Page 50 of Midnight Curfew

“Then let them sleep in the beds they worked in.”

Motherfucker. Charging over, I close the distance between us and grip his fucking neck, pinning him to the back of the couch.

He doesn’t even flinch.

He doesn’t laugh at me, and he doesn’t struggle, simply raises his eyes and locks them on mine. “Officer Grady?” he says.

I narrow my gaze.

“Yes,” I hear someone say.

I follow the sound, finally noticing the cell phone sitting on the side table.

Callum’s chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, and he’s propped his arms up on the back of the couch, his voice not even faltering. “How’s it going tonight?” he asks the man.

The cop has been listening this whole time?

“We’ve caught two,” he tells Callum through the speakerphone. “Mr. Santos and Mr. Torres.”

Goddammit. That’s our muscle, the closest thing to friends Macon has.

Callum sees my panic, however small. The shake in my chest, the flex in my jaw…His mouth doesn’t move, but he’s smiling. I can see it in his eyes.

“Do you need me?” Grady asks him.

“Stand by,” Callum instructs, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “There are still some lawbreakers out and about, and they’ll have to head home at some point.”

I push off, standing up straight. Fucker.

He reaches his hand over to the phone. “I’m going to put you on mute for a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

Callum taps the screen and fixes his attention back up on me.

“Is this about Iron?” I ask. “He just did almost four years. You really think he’s going to risk it?”

We all did shit back in the day. Even Callum Ames.

But we never stole anything from their fucking houses. Maybe a car. A boat. But that’s it.

“We don’t need the money,” I bite out, “in case you haven’t noticed.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t do it for the thrill.”

Then, just put him on house arrest.

If they’re only worried about my convict brother, why not tag him instead of enforcing a citywide curfew?

But I don’t want that, either, so I keep my mouth shut.

Drinking his green-healthy shit, he leans back on the couch. “How do you have so much money all of a sudden?” He takes a sip, peering up at me. “I mean, you hide it well. The outside of the house still looks like shit, and you still don’t know how to dress, but the renovations, the infrastructure, the new homes, your education…” He sets his glass down. “I’d almost think those stories about pirate treasure being hidden in your cemetery were true.”

I fix a tight smile on my face. Everyone knows the tales of graves filled with old loot instead of the dead.

But why would I tell you anything?

Glancing at his phone, I see the call is still connected.