Page 236 of Midnight Curfew

The last time I saw him he was running under his own power away from the scene of the crash yesterday. The storm was still going strong.

“Did he drown?” I ask, not actually believing it’s plausible, though.

“Stabbed,” Army points out.

Stabbed.

How could…Who…?

“It wasn’t me,” Dallas tells us.

I look behind me to Anna-Katherine squirting syrup into her mug and then adding whipped cream.

“Are you sure she was with Aracely today?” Dallas asks.

No, but…“You think she just dragged his body out there herself?”

We’ll talk to Aracely and clear it up, but if I know one thing about that woman, she’ll cover for other women. I don’t know if we’re going to get a straight answer from her.

“It was probably some woman’s husband,” I say.

Even if it hasn’t immediately sunk in that a guy I used to be friends with is dead, I don’t expect any remorse to ever hit me. I’ve hated him for a long time, and the world is better without him.

Dallas pulls the pocketknife he took from her tonight out of his pocket and opens it. Flipping it over, he scans it for any sign, but he shakes his head. “It’s clean.”

“Of course it is.” I gaze at my sister smiling as Macon dumps chocolate chips in her cup. “A lot of people hated Milo.”

And we all exchange glances before turning and watching the table where Liv, Clay, and Krisjen sit—all victims of his—and looking over at Macon, who detested him just as much.

“Someone’s husband, then,” Dallas says.

I nod. “Sounds good to me.”

Army gives a half smile, the two of them joining the others at the table, while Dallas leads me up to bed.

We need food, but I’m quickly adapting to Dallas’s needs.

I smile to myself. First things first.

35

Dallas

Two Months Later

“Do you think he’ll go to prison?” Macon asks, twisting a wrench under the hood of a car.

I stand around it with Army and Iron.

“I doubt it.” I slide my hands into my pockets. “But at least he’s gone for a while.”

Garrett Ames has enough money to buy a comfortable stay at a prison for white-collar criminals as he awaits prosecution, and his defense keeps stalling on a trial date to buy time, so they can search for legal loopholes.

Which there always are for men like him.

“And his businesses?” Iron asks. “Real estate?”

“He’s not stupid,” I assure them. “Callum might’ve put him in jail, but he’ll want it all in an Ames’s hands more than anyone else’s.”