Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Why not? Because he’s so in love with me? He has a quarter of a billion dollars. No one gives back that kind of money.
I hear Trace’s phone go off next to me, and he pulls it out.
“Oh, goddamn.” The color drains from his face as he darts his eyes up. “The pub.”
He whips around and runs for his car, and it only takes everyone a second to realize there’s something else wrong.
The liquor.
In moments, everyone is following, jumping into cars and racing back to St. Carmen. I drift behind them in a daze, barely registering anything Macon and Army are saying to each other as they head for their vehicles.
I didn’t want Callum to have the Bay. I tried to fight against it, and he beat me. He played me, and he beat me, and I don’t know why my stomach hurts. Do I really give a shit? My family still has a little money in the bank. Krisjen has money. Clay has money. Army has a good job. Trace has the pub. They’ll be fine, and maybe putting an end to all this is for the best. It’ll free everyone from the constant struggle to survive and to keep our people together.
Army pushes me toward his cruiser.
I stumble forward, stopping myself with a snarl. “I’ll stay here.”
He moves to the driver’s side, growling over the roof. “Get in the goddamn car!”
Fuck. Like I need this right now. I’ve failed my family, and I failed my mother. Does he need a black-and-white sign to get it through his head that I can’t fix this?
I don’t want to be at home with any of them later, though.
Liv climbs into the passenger seat, and I dip into the back, Army barely waiting for me to close the door before he takes off.
Rain blows across the windows, the storm intensifying.
He must be congratulating himself right now. He’s probably telling all of his friends, his father, his new fucking dick, Micah Hearst…
Laying my head against the seat, I reach up and rub my eyes with one hand as I clench my jaw.
What is he going to do to us?
What if he doesn’t want the land at all and just wants to trap us?
Army seethes, shaking his head and casting glares at me in the rearview mirror. “He read you like a book,” he spits out. “The one thing you can’t do is keep your dick in your pants, and he was playing you the whole fucking time.”
I drop my eyes, so much on the tip of my tongue to fire back—an insult, an excuse, a threat—but he’s right. I’m not complicated. I was so easy for Callum to overpower.
“I hope it was worth it.” He shakes his head. “I really hope you were the man for a full five seconds!”
“He’ll fix it, Army,” Liv tells him.
“Really? I’d love to see that,” he retorts. “The one thing anyone can bank on about Dallas is that he won’t show up when it counts!”
I lock my mouth shut, instinct telling me to fight, but my throat is filling with words I don’t want to face, and I’m afraid of what will come out. It’s not just anger, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m feeling right now.
We’re in a worse position, because I let Callum in, and it’s like I’m still sitting on the stairs of my house, seeing my brothers and sister walk in the door. Again. On my watch.
Army races through town, and I gaze out the window, the rain coating the sidewalks.
Why am I still here?
Why did I stay?
Tomorrow, I could be in Tennessee or Texas. Halfway to Arizona.
Or maybe I could head up north—Wyoming, Montana, Alaska…As long as there’s a road, I think I’d keep driving in circles and not give a shit.
“Ah, God,” Army groans.
Tipping my head back up, I see the doors to the storeroom, my family’s headlights spilling over Trace and Iron as they run into the back of the pub. We all step into the rain, Liv and Iron hurrying to look inside, but I already know it’s empty. Callum had the police and a crew clear out the tomb, and after my family dropped the liquor, they came in with a truck and loaded that, too.
Trace kicks a stack of pallets, sending them toppling over. “Son of a bitch!”
His face contorts into anger—and fear—and a fist squeezes my heart. I’ve never seen him upset like this. He never had to be, because the rest of us did it for him, but he loves this bar.
One by one, everyone follows him into the pub through the rear door, inspecting the rest of the place to make sure there’s no further damage.
Stepping slowly, I drift in last, behind Aracely.
“Who can we call?” Krisjen asks.
“If he didn’t already own the cops,” Army grumbles, “he definitely does now.”