Chapter 3 #2
But after a year of online courses, I started attending some classes in person.
One of my professors, Dr. Sarkander, is married to someone who sits on the board of admissions at Marymount, and making a decent impression in order to get some recommendations from my other teachers wasn’t a bad idea, either.
I shoot Iron a knowing look. “It sucks to be you, though.”
I might have liked another job, but his would not have suited me at all.
He just puts his mug on his bedside table, looking somber. “Oh, I don’t know…”
I shake my head. He can’t be serious.
But I’d love to see him try.
“Macon gave you a talk already, right?” I toss down the magazine. “The Saints will be doing anything they can to provoke you.”
“Let them have their fun.”
Iron’s been away too long. He needs to be reminded that the Ameses want our land. The threat is worse than ever, and soon, he’ll feel it again, too.
Four years ago, Macon made a deal with Garrett Ames and Jerome Watson.
If my family can’t make the land in the Bay more valuable than his plan for hotels and recreation would, he’s going to appeal to the state to claim eminent domain.
Meaning the government will provide just compensation for our properties and then kick us off, even if we don’t agree.
Ames wanted to avoid the lengthy legalities and costs, and Macon got Krisjen away from Jerome in the deal.
The five-year grace period is coming to a close, though, and we still haven’t made the land more valuable. That they know of anyway.
We’ve just been strategically placing ourselves around St. Carmen in positions of influence.
Iron knows that I probably wouldn’t miss the land if we sold it. I’ve never been attached to anything.
But I will die making sure the Ameses never get it.
I also need to pay Callum back for what he tried to do to my sister four years ago.
“Mark my words,” I taunt my brother, “by the end of the summer, the Ameses will be gone from St. Carmen, and I’ll be smoking a fat fucking cigar in their pool.” I head for the door. “And the only people living in my mansion will be the maid…and the cook.”
Iron breaks into a smile, fucking finally, and meets my eyes. “Are they hot?”
What do you think?
I jerk my chin at him. “See you tonight.”
It’ll take a few days—maybe a few weeks—but Iron will be back to normal. Not only did he get used to not having all the things that made him feel so good, but he probably heard every inmate’s fucking sob story while he was locked up. It would mess with anyone’s head.
Pushing open the bathroom door, I lift the toilet seat and unbutton my jeans.
Summer school starts tomorrow, and I didn’t get much sleep after coming in at two this morning.
Trace had swung by when he closed the bar and grabbed me.
I would’ve stayed longer, but that little confrontation with the Ministry diverted my focus, and I needed to think.
“Dallas,” Krisjen hisses, appearing in the hallway.
I don’t stop peeing. “Paisleigh’s at camp,” I gripe.
She grabs the door, pulling it closed. “Mars isn’t.”
“You sleep with all of my brothers,” I spit out, “and I’m the bad influence on yours?”
“Precisely.”
I snicker under my breath. What a load of shit. I never had to close the door to take a piss with my sister around. She’d simply ignore it and move past. Now we’ve got Clay and Krisjen and all these damn kids.
And yes, I’m a twenty-five-year-old male still living rent-free, but it’s as much my damn house as her husband’s.
She speaks through the crack in the door. “Now, I admire the never-ending desire for a sexually confident man like yourself to repeatedly shame me…”
I snort.
“It’s such a vintage look, by the way,” she teases. “But try to remember that I’m the one who bought the Jag.”
I stop pissing, my body going still.
“And Macon still hasn’t gotten around to switching over the security notifications,” she starts to whisper, “to his phone instead of mine.”
Security notifications? Does that mean…
I drop my head back. “Ugh, fuck.”
She gets notifications when the Jag is driven? And where it’s located?
Like when it was parked at the fucking Coldwells’ for two hours last night?!
Motherfucker.
I slide my dick back into my jeans and flush, opening the door.
She stands there, her long brown hair beautiful as it falls down over one of Macon’s white button-ups.
She smiles, cheeks rosy. “Is this where you beg?”
“Never,” I growl. “But if you say anything to him, I can make your life a lot more miserable.”
She nods, beaming. “Same.”
Oh, what the fuck? I never had much power over my oldest brother, but she has more power over him than all of us put together.
“Wash your hands,” she tells me.
Then she spins around and heads down the stairs in her bare feet. I grit my teeth, hitting the lever and quickly rinsing my hands. Patting them dry on my pants, I descend the stairs, smelling the bread baking a moment before my stomach growls.
“Anything I need to know about my car?” she calls back at me.
“No, it’s good to go.” I yank open the fridge, pulling out a Gatorade. “I’m sure Macon will have an opinion about how I did it, but it’s fixed.”
She starts the coffee maker. “Thank you.” She looks over at me, her eyes sincere and not teasing now. “I just didn’t want to bother him yesterday with you all being out the night before.”
I swallow a gulp, remembering our midnight liquor run. Yeah, it’s been a couple of days since I’ve had a good night’s sleep.