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)
But instead of veering left, past Mariette’s and toward the explosion, he slips into a muddy parking spot and leaves the engine running. “Come on.”
He jumps out of the truck, and I push open the creaky door, hopping out.
Heading up the steps before me, he opens the door, and I walk in behind him.
People clamor and shout inside the restaurant, and we look around for familiar faces, but all I see are staff, tourists, and a few people from the Bay.
But then I see them. Army, Dallas, and Trace push through the kitchen door and charge through the dining room. I let out a breath, relieved.
Macon dives behind the lunch counter, pulls out a pistol, checks for bullets, and slips it into the back of his jeans. My heart leaps into my throat.
The gun. The one from his nightstand. I haven’t returned it yet. I guess it’s a good thing he didn’t think to grab it before we left the house.
He pulls his T-shirt over the weapon and moves toward the door again, his brothers following.
The others slip out the door, but I move in front of Macon before he can leave. “It’s a diversion,” I tell him.
He just murmurs, “Stay here. I don’t want you at the house alone.”
He doesn’t even look at me as he tries to leave again.
But I repeat, “It’s a diversion.”
Whoever they are, they’re keeping the Jaegers’ attention occupied while something else goes down. They’re not here to start a fight. He doesn’t need the weapon.
He reaches around me to push open the door, and I take his hand in mine, coming for his mouth. “Be careful.”
But he pulls his hand out of mine. “Not here.”
He brushes past me, leaving Mariette’s, and I look after him, watching them all climb into their trucks. They speed off, and I feel the heat of peoples’ eyes on my back, but when I turn around, no one is looking.
Okay, maybe like three are.
I look around to find Jessica smiling at me. Summer looks but doesn’t smile.
I search the room. Where’s Aracely?
Santa Maria. That’s what Trace said. If he’s right, Aracely would be there.
I bolt, running out of the restaurant, down the wooden steps, and into the rain. I splash through puddles, diving down the dark dirt road and into the night. The woods creep in on both sides, and I know there are wetlands behind the trees off to my right. But I stay on the road.
I run, not seeing anyone around. The boys’ trucks are long gone.
But I don’t go toward the explosion. Jetting down a small path on my left, I let my hood fall off, seeing the grooves of tires that have recently come through. The road is tiny, but BMWs and Audis fit just fine without even scraping any branches on their way.
I push my hair out of my eyes, feeling water soak my toes through my sneakers. Headstones appear up ahead, and I leap through a thin row of trees. Stumbling into the graveyard, I quickly look around for cars, flashlights, or people, but I don’t see anything yet.
I know Aracely is here. She jumped at the chance earlier this year to get in a Saint’s face. She’s not missing this. I hunch over, staying low, and step through the overgrown weeds and ivy that climb the old burial markers.
Names engraved hundreds of years ago sit on granite half-buried in the soil after centuries of sinking into the land, while others are so faded and eroded from weather that you can’t read anything. I’ve been here once, with Liv and Clay, because hiding things in graves was actually one story that was true. There are cases of liquor in one of the crypts. Macon buys it illegally and supplies it to the bar because sometimes St. Carmen likes to fuck with his supplier, so he needed a stash. Liv knows where it’s at. One night last summer, we raided.
But a treasure? I didn’t think that was true. I’m still not buying it. If it were significant, Macon could quite possibly be the most powerful person south of Washington, DC. Why would he not use it?
I spot two flashlights dancing in the dark ahead, and then headlights pop on. I stop short.
But before they can see me, someone grabs me and yanks me down to the ground. I lock eyes with Aracely, seeing her sister and a few others in her regular pack all lying on top of graves, hiding behind headstones.
I scoot in with her, tucking myself behind a marker.
“You on our side or theirs?” she asks me.
I shoot her a look. “What do you think?”
She stuffs something in my hand, and I look down, the moonlight peering through the clouds to show me a pair of steel knuckles. With spikes on the outside.