Jerome Watson. Garrett Ames. A lawyer named Stewart Cole.

  Trace. Dallas.

  Macon stands in the center, wearing a dark suit with a navy blue shirt and a black tie. His arms are crossed over his chest.

  “You keep the house,” he says.

  But he’s not talking to me.

  He’s talking to Garrett Ames.

  “I keep the five years,” he continues. “Once that time is up, if the land is not appraised for at least three hundred percent above your initial offer, you get it. No argument.”

  I rush in. “No.”

  But they keep going as if I’m not there. “Say it again,” Garrett demands, gesturing to everyone in the room. “Say it again, in front of them all.”

  “No argument,” Macon repeats.

  What the fuck? Does he have any idea what I went through to protect him?

  Macon shifts his gaze to Jerome Watson. “Stop looking at her.”

  I glance, seeing Jerome turn away from me.

  Garrett Ames holds out his hand, and Macon shakes it, the gesture by no means friendly. They both know Macon won’t break his word. Garrett is making sure everyone sees it.

  In a moment, they’re gone, leaving only the Jaegers still on the boat.

  I charge up to Macon. “What did you do?”

  “Bought you back.” He tips my chin up. “You weren’t yours to sell.”

  I shake my head. He took me off the table and put every person living in the Bay on it instead. How could he do that? Five years to make the land valuable is something, but it may not be enough. What if he can’t pull it off? I’m not worth that.

  “Where are my brother and sister?” I ask.

  He picks up a cigarette and lighter. “Making up their new beds and decorating their new room.”

  His mother’s art room…

  I back away, toward the doors. “I’m taking them home.”

  “They are home.” He lights the cigarette. “I have power of attorney. Do you?”

  “What?” I breathe out.

  Power of attorney. He could’ve only gotten that from one of my parents.

  He slides a document across the side table. I walk over, pick it up, and read it as he waits.

  My mother is the grantor. She’s given him authorization to act on Mars’s and Paisleigh’s behalf in her absence. It doesn’t mean he has custody, but he has more than me. I haven’t gotten around to making this legal with my parents yet.

  “I just paid a lot for you,” he whispers. “Come here.”

  How much money did he pay her for this? On top of what I got her from my father, my mom has to be sitting pretty fucking well right now.

  I hear Dallas in the background. “The whole Bay paid for her.”

  I drift to Macon. “How much?” I ask him. “How much did you pay her?”

  The smoke curls toward the ceiling, his eyes locked on mine.

  I pull the ties on my cover-up, letting it fall to the floor. I stand in my two-piece swimsuit that I wore on the beach earlier today. “Enough for all of you to get your uses out of me?”

  His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, and I reach behind my back, tugging the strings of my top. Pulling it away from my body, I stand in the middle of the room, topless. The guys are silent behind me.

  “Enough for you to do whatever you want?”

  “Enough for me to get you knocked up,” he whispers. “I want a kid, and I want it from you.”

  I almost choke on a lungful of air. My stomach drops, and I barely notice him snuffing out his cigarette and lifting me into his arms. The room spins.

  Is he serious?

  “Wait outside,” he tells his brothers.

  He carries me away, and closes us off into a back room and sets me on my feet. I can’t look up at him. I’m afraid.

  He smooths locks of my hair through his fingers and brushes my chin with his thumb. “You would’ve been his wife?”

  I try to speak, but it takes a moment. “Or your revenge,” I say quietly. “Is that what I am?”

  Does he love me? Does he want me?

  His hands glide down the sides of my torso, over my belly button, around my hips, and up my back. Then he brings them back around, his thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts.

  But all I really feel are his eyes. Nothing feels as good as him looking at me. He pulls me into him and kisses my forehead.

  “How long do I have to pay?” I ask.

  He pushes my bottoms down my legs, backs me up to the bed, and pushes me down before he strips off his clothes. “Until you’re dead.”

  I crawl back on the bed, away, but he comes down on me, pressing me on top of the covers. I plant my hands against his chest as he stares down at me, already hard and pressing between my legs.

  I dig my nails in, and he cocks his head.

  “What if I was looking forward to being Mrs. Watson?” I taunt, lifting my chin. “What if I wanted him?”

  He forces my leg out, grunting as his groin presses against my warm center. “If you ever fucking say that to me again…” he growls.

  And then he thrusts his hips, pushing inside of me. I gasp, feeling his hard cock inside me, stretching me.

  I push at his chest but don’t push him away. He pumps his hips, thrusting between my legs, sliding in and out, and then he dips down, sucking on my right nipple.

  My eyelids flutter.

  I watch him lick and bite as he drives into me faster and harder, fucking me like he owns me.

  “I’m scared of you,” I whisper. “A little.”

  Still.

  If I ever fucking say that to him again—taunt him with Jerome Watson—what will he do? Kill someone?

  “But I think you like me, too.” He breathes over my skin. “Just a little. Don’t you?”

  It’s not really a question. He knows the answer.

  My legs fall wide, I circle his waist with my arms and arch up, catching his bottom lip in my teeth.

  He trembles, slowing. “I’m scared of you, too.”

  I know.

  Flipping us over, I straddle his cock and dive down, kissing and licking his stomach, his chest, and his neck. Then I roll my hips, taking him back inside me as I gaze at him and rock nice and slow.

  “She didn’t try to touch you, did she?” I say.

  I don’t want him to ever have to speak to her again.

  He digs his fingers into my hips, tipping his head back as he tries to guide my hips faster and faster. “No one touches me but you.”

  Only me.

  “Krisjen,” he groans. “Faster.”

  “No.”

  I want him slow.

  He grits out, “Fuck.”

  Slow and soft, I slide up and down his cock, my orgasm teasing as I start to rub myself. He watches me, and then I feel his muscles tighten.

  “Faster,” he begs through his teeth.

  I let my head fall back, loving the feeling of him wanting me.

  I bounce, and he shoots up, both of us wrapping our arms around each other. I fuck him, holding him to me as the heat builds in my stomach. I drive my thighs into him again and again, crashing my mouth down on his as I start to come.

  I whimper and moan, both muffled in the kiss, but when the orgasm rocks through me, I open my eyes, seeing him staring. Watching me.

  I roll my hips nice and slow, my lips layered with his as he grips my ass, presses me hard against his groin, and…spills inside of me.

  He growls against my mouth, not kissing me back as I leave pecks on his lips and feel him throb between my legs.

  He falls back on the bed, taking me with him, and I just want to curl into him for the rest of my life. He wants me. I know he wants me.

  Does he love me?

  I lean over him, kiss his eyes, between them, and down his cheeks. Taking his mouth, I kiss him, moving over his lips, savoring every second.

  I pull back and look down, and for a moment, I swear I see a smile, but then not. He blinks, his expression hardening, and he moves out from under me.

  Sitting up, he swings his legs over the bed and picks up his clothes, starting to dress.

  I sit cross-legged, holding the sheet up over my body. “Look at me.”

  He keeps his back to me. What’s wrong?

  “Macon, look at me.”

  He shakes his head. “How can you look at me?” he says barely above a whisper.

  He rises, pulling on his pants and still not meeting my gaze.

  “I’ll always see you,” I say, but my voice is gravelly with tears. “Even when I close my eyes.”

  I told him that less than two weeks ago.

  He sits back down and pulls on his socks and shoes. I cover his back, wrapping my arms around him. “I know you hate me. What she did to you…”

  He pulls my arms off him, grabbing his shirt off the nightstand and standing up again. “I knew exactly who you were when you slept next to me all those nights, Krisjen.”

  I sit back as he slips his arms into the shirt. “When you rode on the back of my bike and sat at my table and fed me and filled my house with your fucking perfume. I knew who you were from the start.”

  He still wanted me. Knowing I was her daughter.

  Then why doesn’t he say it? Tell me you love me.

  How could I not look at him? “I was made for you,” I murmur.

  I stare at his back, waiting for a response. Just say it. Please. If he loves me, then everything is okay.

  “Just get dressed.” He stands up, leaving his tie but pulling on his jacket. “They’ll take you back to the house.” He faces me as he pulls on his jacket but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “If you don’t sleep with me, you sleep alone,” he says. “You live with us now.”

  He starts to leave, and I wrap my arms around my knees. “I’ll get my pillow.”

  He stops, his hand on the knob.

  I smile, a little sadly.

  I’ll be in his bed. I’ll always be in his bed.

  I know my mind. He thinks there’s too much baggage, and he thinks I’m too young. But he’s stuck in his bullshit. He feels too guilty to claim me, but he can’t let me go. I don’t want to lose time. Does he want me the way I want him?

  I swallow through the tightness in my throat. “I always thought I was some special little shit growing up,” I say.

  He still doesn’t face me.

  “I was told I was smart,” I tell him. “That I would take on the world and everyone would know who I was. I would be someone great, and no one would be outside my sphere of influence.”

  Adults tell every kid they’re significant. We want to believe it.

  “But the thing is…” I go on, “I’m not unique. I was never that smart. I’ll never be an astronaut, or the captain of a ship, or a professor of biology or philosophy. I’m not a good athlete, and I’m fine seeing mountains and operas and Alaska just on TV.”

  None of that is what I wanted out of life. I want none of what I was taught to want.

  “No one will remember me after I’m gone,” I say, “and I’ll never be someone kids learn about in school.”

  I drop my eyes, heat covering my cheeks and my pulse racing painfully.

  “I just want to love you.” All I can do is whisper. “That, I will do beautifully.”

  34

  Macon

  I leave the room, pulling the door closed hard. I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to push back the tears. God, I fucking love you.

  She’s perfect.

  And I know, without a doubt, I shouldn’t keep her. She knows nothing of all the possibilities that are out there for her. She won’t still love me in five years. Was I serious? Do I want a kid with her?

  I don’t want her having anyone else’s.

  Fuck it. This could be it.

  This is it.

  I can’t stop. I’m not even going to try, and if I end myself someday, it won’t be because of my shit headspace. It’ll be in the wake of ruining her life, because no matter everything that will go wrong, the time I have with her will be worth it.

  I button up my shirt, tuck it in, and fasten my tie, leaving the boat.

  Clay sits on the hood of my truck, my sister leaning back between her thighs.

  I toss my keys to Army.

  Trace, Dallas, and I head for the doors.

  “Take Krisjen home,” I tell Liv. “Our house.”

  “What are you guys doing?”

  I jerk my chin at Army. “Let’s go.”

  He climbs in the driver’s side.

  “Macon.” Liv follows me. “What are you doing?”

  I yank open the passenger-side door. “Get home.”

  She watches us, Clay jumping off the car and standing next to her as we all climb in and Army hits the gas, backing up.

  Liv knows enough, and that includes knowing better than to press harder for answers. She’s got a lot to lose. I don’t want her involved.

  I take one last look at the boat, picturing Krisjen at home when I get there, but she won’t be in bed because she doesn’t fucking listen. I smile a little. I’ll fight with her all night if she wants. As long as she doesn’t leave.

  We take off, and I turn down the music, catching Trace in the rearview mirror. He wears a knit cap, a plaid collared shirt peeking out the top of his zipped-up leather jacket. I’ve never seen him in a collared shirt.

  His face is turned out the window.

  “You don’t have to come,” I tell him.

  He nods, still looking outside. “I know.”

  Like Krisjen and Liv, I never wanted to break the illusion that we were good people.

  Army glances at me and then back to the road. “Are you sure about this?” he asks. “The more we do this, the easier it becomes. That’s a slippery slope.”

  I comb my fingers through my hair and straighten my tie. “It should’ve been done last spring,” I state. “He’s a threat to their safety.”

  “And he can’t be stopped,” Dallas chimes in behind me. “Not in one piece anyway.”

  Dallas and Iron are one side of the same coin. There’s a detachment inside of them. If they make up their mind it needs to be done, then there is no choice.

  Army and Trace are the other side of that coin. Loyal, but their conscience takes up a lot of room inside them.

  Liv is a mixture of both. Things need to be done, and she accepts that she’ll feel like shit about it sometimes.

  I’m not sure which one I am yet. I always felt like shit hurting someone, but I felt the same watching TV.

  “I’ll do it,” Dallas announces.

  “I’ll do it,” I say.

  I don’t want his hands dirty any more than necessary.

  I look over at Army. “You have Dex. You don’t need to be here.”

  Last time, he didn’t have a child to worry about. I would understand if he wanted to back out.

  He focuses on the road. “We all have things to lose.”

  I watch him out of the corner of my eye as we cross the tracks, rain speckling the windshield, and his silence fills the car in a way that Dallas and Trace probably don’t even notice.

  We haven’t talked much the past week. I don’t think I even knew where to start any better than he did.

  He knew where my head was at last week.

  That morning I came back from Krisjen’s.

  He watched me walk up the stairs, and he knew.

  I was glad when he left, but now it’s all I think about.

  He left.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Army darts his eyes to me, and I open the glove compartment, pulling out a pair of black leather gloves.

  “For everything,” I tell him, pulling them on. “It’s all yours as much as mine. You can take anything you want.”

  He steals glances at me, trying to watch the road.

  I swallow through the needles in my throat. “Just not her, okay?”

  He’s quiet. He doesn’t say anything.

  He’s mad.

  But then he says, “I want my own room.”

  I smile to myself.

  Yeah, I guess it’s ridiculous he shares a room with Dex.

  “You get first dibs,” I assure him.

  The new addition will be ready before the summer. Mars is sharing a room with his little sister right now, but he’ll also need his own space. As will Iron when he comes home. That leaves two rooms left.

  “It’s a bad time of year,” Trace tells us. “Water levels will be low, and the gators—”

  “He won’t be found,” I say.

  I know what he’s worried about, but we’ve done this once before. Not dozens of times like the rumors say. Once.

  Nothing makes it out of the swamp.

  We coast back into the Bay, around the village center, and deep into the dark green brush. Willows and oaks spill onto water shimmering in the faint moonlight, and rain spatters the dark surface. A wake is kicked up as an animal moves underneath the water.

  We pull alongside the road, park, and exit the vehicle, walking to the wooden bridge in the black forest.

  Milo Price sits on his knees in the middle, Santos gripping the back of his collar.

  I stop in front of them, my brothers behind me. “Where was he?” I ask Santos.

  “The motel.”

  I look down at the piece of shit who tried to assault my sister, and who made Krisjen bleed. The motel isn’t a brothel, but he acts like it is.

  It’s a good place to disappear for a few hours, though. Guys like him can afford fancy hotel rooms, but the sleaze of a seedy, well-used mattress is half the turn-on for them.

  I gaze at the scar running down the side of his face. My sister’s girlfriend did that, but that was never the end of it. He should’ve known we’d come for him eventually. We don’t trust St. Carmen police to protect anyone but St. Carmen assholes.