Page 54 of Midnight Curfew

He has power over me still. I went over there to stand up to him, to threaten him and let him know that the game is on, but the fucking sight of him—beautiful and wet—just reminded me of how good it felt to have him under me. Fighting me, squeezing me, sweating on me.

Or in my mouth, helpless and wanting it so badly.

My dick swells again, and I push it down, punching the gas.

I thought I was rising to the challenge. Letting him know he didn’t scare me.

All I did was give him a show.

“Fuck him,” I mutter.

Pulling up to my house, I see both box trucks slightly hidden down the side of the town garage across the street, under the cover of trees. Macon’s truck sits to my left.

Climbing out of the car, I bolt up the steps and push open the front door.

“What the hell were you doing?” Macon shouts, starting in as soon as I walk into the house.

I brush past my brothers crowding around the living room and head to the kitchen, digging the vodka out of the freezer. “You said you needed more information.”

As if that excuse is going to fly.

He glowers. “We make decisions together!”

I look at my brother, uncapping the bottle. “Don’t yell at me.”

I’ve never told him what he can and can’t do, but I also haven’t given him much reason to worry about me the past few years.

But I’m too damn old now. He’s not raising me anymore.

I tip the bottle back, gulping down a couple of swallows as I head back through the living room. I keep going, past my family, until I push through the door to the courtyard on the side of the house. It’s too hot in there.

Not that it’s any cooler out here, but at least there’s a breeze, and I’m going to hit someone if I get more aggravated.

I’m fucking disgusted with myself…

I take another swig, turning my eyes up to the stars that have started peeking through the clouds. I’m glad Macon kept this part of the house when we renovated. Columns rise around the perimeter, connected with beams, and I drift over the uneven cobblestone foundation as the door behind me opens again.

My family follows me, all of them present and accounted for. Krisjen hops up onto the outdoor buffet, her husband leaning back between her legs, while Army stands at the head of a picnic table, hands in his pockets.

Trace and Iron sit in chairs, while Liv sits in the open window between the patio and dining room, her girlfriend, Clay, on a chair in the room next to her. No idea why Aracely is here, unless Macon told her to be. She lingers in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

“Krisjen will speak to the council tomorrow,” Macon tells me, catching me up. “And Army will see what he can do.”

I shake my head. “It’s not the cops or the city council. It’s the Ministry.”

Of course, Callum is using the police, but they’re just carrying out a wealthy citizen’s strongly encouraged advice. Backed by their hefty annual donations, I’m sure.

And Callum is flanked by his friends. The picture of their dark forms lurking outside my classroom the other night drifts through my head. It was a warning.

“What do they want?” Macon asks me.

“What the Ameses have always wanted.” I hand the bottle to Iron. “The land.”

My brother doesn’t take a drink, though, handing it off to Trace.

I look around at my family, knowing the kids are asleep upstairs and feeling the glow of the streetlamp piercing the trees. I can still smell the crab and crawfish from Mariette’s down the road as I lean into the column.

“This is how they drive us out,” I tell them. “Hinder our businesses, threaten our citizens, and decrease the value of everything here.”