Page 116 of Midnight Curfew

“I was busy.”

I guess it should’ve occurred to me that they’d worry, but I trusted them to stay safe. Army said to find someone we were sleeping with to hide us, didn’t he?

I pull off the wet T-shirt and stroll across the kitchen, tossing it into the laundry room before grabbing a mug and the coffee pot.

No one says anything, and I hood my eyes. Okay, I should’ve gotten in touch. What if they needed me? Fuck.

“Well, how did it go?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

Turning around, I lock eyes with Iron. “They had no idea,” he assures me. “We moved two trucks of liquor to the storehouse at one a.m., crashed on cots till…”

I wait, watching him glance to Army.

What’s wrong?

“Till?” I press.

Then it hits me. I search the room again, my heart skipping a beat. “Where’s Macon?”

Army glares. “Do you care?”

I rise up straight and whip my mug against the fucking wall. It shatters, coffee splashing across the pantry door as my siblings sit up, suddenly alert.

I’m sick of people saying that. “Where is he?” I bite out.

Army clears his throat. “Milo Price hit about three parked cars, because he was driving so drunk, on his way over here last night,” he explains. “He guessed Krisjen was alone.”

I dart my gaze in the direction of the stairs. Where is she?

Milo was taken to Fox Hill. I heard Callum order that. “Army…”

“I heard about it on the radio,” he points out, “alerted Macon, who didn’t give a shit he was being deliberately baited.”

“Cops saw him hit the streets after curfew and went after him,” Iron adds.

What?!

I open my mouth, and Liv must see the look on my face, because she speaks up. “They’re both upstairs, Dallas. Relax.”

Then fucking lead with that! Dammit!

I grind my teeth together, and I don’t know why I’m so irritable. If anything had happened to my brother or sister-in-law, they’d all be freaking out. Someone would be in tears. Probably Trace.

Jesus. I rub my tired eyes and rake my hand over my scalp.

“He was able to evade the cops,” Iron adds. “Don’t worry.”

I shoot a look at Army for worrying me like that.

Iron sips his coffee. “He made it back shortly before we did.”

And what was I doing while all this was going on? I ignore the scent of Callum still in my nostrils and swipe the shards of ceramic off the floor. Dumping them into the trash, I start to leave the kitchen but halt in front of my brother. “What the fuck is your problem?” I ask Army.

“Dallas…” I hear Liv interject, but I don’t care. Every other day, I let the shit roll off, because I don’t care to spend the time defending myself, but I’ve suddenly got steam to blow off. I should’ve just stayed in bed and blown the golden boy this morning.

“Where were you?” Army growls. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Army, he did what he was supposed to do,” Iron chimes in.