Page 130 of Five Brothers
But he says nothing.
He doesn’t stop them. I lock my molars together. “Son of a bitch …” I bite out.
Trace comes running to my side. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Take care of Dex!” is all I shout.
Dallas appears. “Army?”
Macon will tell them to stop. He wouldn’t do this.
But Chavez shoves my head down. “Get in the car or I’ll keep you for longer for fighting me.”
Trace runs for the house. “Macon!”
I land on the seat, still gripping the door. I look at Dallas. “Take care of the kids.”
“Don’t worry,” he says.
He pinches his brows together. I’ve never seen Dallas worried. He looks six years old.
Marquis shoves Krisjen, but she shoots out her hands, stopping and flipping around. “I’m not going anywhere!”
“Now!” he shouts.
“Screw you.”
In half a second, she’s twisted back around, her wrists are being cuffed, and she’s stuffed into the car, locked to the handle above the door.
“What?” She yanks at the cuffs over her head. “No!”
“Feel free to tell your grandpa.” He pushes her legs inside. “He’ll thank us.”
He slams the door, both cops climb in the car, and I run my hand through my hair as I stare at the road ahead.
I won’t give Macon the satisfaction of seeing me waiting for him to save me. Fuck him to hell and back.
They drive off, taking us away on absolutely no charge or authority other than my brother, who I never thought would use his power against me.
“What just happened?” Krisjen lets out a sob.
I sniff, smelling the blood in my nostrils. “Oh, didn’t you know, Krisjen? Swamp has cops on the payroll, too.”
And I kick Chavez’s seat as he drives.
He eyes me through the rearview mirror. “You shut up. We’re doing you a favor, man. We’re not getting you away for his sake but for your own. Let him cool off.”
Except he wasn’t going to kill me.
’Course, I didn’t think he’d have me thrown in jail, either. Seems I don’t know my brother as well as I thought.
Chavez was born in St. Carmen, and every time I see him over here, he has a phone in his fist. Full of all the information he’s gathered for my brother.
The younger one in the passenger seat, Johnston Marquis, grew up in the Bay. He looks over his shoulder at me. “Your kid will be fine.”
Krisjen moves forward, pleading through the plastic partition. “I have to get my brother and sister.”
“Just leave ’em, Krisjen,” I blurt out. “They’ll be fine till morning.”