Page 56 of Five Brothers

I look at him, and he looks at his brother.

“Are you sure?” he asks Iron. “She’s young.”

Iron raises his drink to his mouth. “Old enough to be doing our brother all night long for the past six months.”

“Oh, I know,” Army mumbles. “We could all hear it.”

Ugh.Liars.

Snickers go off, Dallas chuckling as he walks by, and I watch Iron throw the rest of his drink back and swallow it.

“Outside!” Army announces.

People move, shouts and laughter beginning again as they make for the nearest exit. Some out the kitchen door that leads straight into the garage, while others pile out the front door in a steady stream down the steps.

I don’t wait. Twisting on my heel, I grab my hat and coat and follow everyone outside, joining the river flowing to the side of the house and to the open garage.

I step through the crowd of costumes. Everyone else appears to know what’s going on. Army, Trace, Iron, and Dallas take up positions in front of the onlookers, my car that Macon was working on today sitting behind them.

Army uses a key on his chain to pry up the lid on the can of paint that looks like it’s been opened a dozen other times. The sides of the can are lined with streams of red, the label long since faded and worn.

I pull on my coat again and replace my hat as I watch Ironplunge a brush into the paint, bringing it up and then down on Trace’s hand—his right one—slathering it.

He does the same to Dallas and Iron, and I look to Macon, but he’s not moving from the couch. Turin Wilcott’s hand is still up his shirt.

“Celli,” Iron calls.

I jerk my gaze, seeing Aracely head over, joining Iron and his family.

“Is this going to mess up my clothes?” some girl asks.

“Oh, yeah,” another mumbles.

I lean closer to the guy next to me. “What is this?”

“Red Right Hand,” he tells me. “Like tag with a twist.” People start to head into the street.

“Ten rounds,” the guy explains. “When the music starts, you run into one of four garages.” And he points over our shoulders to the buildings side by side. “One—two.” And then he gestures to the Jaeger garage we’re standing in and the fire station next door. “Three—four. You’re safe once you’re inside. When the music starts again, you run again. When it stops, you better be back in one of them.”

I check all four safe houses, seeing all the garages are open. One is being set up with a table of liquor. Great. Everyone will be rushing to that one in between rounds.

“You can come back to the same garages multiple times,” he says, “but you can’t stay in the same one for two consecutive rounds.”

Meaning, you can’t just hide out. Everyone runs.

“And the paint?”

He points to the Jaegers—and Aracely. “They’ll be in the street.

As you run, that’s when you’re not safe. They’ll tag you with the paint. Every handprint costs you a piece of clothing.”

I button up my vest.

“The object of the game is not to get tagged,” he states.

Obviously.

I can leave. This isn’t how he’s going to get me naked.