Page 105 of Five Brothers

“I mean, I’ll live if he doesn’t,” she’s quick to point out, “but I hope I know you forever. It’ll make it a lot easier if he stops trying to pick fights. What’s his problem?”

“It’s not you,” I tell her. “He’s been like that for a long time.”

Albeit worse the past year or so. He’s been intolerant, short-tempered, and pissy for years, but I’ll admit, he’s pretty fucking awful to Krisjen. I’m not sure why.

“Our parents died at the wrong age for Dallas,” I tell her. “He was fourteen—too young to be treated like a man, and too old tobe protected like a kid. Macon didn’t know what to do with him. Neither did I. He just … He wanted to be alone a lot, and we let him.” I pause. “We shouldn’t have.”

We had other things to worry about. It was easier to be lazy about it and hope that whatever was eating him sorted itself out.

“I don’t think Macon would know what to do differently even if he could go back,” I admit.

“And you?” She cocks her head. “How were you doing then? You were only what, twenty?”

I hesitate. I don’t like these questions.

But it’s nice to be asked. Liv, Dallas, and Trace were too young, and I never wanted Macon to worry about me. He had enough.

“When you’re tested,” I tell her, “you find out exactly what you’re capable of, and what you’re not.” Those are the same words I said to Trace not even an hour ago, but I didn’t explain what I meant, and he didn’t ask. I clear my throat. “A few months after it all happened, Macon and I were struggling to keep everything going. People in the Bay needed help, and we could barely feed the kids in our own house. Customers had taken their business elsewhere when my father died, and St. Carmen was breathing down our necks. We were going to lose the land any day.” I hold her eyes. “They were hitting us while we were down.”

Her eyes search mine, and I can see the concern etched on her brow. She knows this story isn’t going anywhere good.

“We were finishing up at this house,” I continue, “doing their landscaping shit. It was late. And I remember wondering why they had asked us to come so late in the day. That house was usually early in our rotation on the first of every month.”

Someone squeals, but I don’t look. I don’t even see the party anymore.

“The husband called us inside,” I tell her, “made small talk. Macon just wanted to leave.” I breathe out a weak laugh, realizing how he hasn’t changed. “Then he asked us.”

She goes still, waiting for me to say it.

“He wanted us to go up to the bedroom with his wife.” I pause.

“Both of us. And he wanted to watch.”Her face falls. “You didn’t …”

“Maybe I should have. It was thousands of dollars,” I explain. “But that’s the thing, Krisjen. I found out what I wasn’t capable of, but maybe I had that luxury, because I had Macon. And he always took care of us. He found money somewhere. And then more. And then more. And I honestly don’t know if he was stealing it or killing for it, I was just grateful he never allowed me to be subjected to people like that again.”

It wasn’t even about the sex. Maybe I could’ve fucked her. Maybe I could’ve been paid to do it, and maybe even with her husband watching.

It was the embarrassment of them always thinking we could be bought and sold, and the shame of living just across the tracks. Of having to see them over the years and be constantly reminded that they could do that to us. I was twenty. I almost threw up in the driveway on my way out.

I’ll never let Dex find himself in a situation like that.

I look down into her eyes, glaring now at those blue pools and gripping that soft skin that I like more than I’ll ever admit, because Saints all feel the same. Like they’ve never worked a day or broken their backs under the hot sun. “You assume Dallas is the only one who doesn’t like rich little bitches who dangle us on a string.” I get in her face, my nose nearly brushing hers. “But as sweet as you are, I think you’ll be one of them in ten years, won’t you?”

She draws in a short, shallow breath, her fingers curling and her nails digging into my skin. She shakes her head, and I shake her.

“You’re not different,” I state. “You’re not. We can pretend for as long as we want, but we know where this story goes.”

I squeeze the backs of her thighs, hearing her whimper, and I don’t know why I’m taking it out on her.

But it feels good. I’m not twenty anymore, and I want to fuck one of this town’s daughters, even though I told Trace I wouldn’t touch her. She was bred to be desirable. This is what they’re for.

I’m hard in my jeans.

But she speaks, touching my face. “Look at me,” she says.

I do.

“I’m only looking at you,” she whispers.