, but we may as well be alone, because nothing else exists. I’m the only one in her eyes, her voice is steady, and she’s mine until I put her down.

“You want to pay for me?” I hear the smile in her taunt. “You have more money than I do. You can play with us now.”

She comes in, brushing her lips over my cheek, and I wrap my arms around her like a steel band.

Fuck yes.

I slip us behind the potted tree, press her into the wall as the grandfather clock next to us goes off. I lose track of the chimes as I reach up and run my thumb up and down her throat.

“I would let you pay for me.” I rub my mouth up the nape of her neck. “But you wouldn’t have to.”

I heft her high and bring her back down, rubbing myself hard between her legs. She gasps, holds me tighter, and then she covers my mouth with hers, moaning. I start to rip her bikini top down, but she stops me, holding it in place.

God, I need to touch her.

Rolling her hips, she grinds on me, and I take her ass in my hands, situating myself between her legs as I pin her to the wall. I open my mouth, sinking my tongue inside hers. I jolt. Jesus. Something electric courses over my lips, down my jaw, and sinks straight into my stomach as I lose myself in her wet heat.

Releasing her mouth, I press my forehead to hers, staring into her eyes as I rub my thumb over one of her nipples poking through her top. The flesh hardens, and I want it in my mouth. Lifting her higher, I nibble it with my teeth, biting and licking over the fabric.

She whimpers and squirms. “Army …”

It sounds like a protest, but she’s dry-humping me.

We pant and moan, sweat covering my back, my cock straining against my jeans. I kiss her, reeling as she bites my bottom lip.

I reach down, unfastening my belt and opening my jeans. “No,” she finally says. She pulls away from my mouth, looking down to see my bulge between us.

I gently press her into the wall. “No?” I taunt.

I flick my tongue over her bottom lip, but I’m just fucking with her. I’m not mad. Just frustrated.

I dip my hand down, rubbing her pussy through the fabric and feeling her hard little nub.

I groan. God, she’s fucking hot.

“You’re not going to let me have fun, are you?” I tease.

She shakes her head. “Isn’t this fun?”

And she covers my mouth again, molding her chest to mine, and resumes grinding herself on me, the only things separating us are her bottoms and my briefs.

My hands roam everywhere, her ass, her breasts, her face … She’s right. This is fun. I would want a bed if we were going to do more anyway.

She pulls away from my mouth, her face pained as she moans, and I swear I feel her wetness through our clothes.

“Slower,” I whisper, not daring to look behind me. “Or they’re gonna know we’re fucking.”

We’re still dressed, and we’re hidden behind the potted tree, but not completely.

I hold her tight, trying to set the pace and slow her down, but I keep needing to go harder. I press into her so hard I feel bone.

“I can’t stop,” she says, kissing me again and again.

“Slow.” I grip her hips, trying to control her. “Move small.”

But she doesn’t. She rides me, tilting her head back as I go at her neck, kissing and biting.

“I won’t go inside, okay?” I pull her bottoms to the side, baring her cunt and soaking up her heat as she pumps her hips again and again.

My orgasm rises, blood pulsing hot through my stomach and between my thighs.

“Oh God,” she whimpers in short, stuttered bursts. “It feels … so good.”

“Hold on to me.” I bite her jaw. “Hold hard.”

She cries out, and I don’t even look to see if anyone is on to us.

I slam my hand into the wall, sucking in a breath and trying not to come. But she jerks and gasps, her tits shaking with each thrust as she rides hers out, and I can’t hold it back.

“Goddammit,” I breathe out. Fuck.

I pull myself away, stroking down my length as I spill onto her stomach. She whimpers, looking down between us and watching me come.

Sweat dampens my forehead, and I drop my head down to her shoulder, feeling her hand slip around the back of my neck.

“Sorry,” I pant. “I was trying not to.”

“I wanted you to,” she whispers.

Reaching behind me, I pull my T-shirt out of my back pocket and wipe it off her. She keeps kissing me, and I can’t stop smiling.

I haven’t felt anything that good in a long time.

I tuck the shirt back into my pocket, holding her as she holds me. The party still rages around us, unfazed.

“Come home with me tonight,” I say. “We don’t have to do anything else. Just come home with me.”

But she shakes her head. “If I come home with you tonight, something is happening.”

“Yeah, we can hit breakfast early,” I joke, rising up and looking down into her eyes as I let her feet touch the floor again. “And I don’t have to come all the way over here to pick you up. I mean, I have standards. At least one date before I sleep with you.”

She smiles, but it’s brief. Her breathing steadies, and she starts to check her swimsuit, making sure everything is still on.

We’re done. She doesn’t want more.

“You’re not interested,” I say.

In me.

I was fun, like Trace. Or a pity fuck, like Iron.

But her eyes pop up. “No,” she retorts. “I mean, yes. I’m interested. It’s not that. I just, um …” She swallows and suddenly looks way too young for me again. “I feel like I’m free-falling, Army,” she admits. “Trace, then Iron … I need to stop for a minute.”

I take her face in my hand. “Then grab on to something.”

Her eyes soften, and she leans into my touch. I don’t know what it is about her, but I don’t even need to sleep with her. I just really like seeing her in the morning.

“You want to take me to breakfast before we sleep together …” she says, but it sounds like she’s saying it to herself. She lowers her voice, and I almost don’t hear. “We haven’t slept together yet …”

I study the far-off look on her face. What is she talking about?

She looks up at me. “It wasn’t my parents, was it?”

“What?”

“The man who offered to pay you to have sex with his wife?”

Oh. “No.”

“It wasn’t Clay’s?”

“God, no.”

She nods once, satisfied.

She fixes her hair and starts to leave. “I’ll be at Mariette’s early. Come over and eat.”

I stop her. “I want you in my bed tonight.”

“No.”

“Why?”

She turns fully, facing me. “Because I wanted it easy, and Trace wanted it easy, so it was easy. And I knew before I even touched Iron that it would be once, because he was going away, so I was prepared to say goodbye. But you?” She hesitates and then kisses the corner of my mouth. “I think you’re easy for people to fall for. I need a minute.”

Okay. That’s not a terrible thing to hear. It’s kind of annoying, though, that she’s too young for me but somehow a lot wiser.

She steps away. “I need to get out of this swimsuit.”

I cock an eyebrow, and she laughs, realizing how enticing that sounded to me. She leaves, heading up the stairs, and I watch her disappear into her room.

What the hell am I doing?

I comb my hand through my hair, staring after her.

Is it because she’s just a little bit forbidden and I want to feel it all over again?

Or maybe I just want to be happy, because it’ll piss Macon off for me to have something of my own.

Or maybe she’s kind.

Maybe she’s someone you keep, and she’d never hurt me.

I’d like a date to find out.

I glance out of the window at my side, watching Dallas smoke in the driveway and Trace under the hood of some girl’s car, laughing and talking to her.

I shake my head, making my way to the kitchen. He’s probably using the “Can I pop your hood?” routine. Within days, she’ll be calling him over to check “this weird sound” she heard while driving. It’s amazing how often this works out for him.

I walk around teenagers as I step through the kitchen, desperate to put my T-shirt back on, but it has cum all over it.

Moving past the stove, I open the only door I can find and step inside. I reach up for a chain to the light but find nothing. I pat the wall on both sides of the door, finally finding the switch. Flicking it on, I don’t see Milo, but I hear pounding and muffled shouting.

“Get me outta here!”

I spot another door straight ahead and close the one behind me. Picking up the padlock, I yank on it for good measure, but yeah, it’s secure. Looking up and around, I quickly find the key sitting on a shelf in front of some jars of pesto sauce. Krisjen wouldn’t have been able to keep it on her in a swimsuit.

I pick it up.

Milo Price is ten years younger than me, too. The responsible thing to do with him six months ago would have been to press charges over how he tried to assault my sister. What I wanted to do was kill him.

I could have. A lot more easily than having sex for money. It’s a question I often ponder. What would I be like if I weren’t worried about going to prison?

Dallas, Trace, Iron … they all think I’m boring. I know they do.

I’m not boring. I’m just worried. All the time. Afraid. All the time. About them. About Macon. About Dex. Someone has to be the cautious one. The reliable one.

I slip the key in, twist it, and pull off the lock, stepping back as the door bursts open. Milo rushes out, sweating like a pig and sucking in air like he was in a fucking coffin.

“You son of a bitch,” he growls.

But he stops just short of getting in my face.

He shifts on his feet, his dark hair wet with perspiration and his shirt nearly soaked. I’m sure he thinks I helped lock him up.

“You gonna hit a kid?” he challenges me. “Huh?”

Gotta hand it to him. He knows I’d kick his ass, but he still talks like he’d kick mine.

“Clay’s here if you’d rather she do it.” I plant my hand on his face, brushing the scar down the side of it before I push him away. “She made you prettier.”

Turned out, my sister didn’t need her brothers to protect her. That Saint of hers was only too happy to take care of business herself. And being as connected as she is, she knew she wouldn’t get in trouble for spilling his blood.

But Milo isn’t scared. “You know where I’ll go.” He closes in, a few inches from my face. “Please stop me.”

I smile at his dare. Why does he think I let him out of the pantry to begin with?

“You better hurry.” I step out of the way. “The rain is starting.”

He remains in place for another few seconds and then walks past me, never turning his back until he’s out the pantry door. “Don’t be long,” he says.

“I’m right behind you.”

He leaves, and I follow, weaving through the crowd until I make it to the foyer. The music pumps, the black lights showing off all the artwork over all the naked skin, and I look around for Krisjen.

But I don’t find her, thankfully.

I spot her brother instead, the twelve-year-old huddled in conversation with Santos’s son, JC. Mars is shirtless, some kind of anime character drawn on his arm.

I charge over, yanking JC’s arm. “Hey!” I glare down at the kid. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes go wide, and he straightens, clearly shocked to see me. “What? Um …” He struggles to find his words. “Well, they sneak over to our side all the time,” he says, as if that’s an excuse to come here.

He lowers his hands, trying to hide the beer, but I grab it. “Give me that.”

“It’s dark in here,” he argues. “No one knows I’m Swamp.”

But I turn my scowl on Mars. “And where the hell are you supposed to be?”

He swallows. “My grandma’s.”

I grab his beer, too. “Y’all get out of here. Goddammit.” I wouldn’t let them come to any of our parties, either. “Get home!”

They scram, running out of the front door, and I start to tell Mars to get his ass upstairs, but it’s too loud for him to sleep here anyway. Best that he heads back to his grandmother’s, where Krisjen probably still thinks he is.

I set the beers down and take off outside, just in time to see a dark silver Audi speed out of the driveway. And if it’s Milo, he’s not alone. There are two others in the car with him.

I glance over at Dallas. “Let’s go!”

He throws his cigarette down and starts for me, Trace rising from underneath the girl’s hood.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Trace asks.

“Stay,” I tell him. “Help Krisjen get these people out of here.” Dallas climbs into the truck, and I open the driver’s side door. But I hear Trace call out, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I haul my body into the seat and slam the door. I meet Trace’s eyes through Dallas’s window. “Me?”

I’m legit asking, and he knows it. He laughs, and I start the engine, racing out of the driveway.

I’ll be a grandfather before Trace is ever married. I’m not the immature one.

I speed onto the street and stop, seeing Milo’s taillights glow bright red to my left down the lane. He turns, disappearing, and I jerk the wheel, racing after him.

Fat raindrops land like darts on the windshield, and I kick on the wipers, trying to find him in the distance.

There are several cars ahead of me.

“So, what’s going on?” Dallas asks.

“Just a little deterrence.”

I had to get him out of her house. If I’d stayed the night, I would’ve let him stew, but since I was leaving, he had to, as well.

Dallas points ahead. “There he is.”

I change lanes, going around an SUV, and stop at the light, Milo in the next lane, two cars head.

“They see us,” he says.

Milo adjusts his sideview mirror until he meets my eyes. “They’re gonna speed,” I warn Dallas.

I can’t. Not on this side of the tracks.

“If we’re lucky, they’ll get into an accident,” I say.

He chuckles. “These kinds of games aren’t like you.”

“Yeah, she’s driving me nuts.”

I say it before I can stop myself.

I’ve been thinking about her for a while. I shouldn’t have asked her to go to the strip club. It’s somewhere you go with a woman you’ve been with for a while for a fun night out, maybe. Not someone you want to fall in love with you. Someone you want to impress.

The light turns green, and Milo shoots off, speeding like his parents sit on the town council.

I punch the gas pedal, keeping my eyes peeled and accelerating faster and faster.

The rain is like rivers pouring down the windshield, and I speed up the wipers and tighten my fist on the wheel. Milo’s headlights blur through the rain.

“Just stay next to me,” I tell Dallas, “and don’t cause any bullshit.”

“He deserves to disappear,” he fires back.

Yeah, but I’m not orphaning my son by going to jail for this asshole.

I squint, trying to see through the windshield in the dark and the storm. “Fuck, it’s thick,” I gripe.

He halts at a stop sign, I’m two cars behind, and I watch him turn left.

I smile as the car between us follows him, and I approach the sign, getting ready to stop.

But Dallas yells, “Go!”

I bolt through the stop sign, but I don’t turn left, following Milo. Instead, I spin the wheel right and hit the gas, firing down the street, the pavement going from smooth to broken in an instant. Water splashes up as I race through puddles, Dallas and I bouncing inside the truck.

There’s one road into Sanoa Bay, two converging into that one. Saints usually stick to the freshly paved street that takes them past the tourist-ridden wetlands and the airboat and fishing recreation bullshit, avoiding this nearly abandoned street altogether.

We hit a pothole, Dallas grabbing the handle above his door as he catches air, and I press my back into the seat to stabilize myself.

But I hear a squeal from the seats behind us, and I jerk my eyes to Dallas.

He looks at me, and we both do a double take toward the back seat. Keeping my eyes on the road, I stick my hand back there and feel two bodies.

“What the hell?” I yell.

JC and Mars pop up, JC folding his lips between his teeth, trying not to laugh, while Mars looks more contrite.

“Ah, shit,” Dallas grumbles.

“Dammit!” I bark. “You little shits.”

“Just keep going!” Dallas shouts. “Hurry!”

Tall trees and heavy brush surround us, and we bounce over the tracks, into Sanoa Bay. Taking a left and then a right, I don’t see any taillights ahead of us.

A small fork lies up the road, and I charge as fast as I can, swerving as low-hanging branches hit my windshield.

“Gotta get there before he makes the turn!” Dallas shouts.

“I know that! I can’t see.”

Ben Calderon’s driveway appears, and I jerk the wheel right, speeding up a small incline and slamming on the brakes. A thick row of trees blocks the view of the street from the driveway, and I yank my door open, glancing in the back seat before I jump out.

“I’ll deal with you two later,” I grit out. “Stay here!”

“Yeah, right,” JC replies, but I’m in too much of a hurry to fight with him.

Hopping out of the truck, I move to the tailgate, pulling it down. Sliding one of the many containers toward me, I flip open the lid and find the spikes.

I grab them.

“Hurry!” Dallas yells.

I hand him one side and take the handle of the other, leading the way through the trees and looking both ways. No cars coming. I walk to the other side, Dallas remaining where he is as we stretch the chain link of spikes across the road.

“This isn’t gonna kill them, is it?” I shout.

Iron had a lot of fun with these things back in the day. As long as they’re not going fast, it should be fine, right?

But Dallas yells at me, “He attacked our sister! And likes to beat up on women!”

“Right.”

I mean, it can’t be that unsafe. They sell them on Amazon.

I drop the chain, making sure it’s straight.

“They’re coming!” he shouts, running back for the brush.

I follow, both of us situating ourselves out of sight as Mars and JC come up to watch.

I grab them and pull them back.

The Audi gets closer and closer, rain dancing in front of the headlights. Almost there, almost there. I hold my breath, the fear that a stupid prank could turn bad making my stomach churn a little.

The car zooms past, and shots pierce the air. Pop, pop, pop, pop.

The car swerves and the tires expel their air, the sound of rain and the deflated rubber hitting the street filling my ears.

The car goes off the road and disappears into a shallow ditch, its taillights sticking up in the air.

Dallas smiles. “Never gets old.”

JC will keep his mouth shut. I look down at Mars. “Snitches get stitches.”

He nods once, totally on board.

I race to the other side of the street, hearing some girl and guy screaming in a way that sounds mad and not injured, while Milo’s seat belt hits his window and he shoves his door open.

I back up before he can see us.

“Who’s that?” I hear Dallas ask.

I follow his gaze, seeing another car coming.

“Get the chain!” I whisper-yell.

But he stands his ground. “It’s probably more of them.”

I watch, realization hitting when I recognize the make and model of the car that owns those headlights.

“It’s Conroy!” I tell him. “Pull it back!”

He doesn’t. Just shrugs.

“Dallas!”

Goddamn him.

I don’t have time to stop her. She flies past, her tires popping instantly.

Ah, shit. Macon’s going to fucking kill us over more tires down the drain.

Son of a bitch.

She swerves left and right, finally skidding to a halt ahead, and I run up to her, pulling her out of the car. Trace jumps out the passenger side.

I hold her by her upper arms. “You okay?”

“Are you serious?” she shouts, scowling. “My tires!”

She looks back at the road and the spikes, and I glance toward the ditch, but Milo and his pals are still down there and can’t see us.

Yet.

We have to get out of here.

I take her hand, pulling her into the trees and back toward my truck, leaving her dad’s Benz in the road.

“Where’s my brother?” she demands. “Why’d you take him? Mars!”

“Shh,” I insist.

Milo will hear her.

I drag her back up to my truck in Calderon’s driveway with Dallas and Trace following.

I point at Mars. “You sleep at his house,” I say, gesturing to JC. “Get home! Both of you. Hurry!”

JC grabs Mars by the elbow, leading him away. We’re not far from home.

“Let’s go,” I say, then to Trace and Dallas, “Take the truck. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll load up some tires to bring back for her car.”

They climb in and shove off, racing down the road the short distance back to the house.

I feel pretty fucking stupid for being that petty with that piece of shit, but I forgot how good it felt to do something that’s not work, and end the night with something pretty.

I take her in my arms, then notice the white dress she’s wearing. Sleeveless and ending at mid-thigh, it has straps across her chest and back, showing slivers of skin. Her hair is soaking wet now, but she feels just as good.

And slowly, I start to spin, holding her eyes the whole time.

“What are you doing?” she asks, stumbling as she tries to keep up.

“It’s our first date.”

We’re dancing.

I twirl her faster, around and around, again and again, and when I dip her fast and low, she finally smiles. Uncontainable and uncontrollable.

I guess she’s sleeping over.