Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
“Now get out,” Macon barks at them. “All of you. Now.”
I back toward the bay door, his brothers following and scramming before Macon hits the button and the door comes falling down. Locking him back in solitude.
Slowly, I walk to my car, while the boys drift out into the street.
“I don’t see how we can’t find any employees without fucking kids to take care of,” Dallas gripes behind me.
Something’s wrong. How can they not see it?
Is it Iron? Or …
But I just climb in my car and sit there for a second, tears starting to stream, and I don’t know why. It’s changing.
The Bay can’t change, but it is.
He looks like he’s dying.
Liv gone. Iron gone.
Macon …
8
Trace
“I seem to remember Macon having to quit a job to come home and raise you,” Army tells Dallas.
Krisjen drives off, and I stare after her car as it disappears around the trees. What the hell is she doing? I didn’t start up with her because I thought I would be rid of her when she left for college this fall. I started up with her because she’s hot and fun.
But she shouldn’t still be here. She has choices. Why does she look like she’s treading water?
“Stop being a fucking coward,” Army tells him, “and start taking your anger out on whoever really deserves it.”
“I can’t.”
“Leave her alone.”
“But I haven’t gotten a reaction out of her yet.”
I draw in a breath, my shoulders feeling heavier today.
Army moves into Dallas’s space. “You’re giving her an awful lot of attention for someone who’s supposed to hate her.”
But Dallas doesn’t back up. “You’re not scary.”
Not like Macon, he means.
“You’re draining me,” Army nearly whispers, and I can hear the fatigue in his voice as he talks to Dallas. “It’s a drag being around you anymore, and if you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong so I can help, then you just need to shut up. Or else you won’t have to worry about Macon, because right now I’m the one who wants to snap your fucking neck.”
“Tryst Five, then?” Dallas taunts.
But Army fires back. “No, still Tryst Six. You’re assuming you’re irreplaceable. There will be more Jaegers.”
I can’t help but smile a little. None of us can keep up with Dallas, except Macon, and he only accomplishes that because most of us aren’t completely certain that Macon won’t actually kill him. Looks like Army is finally learning to lead.
Dallas says nothing, simply spits on the ground and jumps into one of the trucks. He takes off the opposite way from Krisjen, into the swamps, and I don’t look to see where Army goes.
I pull out my phone, still staring off as Clay picks up.
“Hey,” she answers.
“What’s going on with Krisjen?” I ask.
“Huh?”
I wait, hearing a horn honk and realize she’s in her car.
Krisjen’s not one to hide things. Not like my family. If something is wrong, Clay knows.
Finally, she sighs. “Her dad left. Like eight months ago.”
I feel like I knew that. She might’ve hinted at it in passing. I was probably drunk or something.
“He took all the money, including her college fund,” Clay tells me. “That’s why she didn’t participate in the debutante ball with me last spring. She couldn’t afford it. He started over, a mile away on Barony Lane, with his sidepiece, and won’t front any child support until …”
“Until?”
She clears her throat, probably nervous about betraying a confidence, but she knows better with me.
“Until he knows all the kids are his,” she explains. “Mars looks …”
I nod, finishing for her. “Different from Krisjen and Paisleigh …”
Jesus Christ. What a fucking dick. He has more money than he will ever need, and at the very least, he knows Krisjen is his daughter.
I wish you all could have all the money you ever wanted, so you can see that’s not the answer.
That whole fight with Iron makes more sense. What is her mom’s plan to take care of her kids?
“He left Mrs. Conroy the house,” Clays explains, “the cars, and her jewelry, which she can sell but won’t.”
Because she’s spent a shitload of time accumulating that life.
“And I heard …” Clay pauses, and I hear her engine shut off. “What?” I press.
She hesitates, exhaling. “So Krisjen didn’t tell me this, but my dad called this morning, and …” she says.
I tense, waiting.
“Some of the men at the club were circulating an old photo of Krisjen.” She lowers her voice as if someone can hear her in her car. “One she sent Milo back when they were together in high school probably, and like the asshole he is, he didn’t keep it to himself. Jerome Watson is saying that she’ll be his. Her mom, apparently, is pushing for it, because he’s rich, and …”
And she can’t sell her jewelry, but she can sell her daughter. Yeah, fuck.