Page 188 of Midnight Curfew

We all startle at Macon’s roar, turning to see him just inside the doors.

Army throws Aracely off, everyone falling silent for him to speak.

“Call Dieter,” he tells Trace. “Check on how fast he can get us restocked.”

Army takes a step toward him. “But we still have to transport it.”

Macon cuts him off. “First problem is first,” he tells him, then asks, “Where will they take our shit?”

Army draws in a breath, the wheels in his head turning. “There’s a lockup at the jail, I guess. But they’ll have an armored vehicle coming to take it to a more secure location. Probably tomorrow.”

Macon turns to Krisjen at his side. “Call your grandfather.”

She nods, having a judge in the family not proving at all useful so far, but who knows.

Liv approaches me. “You need to go to him.”

Go to him. Callum?

I shake my head, in total disbelief she’s telling me to put myself in his path again. What am I supposed to do? Blow him until we make back two hundred and sixty million dollars? Beg?

When she sees the defiance on my face, she turns. “Macon, tell him.”

I drop my ass in a chair, waiting for the order.

It never comes, though.

“Let’s get home,” Macon tells everyone, starting to walk back out the way we came in. “People will be scared.”

Everyone follows his lead, and I ignore Liv’s eyes on me and Iron’s pause next to me.

“I’ll leave you a car,” he whispers, dropping the keys on the table.

He knows I need to be alone. Would he want to show his face at home after this?

Macon doesn’t want any more of my help anyway. Once they’re gone and the pub is quiet, I pull a bottle out from behind the bar and listen to the rain, doing what I do best. Getting rid of the pain.

28

Dallas

Three days later, and there’s been no word from him. Not that I would be the first to know. My phone died Friday night, and I was too drunk all weekend to charge it until I passed out seven hours ago. Someone plugged it in next to my bed, my alarm waking me for work at six.

What do I do? I’m honestly surprised I haven’t taken off for New Mexico or South Dakota yet—finally free to pursue my own life. I was never useful, and I never gave a shit, but I tried.

I’m not going to save them from this. I think it’s been proven that I fail. Best thing I can do is get out of their way.

People have left me alone, though. No one tried to talk to me this weekend as I crashed at the pub Friday night and spent Saturday and Sunday either at the bar in the Bay or on the beach with a bottle.

What would I do if I were my father?

I’d keep killing myself just to make ends meet.

What if I were my mother?

I’d stay in my room until even that view drove me crazy.

And if I were Macon?