Chapter 8
Dallas
“A midnight curfew,” Army says as if he still can’t believe it. “Every night.”
“A midnight curfew,” I add, “that I’m sure doesn’t really apply to anyone actually living in St. Carmen!”
It’s us. Callum and his cronies finally have the chance to fuck with us while the adults are away.
“Is this even legal?” Trace bursts out.
“What happens if we break it?” Iron chimes in over the conference call as we all huddle in our vehicles. “We’re not kids out causing trouble.”
I laugh, along with one of my other brothers, because yeah, we’re breaking the law here.
Rain pummels the windows, and I lie there, texting Aracely for her to warn people not to leave the Bay tonight. They got the text alerts, I’m sure, but she needs to handle things while we’re stuck here.
Iron sighs. “Army, how did you not know about this?”
“Because they didn’t tell me.”
“Why?” Trace asks.
“Because they didn’t want him telling us,” Macon finally speaks up. “This is a Sanoa Bay curfew.”
Exactly. They want our residents here for work and nothing else.
Did they account for the fact that some of our people work late, in restaurants and bars? There are a few who are nannies and might be babysitting late. Not to mention the hotel maids who need to be in at 5:00 a.m., the road crews an hour earlier than that, and the hospital staff who are on call.
And then it all hits me. The powers that be are aware of all of that.
They’re not trying to limit us. They’re trying to hurt us. If people can’t work, they’ll leave. I squeeze my fingers around my phone.
“All right.” Trace heaves a breath. “We can make it back across the canal. Army, you go first, let us know the coast is clear, and we’ll just park the liquor at the drive-in while we figure out what to do.”
I shake my head. “I say we go.”
“What?”
I sit up, pulling off the hat and raking my hand over my sweaty scalp. “If we get stopped, we’ll just tell them we’re dropping inventory at the bar and didn’t know about the curfew,” I tell my brothers, “but we’ll be sure to get back home right away.”
“And when they want to search the trucks and find enough liquor to supply a cruise ship on spring break?” Army retorts.
Followed by Trace: “And when they want to see a purchase order for all the bottles?”
…the bottles we bought illegally.
I start the engine. “Officer Jaeger will tell them he’s escorting us home himself,” I explain. “They gonna challenge another cop to his face? What the fuck do we have him for?”
Situations like this are the whole reason Army joined the police department. Let him be useful.
But Macon interjects, “No.”
The line goes quiet, everyone else shutting up.
“It’s not a bad plan,” he tells me, “but it’s smart to sit on this for a day and see if we can find out more information before we decide how to proceed.”
I blink slowly, the blood pumping through my arms weighing a thousand pounds, even though I already know he’s right.
All of us are too happy to follow his orders because the Bay has survived, mostly due to his leadership.
And it takes the pressure off failing ourselves by not making any decisions.
But…
This is Ames’s doing, and I can’t sleep tonight if that motherfucker finds out I was run out of town and goes to bed with a smile.
Macon wants Iron safe, though. That’s what he’s not saying out loud, because he doesn’t want Iron’s defenses up.
He just got out of prison, and we’re finally together again as a family.
Fine, then.
Leaving the engine running, I take my phone, open the truck door, and jump out.
“Dallas!” Army barks, watching me in his rearview mirror.
I run to Trace’s car, just between Army and me, rain soaking my shirt. Keeping my eyes peeled, I yank open his door.
“Dallas, what the fuck!” he growls, peering up at me.
“Switch with me,” I tell him.
“Dallas!” I hear Macon growl over the phones.
I ignore him as Trace searches my face. “Why?”
Water drops down my face and arms, and I turn my cap backward before grabbing my little brother out of his damn car. I don’t have time for this.
I haul him out of the seat and climb in, throwing him his phone and placing mine in the holder.
“Keys are in it,” I tell him, gesturing to the truck behind me.
His mouth hangs open, and he throws up his hands like he’s confused, but I pull the door closed. Starting the engine, I turn on the brights, seeing Trace have a meltdown outside my window. “Shit!”
I pull out into the street, punch it into reverse, and speed backward, skidding to a halt at Macon’s truck. “I’ll distract them,” I say. “Wait for Army to hear it on his radio and then get home. I’ll be there later.”
“You better be,” he grits out.
Yeah, yeah…
“Dallas!” Iron tries to stop me, but my mind is made up.
Punching the gas, I race away, turning left onto the main street and honking my horn.
Of course they’ll catch Trace’s car on cameras, speeding past midnight, but I’ll dump it somewhere and say it was stolen.
The windshield wipers swipe back and forth, and I roll down the window to try to hear anything.
I hang up the phone, coasting past the art gallery and the Tradewinds spa, water sloshing under the tires.
Kicking it up into fourth gear, I see the black-and-white after it’s too late. My heart jumps in my chest, given the darkened cop car was hiding between two buildings. I pass and see the lights spinning brightly a moment later.
Fuck. I’ve actually never run from the police before. Claiming you didn’t know about a curfew when you really didn’t is feasible. Actively evading the cops is a serious fucking crime.
Turning up the music, I go for it, accelerating to fifth gear. Rain glints in the headlights, and another set of police lights appears in my rearview mirror.
Where is that asshole? Callum Ames really doesn’t know when he’s lost, does he?
How long has he been planning this?
I’ve got three cop cars now, minus my brother, in pursuit before I know it, and my brothers should be on their way home.
There’s no way Callum Ames is sleeping through this. I’d bet he has a cop on speed dial, getting minute-by-minute updates.
I turn to head back up to the hills, ditch the car, and strangle him in his fucking foyer, but I spot his vehicle.
Through the trees, beyond the gate to Marymount.
What the fuck is he doing at school?
I draw in a breath. The Ministry.
Are they meeting to watch all this go down?
I charge ahead, away from the campus, hitting top speed before downshifting and making a right, then another right. I roll over the empty sidewalk, into a bed of trees between two houses. Covered under the shield of darkness, I kill the engine and jump out of the car.
Slinking behind a tree-line fence, I spot the lights flashing as the cop cars speed down the street, not noticing Trace’s car buried in the brush.
Twisting my head left to right, I jog out of the neighborhood and back to the school. Entering the parking lot, I look around, seeing only Callum’s car, though. Overhead lights reflect on the wet pavement, and my T-shirt sticks to my torso as I gaze up at the windows.
My classroom light is on.
Digging out my keys, I run, kicking up water as I cross the parking lot.
Halting at a side door, I unlock it, then dive inside and close it, jogging down the hallway, along the courtyard.
I move my head slowly from left to right, noticing how every classroom door is closed and every room remains dark.
Taking it slow, to gauge the threat, I walk down the corridor and up the stairs to my classroom.
When I approach, I see that the light is on, but as the room comes into view, I see that it’s empty.
Stepping inside, I take note of my desk, my laptop, and every book, prop, and cabinet seemingly undisturbed.
I’m about to back out again, leaving the light on the way I found it, but I notice the Seneca and Nero statue is gone.
I look up and down the windowsill. One of the students could’ve moved it.
But it’s not there. Heading over to the windows, I move books and swipe reams of paper to the floor, but it’s missing.
I look behind the bust of a gladiator a student made in ceramics last year, a light catching my attention.
The gymnasium below glows bright, the clear, retractable roof completely open. Rain pours in, spilling into the pool.
My heart feels like it jumps two fucking inches. Backing away from the window, I slowly turn and head out of the room, descend the stairs, and walk to him.
I wish I could say I would’ve done things differently five years ago.
Maybe I wouldn’t have fought with him, then fucked him, then fought with him some more, but I know I would do the same damn thing if I could go back.
As much as I know it was my fault for messing with a seventeen-year-old and playing fast and loose with his head, I knew he would come back someday, and I knew he’d want to hammer me into the ground.
I was hoping for it. I waited for it. I’m not surprised by anything that’s happening right now.
Slipping through the locker room, I pull open the door to the pool. Callum stands near the far end of the ten-lane Olympic-size swimming pool, and I drift next to lane one, watching him as I close in.
Bleachers are positioned on both sides with a small cushioned patio set off to the right and another one at the end of the pool, complete with wicker couches, chairs, and table.
A blonde sits on the one to the far right, feet propped up on the coffee table as she scrolls her phone with her headphones on.
Callum doesn’t seem to be aware of anything, wandering slowly, waist-deep with his head tilted back. Rain sprinkles the water around him and drips onto his face, down his back, and in thick ripples running alongside his spine.
As I come up on him, I can see his eyes are closed, and he just looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Pulling off my baseball cap, I fling it into the pool.
He opens his eyes, tilting his head so he can see me. “Mr. Jaeger.” He sinks down, dipping his hair into the water and smoothing back the strands. “Is it customary for teachers to be here so late?”