Page 191 of Midnight Curfew

“If you attack me,” he says, “it won’t end pretty for you.”

He can see the anger on my face, even if he doesn’t know why.

Whatever. None of this is worth my time, and I’ve certainly been zero help to anyone, so…

“What else can you take?” I retort. “I don’t care about this place. I don’t care about anything. I should’ve left years ago.”

Reaching down, I pull my keys out of my bag and slide the school key and my classroom key off the ring.

I toss them on the desk, and he turns his head, watching them tumble onto the mahogany.

“You’re not fired.” He picks up the keys. “Sophia would have my head.”

His eyes dance as he tosses the keys back at my chest. I catch them, glaring.

He tilts his head to the side. “I’m not trying to drive you out, Dallas.”

Isn’t he trying to drive us all out?

But he continues. “I love having you close. If you leave Sanoa Bay, what would I do with myself?”

He chuckles, and my face falls. So that’s what he wants? To continue to punish me and make me watch him turn our people into his demolition crew.

Realization dawns, and I should’ve known. He doesn’t want the Bay. He wants us under his thumb.

He stands up. “I’m meeting with lawyers today, but nothing has been put into place. For now, your family and community remain on the land.”

“Let me guess,” I hiss. “ ‘Unless I come to your bed tonight.’ Right?”

His mouth widens in a sardonic smile, but he quickly tries to contain it. “Not tonight,” he says. “I have other plans.”

One thing I know about men is that if we’re not getting it one place, we’re getting it another. Does he have a date tonight?

I’m sure he bottomed for him all weekend and more than earned that pricey chain around his neck. The first of many gifts Micah—or whatever the fuck his name is—will bestow on his pretty boy.

Callum leaves, and it takes me all of four seconds to decide I’m staying.

For tonight, anyway.

He’ll be out of the house and the curfew’s over.

—

The tropical storm is expected to reach us tomorrow, so everyone is boarding up windows and businesses are closing early as they pull down their awnings and take in their outdoor tables. The Ameses’ house already has the shutters closed and cars tucked in the garages. I cruise through the open gate, my tires hitting the tiled driveway as I coast to a parking spot off to the side. Under the trees probably isn’t a good idea, but I’ll be gone long before the high winds hit us.

Locking the door, I jog through the rain, drops pelting my shirt.

I knock on the door, only waiting a couple of seconds before it opens.

Damaris Hernandez, a seventeen-year-old from the Bay, smiles. “Dallas.”

Anna-Katherine is perfectly capable of looking after herself, but with Garrett Ames able to return anytime and Milo around, I don’t think she—or Callum—wants her alone.

I walk in, forcing Damaris to back up. “It’s getting bad out there,” I explain. “I’ll stay with Anna-Katherine till he gets back. You go home.”

Her mouth falls open—she’s about to protest, but she knows she shouldn’t. When Macon speaks, even the seventy-year-olds do what they’re told.

I’m not him, but she knows I’m not Trace, Liv, or Army, either.