: Chapter 6

Twenty-one to drink, eighteen to sleep over.

I laugh at the picture on my Instagram feed, a sign hanging on the outside of the Jaeger house tonight.

I look out the window of Mariette’s, seeing the bedsheet with the blocky black letters billow in the light breeze. Trace can be clever when he wants to be. And I have no doubt that sign was all his doing.

My phone rings, and I see Clay’s name. I swipe, answering it. “Hey,” I singsong, clearing the dirty plates from an empty table. “Having fun?”

“Oh my God, it’s fucking freezing up here.” I can hear the shiver in her laugh. “But New England is super pretty, and I should’ve known Liv wouldn’t have dodgy friends. I like them. But I’d like them better in Florida.”

Part of me wishes she’d decide to transfer up to Liv’s school. I’d miss her, but I’d love to live vicariously. Olivia Jaeger and Clay Collins are most beautiful when they’re together.

“What are you dressed as?” I ask.

“Look at IG. We win Halloween. And you?”

I pull my phone away from my ear to check the picture she must’ve posted, but then I remember I’m still talking to her. “I’m not dressed as anything,” I tell her. “I’m going home.”

“No, you have to go to the party.”

“Why?”

“Because I need more dirt.”

I exhale hard, dumping the dishes next to the dishwasher. “Yeah, at my expense. Jesus, you’re priceless.”

“Oh, just go for it,” she says. “I would.”

“Easy to say now from the comfort of a committed relationship when you don’t have to suffer any of the consequences for careless behavior.”

“Whatever.”

Damn right, and I open my mouth to tell her that, but she cuts me off.

“So hear me out,” she says in my ear. “I told Liv your situation—”

“Oh, Clay! You didn’t.”

“Hold up.” She rushes to defend herself. “She agrees with me. She says it has to be Iron.”

“She’s going to think I’m treating her brother’s bedrooms like musical chairs.”

Why would Clay tell her? Liv is my friend, but she’s their family first.

But Clay kind of mumbles. “That’s actually nothing she’s not used to, growing up in a house full of bachelors.”

“But I’m her friend. It’s different.” I rip off my apron and throw it in the laundry bag by the back door. “I’m not telling you anything ever again.”

She seems not to hear me. “She says Dallas wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole …”

I stop. “But he touched Amy last spring—”

“And she says it’s possible that it’s Army, but on the couch doesn’t sound like him. He prefers privacy.”

That’s probably true. I’ve never seen him go upstairs or come down with a woman. He always goes to their places. He shares a room with his infant son, so that’s understandable.

So, likely it was Iron, then. “Okay, so … what?” I ask her, grabbing my bag and heading out the door. “He surrenders at the jail in the morning. What am I supposed to do? Fall in love with him?”

“No. You go to that house, go up to Liv’s room, and pull out the Mad Hatter costume from her closet that she made in high school. Then you go up to him and pick a fight. Let him ravage the granddaughter of the man who’s sending him to prison.”

Jesus.

But I slow as I walk, feeling the breeze on my legs and hearing the sway of the fronds on the palms. We might get a storm tonight.

I want to see him one more time. How could he fuck up so badly? How could he be leaving? Macon is right to be angry.

Macon …

I raise my eyes, seeing light glowing from inside the garage down the street, a shadow passing in front of one of the windows.

“Krisjen?” Clay says when I don’t reply.

I take a second, but then I ask. “What did she say about Macon?”

My voice comes out smaller than it was.

She says nothing, but I hear something brush over the phone and muffled words in the background. After a few seconds, she comes back on.

“You don’t want it to be him.”

But it’s not Clay’s voice in my ear. It’s Liv’s.

“If you think it was,” Liv says, “I wouldn’t pursue it.”

Why?

“Besides,” she adds, “he would never screw my friends. It’s Iron or Army.”

But wouldn’t they have mentioned it? Or been more obvious?

“Keep the costume,” she tells me. “I’m guessing it’ll hold some memories for you after tonight.”

“Oh, it’ll get dirty,” I tease.

She expels some kind of disgusted sound, and I laugh as I continue walking. “Bye.”

We hang up, and I pause mid-step next to my dad’s car before I veer left again and keep walking to the Jaeger house. Screw it. I can say goodbye to him. This could be it, right?

I pass the garage. Macon isn’t there, but the hood of my car is up, a drop light hanging from inside it and tools propped around the edge.

The sign Trace painted on a sheet billows from the windows above as more cars pull up and music pours onto the overgrown lawn from the open front door. Without looking at anyone, I dive into the house and jog up the stairs, walking straight for Liv’s room. Once inside, I drop my bag and dig in her closet.

Liv worked behind the scenes of our high school’s theater department for four years, and she never threw anything away. She’d take discards from costume designs and make them into something she could wear. There was a tweed vest cropped indecently that I fell in love with the last time I was in here, but I don’t see it now. She probably took it to college.

Finding the Mad Hatter costume, I take it out and start undressing. It’s a spectacular outfit. She always made the costumes without approval. She thought if she could show the theater teacher her new idea rather than describe it to her, it would go over better. It rarely did.

But she tried.

Liv was always trying to get roles that weren’t traditionally played by women. For the longest time, I didn’t understand why. The audience doesn’t want to see a female Captain Jack Sparrow or Hannibal Lecter played by a girl. They won’t show up for a woman performing as Darth Vader, Vito Corleone, or John McClane.

Norman Bates, Han Solo, Neo, and Freddy Krueger are men, and the world doesn’t want to imagine that it could be different.

But … they’re great roles, and if I were an actor like her, I could see the allure of playing them. They’re complex. Males in a story always get the great scenes. The great lines. The epic fights and battles and power plays. They can be loners and villains, criminals and crazies, and no one really worries about why they’re doing what they do. Motive isn’t important. They can murder, fight, blow things up … No one thinks less of Sherlock Holmes because he was never married or never had children. If a woman wants to be a spy, we wonder why. What happened in her past to make her reject a home and a family?

Liv didn’t want to be Ophelia, Desdemona, or Juliet’s nurse, because they were either manipulated, victimized, or subservient. And how often do we find ourselves still playing that shit every day? It’s not a challenge.

Sometimes I want to blow something up, and I don’t even care why.

I finish donning the patchwork skirt that falls mid-thigh, button up the sleeveless waistcoat with nothing underneath, and slip on the red velvet fitted jacket. I tease up my hair, add some blue and green eye shadow, and then finish it off with a bow tie around my naked neck, a top hat, and some lipstick.

I gaze in the mirror before realizing I’m barefoot and dig in Liv’s closet for the boots, one purple and one green.

A crash sounds downstairs followed by a muffled shout as someone passes by on the other side of Liv’s door.

Grabbing my phone, I head down.

The floor vibrates under my feet, the music banging against the walls, and I hear laughter behind me. Two guys I don’t know slam the door to Iron and Dallas’s room and race past me. I jump out of the way.

“Sorry,” the brunette one says, smiling and still laughing with his friend as they jog down the stairs. A fresh bruise sits on his neck, similar to the one I had a week ago.

The door behind me opens again, and Dallas steps out, pulling on a T-shirt. His hair falls in his eyes, but then he slicks it back over the top of his head, the dark strands threaded through his fingers.

His green eyes bore into me as he passes, and I’m pretty sure Dallas wishes I were a man. He could hurt me then.

Chromatics’ “Whispers in the Hall” starts as the lights suddenly dim, and only a blue glow fills the downstairs. People howl with excitement as I come to the bottom of the steps, and I look right, seeing couples dance in what I think used to be the dining room. But I’ve only ever seen a pool table in there. They hold each other close, bodies moving into each other, and I can make out a zombie nurse, a cat, a Camp Crystal Lake counselor in short-shorts and tube socks, and a ghost with an erection tenting his sheet. Clever.

I start to look for Iron, but then I remember Clay saying she posted pictures of her and Liv’s costumes. I check Instagram, tapping on her latest pic and enlarging it.

Clay is dressed as James Bond, complete with fitted tuxedo and bow tie. Her blond hair, in loose waves, is teased and big, while Liv—interestingly enough—is dressed like a Bond girl. Tight, sleek red gown, the shiny silk showing every curve, the slit in the fabric teasing all the way up her thigh. I laugh to myself. She puts up a fight over what role she’s told she has to play, but for her girlfriend, she’s happy to be dominated.

“Is that Liv and Clay?” someone asks over my shoulder.

I glance at Trace as he peers at the pic on my phone, his chin practically resting on my shoulder.

“Yeah.”

He smiles. “That’s cool.”

A guy wearing skull face paint passes by us with a young woman’s hand in his. My gaze immediately drops to her chest, unable to not notice.

Holy shit.

They walk up the stairs, other heads turning as they go.

I tuck my phone away, turning to Trace. “Was she seriously just dressed as a wet T-shirt contest winner?” I snort. “That’s awesome.”

He hooks an arm around my neck, grinning. “You’re not at a high school party, honey. Or a St. Carmen one.” He leans into my ear. “There are men here.”

Yeah. I know. I’ve been to some parties here, thanks.

I look back up at him. Black pants, black belt, no shirt. The word SAUCE is written on his abs in blocky black letters. Then there’s an arrow pointing down toward his groin.

“What are you—?” But then I stop, realization dawning. Hot sauce. I roll my eyes.

He chuckles. “What are you supposed to be?”

I open my mouth to answer, but someone else does instead. “Welcome to the mad tea party, Hatter.”

I glance up, seeing Iron approach, his John Wick costume looking entirely too good not to be a daily thing. Black suit, white shirt, and black tie all chic and fitting like the outfit was especially made for him, but I know Iron wouldn’t have wasted money getting a costume specifically tailored. His black hair is pushed back, but a little to the side, and while he doesn’t have a beard like Keanu, he might look better, because the Jaeger boys’ green eyes are something else when they wear black.

“You’ll fit right in,” he teases, paraphrasing a quote from Alice in Wonderland.

He takes my hand, and Trace releases me, walking on my other side as Iron leads me.

“Please tell me you are actually serving minors?” I ask them.

Trace arches a brow. “You sleeping over?”

“If she drinks, she stays,” Iron says, holding out his other hand. “Give me your keys.”

I look up at him.

And I take out my car key, dropping it into his hand.

Sliding it into his pocket, he takes my hand again and leads us to the kitchen, where the L-shaped counter is full of food and the shorter section has been turned into a bar. Iron takes a cup, uses it to scoop ice out of a cooler, and then lifts the bottle of rum, looking to me before he pours it.

I nod, and the next thing I know, liquor is sloshing over the cubes, damn near filling the glass. My eyes go wide, but I don’t say anything as he adds some ginger ale to whatever space is left in the cup.

He hands it to me, and I can’t help but laugh. “Thanks.”

They’re whiskey and beer guys. I’ll make my own mixed drinks next time.

I sip, instantly feeling that anticipation that the promise of alcohol brings as the spice burns my throat. Iron pours some Macallan over ice, while Trace pops the top on a beer and the song changes to something harder. A cup drops, its contents spilling. I look up, seeing the garage, outside the kitchen window, full of people, too. Macon sits on a brown leather couch.

He’s burrowed into the sofa, slouching with his head resting against the back of it, staring off.

Turin Wilcott is at his side, sitting on her legs and trying to get his attention. Her hand is on his thigh.

“Does Macon know her?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink.

She’s a Saint. Several years ahead of me in school. She must be twenty-five or so by now. Curvier, blond, and she has a hell of a lot more money, which she’s been spending like crazy since she broke up with her fiancé.

Iron replies, “I don’t know.”

I watch her lean in closer and slide her hand up his shirt, touching his stomach. His eyelids drop as the bottle in his hand tilts. Jim Beam. It’s already more than half-gone.

He raises it to his mouth and swallows, closing his eyes as the liquor goes down his throat.

I frown. “He doesn’t look right.”

Iron scoffs, dropping a few more cubes into his cup. “He’s having some fuckin’ fun for once.”

“And he’s out of our hair,” Trace adds.

I look between them, both of them busy moving on with having a good time, and it bugs me. I glance at Macon again, knowing that he’d probably subject them to verbal abuse if they tried to interfere. Or tell him he’s drinking too much lately.

They know him better than I do, I guess.

I take the shot Iron holds up in front of me, all of us tapping our drinks in a cheers before we shoot them. Peppermint burns my throat, and I close my eyes, feeling the music under my skin. I lean back into a body I know is Iron’s.

He reaches around me with one arm and picks up his drink, his other hand on my hip. “Go,” he tells Trace. “She’s with me tonight.”

I look over at Trace, his eyes flashing to me and then his older brother. I turn around, facing Iron. “I’m with you? When was that decided?”

“In the cooler yesterday.” He cocks his head. “I could’ve had you then.”

Trace passes by, leaving us to it. I’m not with him, either.

Iron watches me with those eyes, and my cheeks warm like he’s touching my face, but he’s not.

I raise my chin a little higher.

“If you’re not interested …” He starts to back away. “You better tell me now. I have to be at the police station in ten hours, and I plan on getting laid one last time. I’d like it if it were you.”

My eyes catch on fire, and the laughter bubbling up is about to pop out of my pores. Is he serious?

“Sure, absolutely,” I taunt. “Let’s do it now. Upstairs or in your car? I’ll just climb on and start bouncing.” I start to walk and pull him along. “If we do it quickly, you might have time to fit in another girl. Or two. Come on. We can be back before the beer runs out.”

I drop his hand and keep walking, leaving this fucking party. What a mistake. Asshole.

But he grabs me.

I pull against his grip as he yanks me in. “I’d like it …” he grits out, “if it were you.”

Why?

Because he liked it last time?

I jerk free as people around us turn to look. Maybe I want him with me tonight. Maybe it would’ve been easy to seduce me into staying. In a dark hallway. Up against a quiet wall. As he kissed me and slid into me nice and slow, over and over for an hour, and then took my smell with him tomorrow.

It wouldn’t have been hard to get me to stay. I knew that when I walked in here tonight. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy being seduced.

I tip my chin at him. “Truth or dare?”

His mouth twitches with a smile as he remains quiet for a moment. Then he replies, “Truth.”

“How would you fuck me?”

His eyebrows twitch in surprise, and I see a guy next to me falter in his dancing and look at me.

Iron squares his shoulders. “I want you to ride me. On the pool chair outside.”

Someone close by laughs, and others around us stop, taking notice of our confrontation.

Iron takes one step toward me. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Open your vest,” he tells me.

Not “take off your jacket” or “remove your hat.” He’s going straight for skin.

I undo the three buttons holding the vest closed over my bare chest, watching him the whole time.

But he’s not looking at my eyes. He stares at the open sliver, an inch wide, appearing from sternum to stomach and revealing only a tease of the mounds still covered.

The hair on my arms rises, and I can’t hear the music anymore. All I feel are his eyes like a tongue running up that slice of skin.

“Truth or dare?” I ask him.

“Truth.”

“Are you big?”

People laugh, Iron smiles. “Ask your friend,” he tells me. “What was her name again?”

Amy.

I fist my right hand. He’s going for broke tonight. Seeing how far he can push me.

“Truth or dare?” he says.

“Dare.”

“Take off your hat.”

I do, tossing it behind the recliner in the corner.

I steel my spine. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Will I come with you?”

A snort goes off, and a few more people have stopped to watch us.

Iron steps, closing the distance between us and looking down at my open vest. Sweat dampens my skin, and my nipples harden against the fabric.

“You’re almost coming right now,” he says.

I arch a brow.

“Truth or dare?” he asks.

“Dare.”

“Drop your jacket.”

But it’s a whisper, and heat pools between my legs.

Holding his gaze, I pull the Mad Hatter’s fitted red jacket off my shoulders and let it slide down my arms to the floor.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he replies.

“Do you go down?”

A woman behind me expels a breath.

Iron grins. “I always return a favor.”

More laughter.

“Truth or dare?” he challenges.

My heart skips a beat. I’m taking off something important now. But I get in his face anyway. “Dare.”

He stares at me, something playing behind his eyes. Probably the knowledge that this won’t end how he wants it to if he asks me to get naked in the middle of this party.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he squats down in front of me, slides his hands up my thighs, underneath my skirt, and I let him pull my panties down.

It feels like no one in the room is breathing. I step out of my lacy black underwear, while he looks up at me and slips them into his pocket.

“Truth or dare?” I ask.

He smiles. “Truth.”

I reach down where he still squats in front of me and touch his face. I want to memorize it, because he won’t have the color from all the work in the sun on his skin when he gets out of prison. “Are they going to be okay without you?” I ask.

His smile falls.

I faintly register the whispers, and I can feel Trace off to my right, clearing his throat.

Iron rises, the fun over, and he’s not amused now because he wants to get laid. It’s his own fault that it has to be tonight or nothing.

“Tryst Six …” I muse, pushing him some more. “Tryst Five when Liv left. Now it’s Tryst Four, I guess, without you.”

“Ohhhh,” someone goes off.

People shift nervously. They can tell Iron’s pissed.

“Dare,” he grits out, changing his answer.

“Fine. What do you want to do?”

“Tape your mouth shut,” he growls.

I smile, my chest bubbling with excitement. I look up, toying with him. “If you had bothered to seduce me instead of taking for granted that I was a sure thing, I would’ve let you tape up my wrists, too.” I bite my bottom lip, watching his eyes drop to my mouth. “Because, Iron, my favorite part isn’t the fucking. Color me shocked that you’re the one who understands that the least. What a disappointment.”

Laughter and howls go off. Iron cocks an eyebrow. At least Trace indulged some foreplay.

“Or is that why you go after teenage girls?” I ask Iron. “Because we’re just that easy.”

A woman laughs quietly next to Trace, and I look over to see him and Aracely smiling, amused.

Iron tosses him a glare, his younger brother throwing up his hands in defense.

“I love you. I’m on your side,” Trace says.

Iron turns back to me, and I notice his hand is still in his pocket with my panties.

“Hey, Army?” he calls out, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Yeah?” Army replies from somewhere behind me.

“We still got any red paint?” Iron asks him.

Excited laughter and chatter erupt around the room as if that means something. I shoot my eyes left and then right.

Then back to Iron. The corner of his lips tilts up. “I think it’s time for a few rounds of Red Right Hand.”

Everyone starts moving, someone’s hands shooting into the air while a woman lets out a squeal.

Red Right Hand?

Army passes me, coming up to his brother. “That is the best idea I’ve heard in a while.”

I look at him, and he looks at his brother.

“Are you sure?” he asks Iron. “She’s young.”

Iron raises his drink to his mouth. “Old enough to be doing our brother all night long for the past six months.”

“Oh, I know,” Army mumbles. “We could all hear it.”

Ugh. Liars.

Snickers go off, Dallas chuckling as he walks by, and I watch Iron throw the rest of his drink back and swallow it.

“Outside!” Army announces.

People move, shouts and laughter beginning again as they make for the nearest exit. Some out the kitchen door that leads straight into the garage, while others pile out the front door in a steady stream down the steps.

I don’t wait. Twisting on my heel, I grab my hat and coat and follow everyone outside, joining the river flowing to the side of the house and to the open garage.

I step through the crowd of costumes. Everyone else appears to know what’s going on. Army, Trace, Iron, and Dallas take up positions in front of the onlookers, my car that Macon was working on today sitting behind them.

Army uses a key on his chain to pry up the lid on the can of paint that looks like it’s been opened a dozen other times. The sides of the can are lined with streams of red, the label long since faded and worn.

I pull on my coat again and replace my hat as I watch Iron plunge a brush into the paint, bringing it up and then down on Trace’s hand—his right one—slathering it.

He does the same to Dallas and Iron, and I look to Macon, but he’s not moving from the couch. Turin Wilcott’s hand is still up his shirt.

“Celli,” Iron calls.

I jerk my gaze, seeing Aracely head over, joining Iron and his family.

“Is this going to mess up my clothes?” some girl asks.

“Oh, yeah,” another mumbles.

I lean closer to the guy next to me. “What is this?”

“Red Right Hand,” he tells me. “Like tag with a twist.” People start to head into the street.

“Ten rounds,” the guy explains. “When the music starts, you run into one of four garages.” And he points over our shoulders to the buildings side by side. “One—two.” And then he gestures to the Jaeger garage we’re standing in and the fire station next door. “Three—four. You’re safe once you’re inside. When the music starts again, you run again. When it stops, you better be back in one of them.”

I check all four safe houses, seeing all the garages are open. One is being set up with a table of liquor. Great. Everyone will be rushing to that one in between rounds.

“You can come back to the same garages multiple times,” he says, “but you can’t stay in the same one for two consecutive rounds.”

Meaning, you can’t just hide out. Everyone runs.

“And the paint?”

He points to the Jaegers—and Aracely. “They’ll be in the street.

As you run, that’s when you’re not safe. They’ll tag you with the paint. Every handprint costs you a piece of clothing.”

I button up my vest.

“The object of the game is not to get tagged,” he states.

Obviously.

I can leave. This isn’t how he’s going to get me naked.

I charge over to Iron and dig in his pocket, scowling up at him as I search for my keys. Is he trying to be a jerk? If we fuck, it has to be insane. Not because I’m his prize.

I shove my hand in his other pocket and feel my keys but also something else. My underwear.

Iron looks down at me, his chest pressing against mine, but something catches my attention.

I shift my eyes to the right. Macon stares at me.

Again.

A banner hangs on the wall above his head, the hourglass emblem billowing in the breeze. He doesn’t blink and barely breathes, and Turin notices, following his gaze.

But mine doesn’t leave his.

And for a second, something somewhere inside of me hurts.

I slip my panties out of his brother’s pocket and step into them, careful as I pull them up underneath the skirt. I try not to look back at him, but I can’t help it.

Macon’s attention isn’t on me anymore, though. It’s on the street and the bottle nearly empty at his side.

“Love your costume, Krisjen,” Dallas coos. “We’ll have no problem finding you in a crowd.”

Yeah, a lot of people are wearing black. Won’t be hard to pick out all my green and purple and orange.

“Did they explain it to you, newbie?” Iron strolls behind me as I head to the street with the others. “You had a good education. What’s the Red Right Hand?”

“It’s from Paradise Lost,” I reply, joining the crowd in the middle of the road. “Divine vengeance.”

Maybe not a good education, but definitely a Catholic one.

He tips his head at me. “You know where you’re going?”

“I’ll protect her.” Trace wiggles his eyebrows. “If she wants me being the only one to see her naked tonight, that is.”

I sneer. “You’re such a gentleman.”

He plants a kiss on my forehead, and I jerk away.

I face them, the night breeze calm but thick, something heavy in the air. I’m already sweating.

I face them as they stand in the middle of the road, digging my heels into the ground and ready for the music to start.

Iron grins at me, but then he pulls off his jacket and rips open his shirt, tossing both on the ground. He gestures his brothers over and tells them something I can’t hear, the whole time stealing glances over at me.

“Shit,” I murmur.

“Hey, why can’t I be a Red Right Hand?” a man shouts off to my right. “How many times you guys want to see me naked?”

“It’s for everyone else, Chon,” Iron shouts. “They’ve heard how big you are. As hosts, we have to accommodate.”

Everyone laughs. When was the last time they played this?

Macon had to have at least once. Maybe a long time ago?

A drop lands on my hand. I tilt my eyes up, seeing a flash of lightning cut through the sky.

“Are you ready?” Army calls out.

The whole crowd howls. “Whoo!”

The wind picks up, and a distant roll of thunder follows.

“I think it’s about to rain,” I say.

But Dallas just smirks. “It’s a water sport, princess. You’re gonna get wet.”

Snorts go off around me. God, I hate him.

“Where the River Flows” starts over the speakers, lightning flashes, and Iron rubs his red thumb across the rest of his dripping fingers.

“Run!” someone shouts.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I can’t help my smile, nearly choking on my laugh as I race off.

I barrel for the garage across the street, every step taking me closer to the bright lights inside, and the nineties black sedan sitting up on cinder blocks in the center.

Commotion fills the small street, feet pound the wet dirt, and bodies fall to the ground.

Iron’s naked chest appears out of the corner of my eye.

But a guy crashes into my shoulder, making me whip around, and I suck in a breath as I plummet to the ground. My palms hit hard, breaking my fall. “Ow!”

Shit.

I look around, searching for Iron. Fuck. Where is he?

“There you are,” I hear instead.

My heart stops, and I jerk my eyes to the left, seeing Aracely walk slowly toward me while everyone runs around like the world is ending.

Oh no.

She dives down, reaching for me, and I yelp, quickly rolling away as fast as I can.

Scrambling to my feet, I catch sight of Trace leaving a red handprint on someone’s back, while Dallas grabs a girl by the back of the neck and pulls her in for a kiss, smearing paint all over her skin like her throat’s been cut.

Iron stands beyond, slowly stalking as he watches. Amusement laces his stare, but something else, too.

Why isn’t he chasing me? He’s not chasing anyone else.

Running, I cross the threshold into the opposite garage, the music stops, and I halt, everyone laughing as they discard clothes, one woman going for it and taking off her entire one-piece catsuit. Another pulls down the top of her maid dress to sit at her waist, her red lacy bra covering her breasts. I lock eyes with her, both of us starting to laugh.

Rain kicks up dirt as I look across to the Jaeger garage, seeing all the boys coat their hands in paint again, and then come to stand back in the middle of the road.

Turin Wilcott slides a leg over Macon’s, straddling him and bowing her forehead to his. She takes his hands and places them on her hips for him, like he can’t make his own damn decisions.

I shout out to his brothers. “So how do I win this game?”

Army whips his hand around, throwing off the excess paint. “Oh, she’s confident, isn’t she?”

He smiles, and I wink.

“I have a judge in my back pocket. What do you have in yours?”

His smile falls, Dallas shakes his head, and Trace leans down, planting his hands on his knees and getting paint all over his jeans as he pants and zones in on me.

“She just fucking asked for it, didn’t she?” he says.

Oh, yes, I did.

Iron stalks back and forth, the music starts, and we all dash into the rain.

“Ah!” someone shouts next to me, followed by a woman squealing.

The rain falls harder, dousing my hair, and people slosh through puddles, whipping to and fro as they’re grabbed by red right hands.

Aracely comes for me, and I’m not sure why she’s bent on getting me naked, but it’s probably to humiliate me.

I grab the back of a guy’s shirt, whirl him around, and block her advance, pushing him at her. She tags his shirt, and I run, hearing her yell, “Bitch!”

Followed by him. “Brat!”

I laugh and see Iron as I pass, but I keep running as screams fill the air.

I leap into the garage across the street—the firehouse next door to the Jaegers—and check myself for any marks.

Others forfeit more items of clothing, taking shots off the makeshift bars set up in every shop, and Iron stands in the rain tipping his chin at me. “You’re fast.”

I dig in the ball of my foot, getting ready again.

“Round three!” Army shouts. “Ready?”

“Whooooooo!”

The music starts, everyone runs, but I step out, one slow step after another. Iron matches me, walking for the other side, through the throngs of people, his eyes only on me.

Army goes after Chon, Dallas after that girl again, and Trace plants his hand on the naked back of a young woman over and over again as she laughs hysterically, losing every item of clothing.

My heart races. The chaos whirls around us. Iron and I move clockwise in a circle. He could pounce any second.

I call out. “Run!”

He smirks. “I don’t chase.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll never catch me.”

Spinning around, I race for the other side, but Army is suddenly there, in front of me. I halt, rearing back, but he catches me by the neck, a wicked smile curling his lips.

The paint from his hand is ice on my neck.

He peels my jacket off my shoulders, and I let it drop down my arms, catching it in my hand.

“You’re too old to see me naked,” I taunt him.

He arches an eyebrow. “Assuming I haven’t already …” What?

He runs, and I stand frozen for a second as naked people rush around me.

What did he say?

I shake my head and run for the safe spot.

He didn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean he’s talking about that night. It simply means he saw me naked once. Maybe he saw me on the couch the morning after. I was on my stomach, and the blanket was mostly covering me.

Mostly.

Or there was that time in June when Trace and I were in the pool alone. Really late, and we were caught up in the moment. Maybe everyone wasn’t asleep.

I land in the Jaeger garage, toss the jacket down, and check the vest for paint. Nothing is dripping through. Good. I know Liv said I could keep the outfit, but she put a lot of work into it. I’d feel bad ruining it.

A woman passes in front of me, shirtless and with her bra strap hanging down her arm, and nearly every guy is without a shirt.

The Jaegers plus Aracely stand out in the rain, ready, the music kicks on again, and some guy next to me holds up his arms.

“Go!” he shouts.

We all run. Trace tags me. I lose the hat. Dammit.

Music stops and starts again, and I run, laughing as I leap over someone on the ground, and almost make it to the other side before Aracely almost catches me on the stomach.

Three more rounds, and I lose both shoes and one sock as Dallas, Army, and Trace stalk me and I struggle to stretch this out as long as possible while everyone around me is damn near naked.

Most quit once they’re down to their underwear, only about four of us left.

Iron watches me the whole time.

“Go!” they shout again.

Music starts, we rush, more Jaegers than runners now, and it’s only a matter of time.

I splash through the puddles in the road, rain streaming down my face. Army sees me, stops, and looks like he’s about to give chase. I stumble.

Right into Trace’s arms.

He laughs, squeezing my ass in both hands.

I push, squirming out of his hold until he lets me go.

“You don’t get to touch me there anymore!” I fire back at him.

“Yeah, let’s keep pretending like you made that decision.”

Asshole.

He veers around me, holding my eyes. “I want that skirt, Krisjen.”

I yank off my last sock, throwing it at him instead.

He tosses his head back, laughing up into the night sky as he runs off. “Coward!”

I shoot off for the safe zone; the music stops, and I pace in front of the opening of the garage, alone. The last three players are in the garage next to mine, and I’m guessing the nearly naked couple behind me making out behind the tool bench are done for the night.

Iron watches me, and there’s no way in hell I’m taking off any more clothes.

So why don’t I just quit?

The music blasts loud over the rain; I run, and Trace swoops toward me. I laugh so hard I almost choke, but I dive, rolling underneath him and away.

I don’t have time to see where he went before I’m locked between two legs towering over me.

Dallas stares down, holding his fist out. He squeezes, and I see red paint start to drip. I close my eyes just in time, feeling warm drops—one after another—land over the side of my mouth.

I open my eyes and glare up at him through the rain. “You should be nice to people who handle your food,” I growl.

I climb to my feet, starting to run, but all of a sudden, everyone is here.

Aracely hits my legs.

I scream.

Army splashes my back.

I suck in a breath.

Trace pinches my nose.

I rage. “What the fuck, y’all?”

I whip around.

And find myself in Iron’s arms, his painted hands gripping my waist.

That’s five. That’s more than the rest of my clothes.

Five hits. Everything else I’m wearing. More than everything, actually, as I only have three items left. Skirt, vest, and underwear.

The music plays, and Iron bites the corner of his mouth. I stare up at his lips.

“You want all these people to see me naked?” I ask him.

“You want just me to see you?”

Maybe.

If I like him, then I’ll want more, right? What will he be like when he gets out in three years?

Where will I even be?

I don’t want to wait for another man, thinking it will magically get better. I did that with Milo.

And I don’t want to just have fun. I did that with Trace.

I start to pull away. “You should find someone else tonight.”

“Nah, we’re way past that,” he growls, yanking me back.

“I can’t sleep with you.”

His eyes soften, and he almost whispers, “Then just stay with me.”

A knife cuts my heart.

But I also know better. If he gets me in his bed, he knows what will happen.

“What do you think you’re going to get if you get my clothes off?” I ask.

“A pretty picture in my head to take with me.”

“You have plenty of those.”

A bell pierces the air, and I look over to see Trace ringing the brass dinner bell on Mariette’s patio. Someone dumps a bucket of shrimp and mollusks on the newspaper-lined table as people crowd around, grabbing beers out of an ice-filled bin.

Iron takes my face. “I want to get in the car with you and drive to a different fucking view tonight. I want to drive fast enough that the sun never comes up.”

My throat is so tight. “I … I can’t.”

“Smile at me,” he says.

I shake my head, and I don’t smile.

If all he wants is to feel good, he can easily get that from anyone. I’m not going to feel sorry for him.

“Why me?” I ask him.

“Because you’re beautiful,” he tells me. “And cute. And I want you to fuck me so I can stockpile all these memories for when I’m older. So I can think back to when I was young and had a pretty girl in my arms before she saw me get old and ragged and realized she could do better.”

His jaw flexes, but I stay rooted. Rain courses down my legs, my feet sinking into the mud.

“I want you naked in the back seat,” he tells me. “I want to hold you and kiss the rain on your mouth and make the most out of the next few hours.”

He wants to forget. He wants to not think. He just wants to feel.

He doesn’t want me.

“Maybe another time,” I say.

He narrows his eyes, but then Trace comes up and grabs him.

“Iron, come on. Let’s eat. Last meal for—”Iron pushes him away.

Trace stumbles, bracing himself as Iron charges him.

But I jet in front of him, pushing him away from Trace before he can get to him. “Stop it!” I yell at Iron. “Why do you always have to do that?”

“Because I’m fucking stupid!” He glares down at me. “Didn’t you know?”

Trace disappears from my peripheral, but I don’t care if we have an audience. Iron doesn’t need to get laid. He needs a fucking kick in the head.

I get in his face. “You knew you were going to be sent away if you screwed up again. Why didn’t you listen?”

“Look around you, Krisjen!” He throws his arms out. “Nothing to do in this shithole but drink, fuck, and fight.” He backs away. “What the hell do you care? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop blowing it off!” I shout, rain spilling over my lips. “Stop acting like you don’t care, because if you don’t, then there’s no reason for you to come back!”

He falls silent, a pained look in his eyes.

I continue. “Because if you’re not going to come home stronger, then you’re just going to be a burden. Because I don’t want you to leave, and I know it’s going to break your heart when you do tomorrow, and I want to fucking acknowledge it!”

His eyes water, but he doesn’t blink. Every inch of him looks like a wall.

I lower my voice just a little, so no one hears but him. “It’s not a shithole,” I tell him. “And Sanoa Bay will be less without you. You should feel bad about leaving them less protected so you don’t do it again.”

He drops his eyes to the ground.

“And because I’ll miss you,” I say.

Slowly, he raises his eyes to Mariette’s and then over to his house as if it’s the first time he’s realizing this is his home, and leaving is one thing, but leaving for prison is a waste. And for what? A stupid bar fight where he attacked a connected frat boy and then resisted arrest on top of it?

He looks like he’s not really in his body as he takes a step back, and then another. He turns and walks to his house.

I feel his brothers’ eyes on me as Iron disappears inside, and I can’t help the guilt that suddenly hits me.

I wasn’t wrong. He needed someone to say it.

But what’s done is done. I don’t want him to leave in the morning feeling worse. Or forgetting the good things he’s going to come back to, either.

“Krisjen!” I hear Trace call out.

But it’s time for me to go home. No idea if I’ll be back tomorrow. I probably just lost my job.

I pat my pockets for my car key, but then I sigh when I remember that Iron still has it.

I walk for the Jaeger garage, seeing Macon’s still there with the blonde. Her back is against the wall, her hands climbing his chest as he leans on his forearm and bows his head toward her.

I squat down to pick up my clothes and shoes, watching him sway to the right and stepping out to stop himself.

I rise back up. She whispers in his ear and then slips out from under his arm, running for the kitchen door and throwing him a smile.

I stuff my socks in the boots and fold the jacket over my arm. Water drips from everything.

Macon turns, locking eyes with me, and I feel something in my stomach flip.

He grabs the bottle of Jim Beam from the edge of the car he’s working on, and I start to walk for the kitchen. I need to get my key.

But I turn to Macon, speaking softly. “You should get rid of that girl.”

“Don’t speak.”

He doesn’t even look at me.

I don’t know why I care. I’ve never seen him go to bed with anyone. Maybe he should.

I climb the three steps to the door. “You’re wasted,” I blurt out, turning the handle. “You’re not going to make any decisions tonight that you’re proud of.”

And I walk inside, slamming the door before he can spit anything back.

I wish I could say that Macon’s declining mood is Iron’s fault, but I noticed it at the beginning of summer. He was drinking more, staying up late, and increasingly angry.

And when Liv left for college in August, it got worse. With Iron leaving now, I don’t know what’s going to happen.

Like I’m one to fix him or anyone else, right?

I search the house, knocking on Iron’s bedroom door. I hear a girl in the bathroom and head back downstairs, the house quiet and dark.

Entering the kitchen, I look out the other window leading to the pool deck. I spot Iron’s right leg hanging over a chaise lounge, the rest of his body sprawled out. His foot is bare, and a giant umbrella hovers over him.

Setting down my clothes, I walk outside, coming up behind him. Rounding the chair, I see he has his hands locked on top of his head, rain dotting his body and dripping over his tattoos.

He chews the corner of his mouth, but I see the tears in his red eyes that he doesn’t try to hide.

I feel my own burn. I’m scared for him.

God, I should’ve just fucking backed off. He only wanted one last night. I could’ve left. I didn’t have to yell at him.

“You’re covered,” he says, his voice gentle.

I see him staring at my clothes, and I look down at all the hand-prints I can see, still feeling the ones I can’t. “Yeah,” I say, laughing a little. “I think you sent out a group text.”

They definitely had a plan with that attack. Maybe we’ll play again when he comes home.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I tell him, gently this time.

Tomorrow morning will come no matter what we say or do, but I want him to know we all love him. I just want him to take that with him.

He sits up, swinging his other leg over the side of the pool chair. He shakes his head, and I see his shoulders shake with a silent sob.

“It hurts in here.” He touches his chest over his heart. “And it’s fucking hurt for weeks, and I just want to smash my head into a wall, because it feels like I’m five years old again.” He breathes hard and shallow. “When I would cry at school because I missed my mom and just wanted to go home to her.”

I used to do that, too. When your body is forced to be somewhere your heart isn’t, it’s a constant feeling of homesickness.

“I hate that feeling,” he whispers. “I don’t want to go there.” And then he looks up at me. “Macon’s right. Why don’t I listen?”

Yeah, Macon doesn’t know everything, either. And neither do I.

It’s three and a half years. Not life. Iron will be back.

I step up to him, threading my fingers through his hair, and feel his shoulders slowly relax. His forehead falls against my stomach.

I don’t want my key anymore.

“I didn’t want sex,” he says, his breath warm on my skin. “I wanted a woman who gives a shit about me to look at me tonight.”

He inhales and exhales several times, and I know he’s trying not to lose control of his emotions.

I stroke his scalp, dragging my nails gently as his breath grows hot. “You mean a friend?” I ask.

He keeps his eyes downcast.

“Are we friends?” I whisper.

Tilting his head up, he looks at me. “Friends.”

My face relaxes, and I soften my strokes in his hair, watching his eyelids start to close with how good it feels.

I like this Iron. He’s better when he’s serious.

And I want to be the one who looks at him tonight, because tomorrow night no one will.

“Eleven,” I murmur.

He cocks his head, peering up at me.

“I’m not so fast after all,” I tell him, looking down at my clothes.

“I got handed eleven times.”He holds my gaze.

“Shoes.” I hold up two fingers. “Socks, hat, coat …” I count off everything I’ve lost so far, moving to the other hand. “That’s six,” I say.

He watches me, and for a moment, he stops breathing when I slip a button out of the loop on the vest.

He waits.

I undo the buttons one by one, seeing a lump move up and down his throat and fire light in his eyes.

Peeling off the vest, I drop it to the ground, his gaze falling to my naked top half. The cool rain makes the flesh of my nipples harden into points, and my insides warm in anticipation.

“That’s seven,” he says so quietly.

Two more.

Reaching behind me, I unzip the skirt, holding his gaze as I push it down my hips. It falls to the wet deck. “Eight.”

He can remove the last piece himself.

But he doesn’t.

He whips me around, my breath lodging in my throat as he pulls me down into his lap.

I drop my head back against his shoulder as he slips a hand inside the front of my panties, teasing my entrance with two fingers.

“Krisjen,” he pants into my neck. “Good friends?”

I turn my head, searching for his mouth as I bring his palm to my breast. I flick my tongue over his lips. “Really good friends.”

I spread my thighs wide, putting my hand over his and pushing his fingers inside of me.

He slides in deep, jerking me back into him and growling.

I kiss his cheek and the corner of his mouth, brushing my lips over his skin. “Don’t stay away,” I tell him, rolling my hips into his fingers, sliding him in and out of me.

He groans, his groin hard and swollen underneath me.

He kneads my breast, bringing the fingers of his other hand out and swirling my wetness over my clit again and again. “I want you, Conroy.” He layers his lips with mine, rain spilling down our bodies. “Can I have you?”

His pushes his fingers back inside of me, and I gasp.

I moan, turning my head into his mouth and surrendering. I open my mouth, and he captures my tongue, both of us melting as our mouths come back for more and more.

I thrust into his hand, but I need him deeper.

Pulling away, I stand up and push my panties down my legs. I peer over my shoulder, through the trees, still seeing the far-off crowd at Mariette’s partying.

I hear a wrapper tear, and I turn around, pushing him back on the chair as I climb on top of him.

His eyes look up at me with fire, both of us hot and frantic. God, I’m so wet. I can feel it.

He rips at his belt, unfastening it, and then opens his pants. He slips his cock out, and I watch as he reaches between us, rolling on the condom.

I kiss him long and deep, feeling him crown me. Slowly, I work my body down on him, taking him inside me and feeling the length sink deep.

Breathing hard, I kiss him again and again. “You don’t listen or do what you’re told,” I whisper as I move on him, “because there’s something inside you, and it’s good, and someday, you’re going to know what it’s for. I promise.”

I pull his head up, holding him to me as I fuck him. His fingers claw down my back as he sucks and bites my nipples hard.

I bounce, taking him in deeper and harder, feeling the walls inside of me contract.

“Oh God, Iron,” I whimper.

I’m gonna come already.

Leaning back, I roll faster and harder as he grips my hips, sucking in air through his clenched jaw and watching my body move.

Heat grows low in my belly, tingles spreading, and I gasp, sweat covering my skin as it builds.

The orgasm explodes, rocking through me, and I tip my head back, starting to cry out just as he puts a hand over my mouth.

I jerk, sliding down his cock a few more times until my whole body goes weak.

He brings me back up to him, his tongue sinking into my mouth.

I just let him kiss me. I need a second …

He squeezes my hips, breathing over my lips. “You’re not done, are you?”

I smile, finally opening my eyes. “I might like a few more of those.”

He smiles back, and I let out a little laugh, happy.

I hug him to me, rolling my hips and starting to work him again, his hands roaming my body. He’s so warm.

But then I raise my eyes and see it. The dark shadow through the window. Someone standing in the kitchen.

My heart skips a beat.

They take a drag of a cigarette, the end burning bright as they watch us, and I open my mouth to tell Iron we need to stop, but …

I close it again.

I go slow with Iron, feeling his tongue and both men’s eyes on me as I tilt my face up to the sky and rain glides down my body.