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“Two things can happen here,” Clay says as everyone listens. “One. We can refuse to leave, because we don’t really have to. This isn’t your property. Not for long anyway. Tryst Six’s days are numbered.”
Macon turns and listens, his gaze calm.
“So, out of anger,” she continues, “which is all you really have, you’ll kill me and then the rest of us, so there’s no witnesses.”
Trace and Army laugh under their breaths, a few of the other guys joining them.
But it’s not completely impossible. The swamp cooks bodies down to a stew in no time, and Clay knows the stories out here.
“Or two, you’ll rough us up,” she tells him, “we’ll complain to our parents and a shitstorm will consume Sanoa Bay, risking lots of unwanted attention on your ‘business’.”
She does the little air quote thing, because she knows those stories too. The rumors of how Macon and Army sold to the college kids—Oxy, Molly, Adderall—to make ends meet after our parents died.
I never asked if it was true, and I never will. Macon doesn’t allow drugs in our house or in Sanoa Bay, but I also know he’d do anything to feed us.
“Either way, it’s not good for you,” Clay goes on. “Because the power you have is an illusion, because you have no—and never will have any—money.”
I swallow, kind of wanting to smile and puke at the same time. That’s gonna piss him off. While I’m glad it’s not me, I’m kind of glad someone is biting him back.
Everyone turns to Macon, waiting for his response, and I almost think he’s at a loss for words, because he’s quiet for several seconds.
Aracely and her friend Carissa hover next to Iron, and I can tell by the pinch of their lips that they both want Clay’s scalp.
“Well,” Macon replies, blowing out a heavy breath. “Shit. You were right.” He looks at me. “She is smart.”
I nod, bracing for what’s coming. “Told you,” I play along.
Aracely and her pals move in, Dallas and Trace following as the circle closes.
“Damn, I’m…” Macon shakes his head, and I watch as his guys slowly shift around the room, taking up position behind each Saint.
I blink long and hard. Shit.
“I’m really at a loss for words,” Macon says. “What do you say, men? Five-hundred years of keeping this land from them, and now, here, today, is finally the day they call our number and take us down?”
Laughter fills the room, and I curl my toes in my boots, my muscles burning ready.
Macon smiles at Clay. “All at the hands of Baby Collins and the Preppy Posse.”
“I’m shitting my pants,” Trace says.
“Shakin’ in my boots,” Dallas coos, eyeing Callum.
Macon moves in front of Clay, hovering over her, and Callum leaps, ready to grab her, but Santos grabs him instead.
“What the fuck?” Callum growls.
All hell breaks loose. Swamps grabbing Saints, holding them in locks, and I watch as Clay’s pieces fall around her, leaving the Queen unprotected.
I look to Macon, opening my mouth, but I clamp it shut again. She asked for this, didn’t she? Let her find out how false her security was with me. How much I let her get away with when it could’ve been so much worse.
“Can I show you something?” Macon asks her, not breaking a sweat. He grabs her by the back of the neck, and she screams as he drags her over to a motorbike on cinder blocks, someone already started the engine, the tires spinning wildly.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a split second. Goddammit. Goddamn her.
She just had to open her big mouth.
“Clay!” Krisjen screams, but she can’t move. Trace is holding her.
“Get off her!” Callum bellows.
I hear Amy yell, “Liv! What the hell? Do something!”
But I don’t budge.
Opening my eyes, I watch Macon push Clay to her knees and squats down next to her, pushing her fucking face and a fistful of her hair within inches of the spinning spokes, “See that?” Macon asks her.
Someone’s dried blood coats the chrome spokes, and I can’t see Clay’s face, but she doesn’t fight or speak. Shoulders squared, she won’t give him that satisfaction.
“You’re right,” he tells her. “All we have is anger. And it is not without its uses.”
He pushes her nose closer, and Krisjen cries out.
I watch, my chest rising and falling, and my stomach roiling. I force away the feelings I remember from the locker room when I let myself think for a minute that her desire was real. She deserves this.
I still haven’t gotten all the Sharpie off my body, and I will never be free of that video of Megan and me. Clay terrorized me for years. She brought this on herself.
“You won’t do it,” I hear her say.
“The question is…” He looks at her. “Do I have to? Does Liv have to deal with you when she knows your grandmother and the old sheriff had a hideaway out at Two Locks where they would meet for long afternoon hours?”
