Page 47 of Midnight Curfew

“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.”