Page 187 of Midnight Curfew

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.”

“We can hire lawyers,” Liv states as Trace moves behind the oval bar in the center of the room and grabs a bottle. “We can tie this up for years. It was in our possession anyway! What’s the case?” She looks to Iron, me, and then Krisjen. “The Nuestra Señora de Atocha.”

Krisjen nods, looking to her husband, who stares out the window with his back to us. “The treasure hunters discovered it, and it was ruled that it belonged to them,” she adds.

“And if we deplete everything we have left,” Army fires back, “paying legal fees?”

“There are a couple hundred people at stake here, Army,” Liv argues. “You gonna whine or work the problem?”

“I’ve been working problems a lot longer than you!” he growls. Then he pivots, jutting his finger in my direction. “It’s his fucking turn!”

“It’s not his fault.”

I lower my eyes again as Iron tries to defend me.

“They knew nothing for years,” Army retorts. “And all of a sudden, Callum Ames has our number after two fucking weeks of interacting with him.”

He’s right.

I said something. I must’ve done something…

Why else would Callum indulge me? Bring me into the Wolfe Room unless he was trying to gather info?

A laugh bubbles in my throat, and I taste the bile. I thought we were playing.

Macon moves toward the front door. “I’ll call the lawyers.”

Twisting the lock, he steps outside, making his call under the awning.

He used to be like Army. Angry, volatile, someone you did not want in your face, but Krisjen calmed him down and the past few years of prosperity and growth made him…happy.

He let himself hope.

Krisjen stands near the bar stools, but her eyes remain on her husband.

It’s not that we need the money so much. We have businesses, jobs, and educations.

But Callum can do so much harm with that much wealth. He can buy things that aren’t for sale.

He just took away our future.

Army paces like he’s on patrol. “I hope you two had fun tonight,” he says, looking between me and Aracely as she adds some soda to her tequila behind the bar.

“Actually, I did,” she chirps, tipping her chin up. “I forget what his name is, but he had the nicest pair of eyes I’ve had on me in a while.”

“Celi, you move from one white boy to the other,” Army retorts. “How do you even keep them straight?”

I see the glass fly before I even register that she’s the one who threw it. Tequila sloshes onto the floor, followed by the ice, as Army ducks, glass shattering against the wall a few feet from where I lean. I twist my face away from the scattering shards.

Aracely hops onto the bar, throws her legs over, and charges for him. “Take a look in the mirror before you call me a whore!” she bellows.

Shoving a table over, she plants both hands on his chest, pushing the St. Carmen police officer into the wall. She tries to punch him, but he picks her up, shielding his hand under her arm while she thrashes.

“Enough!”