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Army grabs Milo from behind, Macon kicks his legs out from underneath him, and he falls to his knees.
“Stop,” Clay calls just as Macon’s fist rears back, ready to punch. “You’ll get in trouble. I won’t.”
Milo chuckles, eyeing her and the knife in her hand, but then everything seems to happen all at once, his face falling. Clay approaches, Macon steps out of the way, and I watch her raise the blade to his face.
“Clay, no!” he screams. “Ah!”
He winces as she drags the knife across his cheek, from his temple down to the corner of his mouth, and I stand there, impressed, and a little scared I’m not more scared.
“Clay…” But I stop, the deed already done.
Milo gasps and sputters, blood dripping down his face and off his chin, and Clay squats down to make eye contact. I can hear the tears in her throat.
“Now, when you go to get stitches,” she tells him, “you’re going to tell them that you cut yourself shaving.”
Macon watches her, and I squeeze my phone so hard the plastic whines.
“When your parents ask, you tell them you cut yourself shaving,” Clay goes on. “And when the next woman in your life asks about your scar, you’re going to remember that if I get even a hint that you have done this to anyone else, they won’t find you with another scar. They won’t find you at all.” And then she raises her voice and presses the point of the blade to the other side of his face as Army holds him. “Don’t you ever touch her again! Not a finger!”
“Okay! Okay!” Milo pleads. “Okay…”
Clay rises, Macon looming behind her and watching her intently.
Army lets Milo fall to the ground, and he grabs his bloody cheek as Clay moves over to Callum.
He sits there, slouching and knees spread, watching as if it’s a show and he’s not outnumbered.
“That was hot,” he tells Clay.
His eyes flash to the side as Dallas moves behind him, and I watch my brother stare down at him, his eyes unreadable.
Clay steps in front of him, still holding the knife.
“You really want to do this?” he asks her. “Make all the threats you want. Promise to sink me in the swamps for the gators. You and I both know that what you can do, so can I.”
I drop my eyes to my phone, slowly moving my thumb over the screen.
“You didn’t learn, did you?” he asks her. “That’s why you always pick on the weak, Clay. You can’t beat me if the playing field is even.”
And I press Play.
“Did you know,” Callum’s voice drifts through my phone, “that a structure can be deemed a historical landmark and cannot be destroyed after it reaches one-hundred years old?”
Everyone turns to look at me, taking in the cell in my hand. Callum’s eyes sharpen on me.
“And while fucking for me will get you Mercutio, fucking me will get you a meeting with Raymond FitzHugh to push through your petition to protect the lighthouse? And, in effect, your land?”
Macon’s body turns rigid, and Dallas lets loose a snarl.
“Fucking me good guarantees it, in fact.”
I pause the recording, stepping up to Clay’s side. “The playing field is…” I shake my head, loving the way his lips tighten and that fucking smile is gone. “Not even, Callum.”
I feel Macon’s heat rolling off him, and I know the wheels in his head are turning. He wants to do something, but maybe if I can get him out of here now, I can calm them all down.
“Not here,” I whisper to my brother. Not on their turf.
Another time. Another day. Somewhere not with cameras everywhere.
Callum tips his chin up, knowing I have the upper hand right now.
“Get out of here,” he finally tells us.
Clay stands there, and slowly, I take her hand, all of us backing away.
But my brothers stay, Dallas stepping toward Callum as Macon, Iron, and Trace flank him.
“Dallas, no,” I warn.
But no one looks at me as Macon speaks. “Army, get the girls home. We’ll be there soon.”
“Macon…”
“Now!” Macon yells, ignoring me.
Callum laughs, shaking his head as my brothers approach him. “Four against one. That’s no fair.”
“It’s just you,” Dallas assures him, cracking his knuckles. “And me. Now get inside.”
“And if I say no?”
Dallas explodes, whipping the back of his hand across Callum’s cheek, and Callum’s chair tumbles over with the force, sending him spilling to the ground.
I gasp as a line of blood flies out of Callum’s mouth and he lands on his hands and knees. He grabs his face, red seeping through his fingers as he glares up at Dallas.
“Now that’s a word I’ve never heard from you,” Dallas bites out. “Try it out. See what happens next.”
And for the first time, as worried as I am, I can’t help but force back a smile. It’s good to see Callum bleed.
