Page 201 of Five Brothers

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-buriedin 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.

I gape. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs, picking up a baseball bat and flipping onto her side to look around the corner.

I slip on the knuckles in case I have to poke someone, but I’m not interested in making anyone bleed.

“You know, Macon wouldn’t approve of this,” I tell her.

She flashes me a dirty look. “The only thing I need a man to protect me from is a life sentence. He can clean up the evidence when I’m done.”

Heh. I’m actually fine with that. As long as we can get rid of them before he and his brothers show up. Iron doesn’t need company in jail.

Flashlights bob a hundred yards away, moving around graves, searching.

“How would they even know what grave to dig up?” I ask Aracely.

She sits up on one knee and zips up her fitted jacket. “When you’re not stupid, and you have an endless amount of resources available to you, anything is possible.” She wipes her muddy hands on her jeans and pulls a beanie over her head. “You inventory the graves, find the conquistadors, and then you discover one had a mistress, and the love letters between them are sitting in the St. Carmen Museum today. When a woman in those days bears you three sons and shares your bed for twenty-eight years, you trust her, even in death.”

Oh my God. “You think the treasure is real?” I ask her.

“He didn’t tell you it wasn’t.” She pins me with a look. “Did he?”

My face falls.Jesus.

Have they always had it? Or did they just recently find it? Does everyone over here know it’s real? Has she actually seen it? I have so many questions.

She pulls the hat down, and I realize it’s a mask that covers everything except for her eyes. Her friends follow suit, everyone getting their feet underneath them. I hop up onto mine, ready to follow.

I glance at Aracely. “You’re not slashing their tires, are you?”

“No, I want them to leave.”