“Do it, then.” She remains still, offering herself up. “Be like us. Hurt me.”

Do what? What is she doing?

“Do it!” she yells at him.

“Clay, knock it off,” Callum barks.

Apparently, she doesn’t speak for all of them.

“Come on, badass,” she sneers. “Go for it.”

I step forward. “They want Bellona,” I tell him, shutting her up.

Bellona is the Seminole flag, shredded and faded, but still flying at the lighthouse a mile up the dunes. It’s on her scavenger hunt.

Macon glances at me, still fisting her hair. I know he doesn’t want to hurt her. She’s not worth the jail time.

It takes him a moment, but he exhales and releases her, a half-smile on his lips. “Of course, they do.”

It would be the ultimate ‘fuck you’ from St. Carmen.

He rises and pulls Clay to her feet, but she shoves him away, scowling. Macon shuts off the bike.

“Can they take it?” Army taunts.

Macon tsks. “Doubtful.”

“Come on, Macon…” Trace bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. “I want to stretch my legs. Let’s play.”

My brothers, their friends, and their girlfriends—their faces filled with excitement—look to my brother for his permission.

He casts me a glance. “Oh, what the hell…”

And then he turns to Clay and her posse. “Go capture your flag. If you can.”

“Whoop!” Our guys cry out.

Clay, looking uncertain after almost losing her nose to my brother’s bike, flashes her gaze to me, and I can tell she’s not done for the night.

I grin, shouting to my brothers. “Move!” I yell.

Whoever gets it first, wins.

Everyone runs, scattering out into the night, but Macon grabs me as I try to leave.

He yanks me into his face. “You lose my flag, you lose Dartmouth. Deal?”

My chest caves. “Macon…?”

“Nah-uh.” He shakes his head. “You’re grown up enough to invite them here without asking me first, it should be no problem to make sure you don’t lose that flag to a country club princess, no matter how pretty her ass is. Put your money where your mouth is, Livvy.”

Fucking prick.

“Fine,” I grit out, pushing away from him. “Fucking fine.”

And I run, because there’s everything to lose now, especially time I don’t have.

“CLAY, LET’S GO!” Krisjen pulls me toward Callum’s car.

But I dig in my heels, everyone scattering around us and engines firing up. Guests at Mariette’s turn their heads to see what’s happening, and Trace hangs out the window, howling as Dallas speeds them away.

Saber Point Lighthouse is a short mile up the coast, and they’ll kill us on the road, trying to get there first. What a perfect cover up for our murder. No, thank you.

Callum grabs my arm and twists me around. “Are you okay?” He takes hold of my face, as if the motorcycle spokes got me.

“I’m fine.” I push his hands down. “It was fun.”

He chuckles, hooking an arm around me.

“What a fucking asshole,” Amy bites out.

“Not at all.” I smooth out my clothes and check my handbag to make sure nothing spilled out when that ass threw me over his shoulder. “I would’ve done no differently in his shoes.”

Macon is smart. Liv was holding out on me. Playing a lot nicer than she had to. She had options for retaliation. Why didn’t she use them?

Amy pulls me. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

My friends gape at me, and I’m not sure if they just want to go home or still get the flag, but they definitely don’t want to stay here.

Liv runs out of the autobody shop, slowing when she sees us not running. Suspicion etched on her face, she hops into the cab of a truck, the guy in the passenger’s seat getting out and giving it to her and jumping into the bed himself. Army drives off, Liv next to him, but her eyes remain on me until she passes.

“Are we going for the flag or what?” Milo snaps. “They’re going to beat us.”

I slowly back away, eyeing my friends. “I have another idea.”

Spinning around, I bolt down the road, past shacks and rundown lawns, houses barely held together with spit and glue and chipping blue paint.

“Where are we going?” Krisjen calls as we leave the lights of the main village.

“There’s another flag,” I tell her.

“Where?”

I twist around, running backward with a smirk pulling at my lips. “Their house.”

Her mouth falls open, and Callum laughs, everyone picking up their feet and running faster, excited. Their house isn’t on the way to Mariette’s—the only reason anyone from across the tracks comes over here—but I’ve driven past a time or two.

We race up to the house, an old Spanish-style pigsty that must’ve been great in its heyday, but lack of funds and the deterioration of the property values around it makes it look abandoned. The porch light glows bright, but no windows are lit up and no cars line the dirt road in front. I tip my head back, taking in the broken clay shingles and dead ivy scaling up the pink stucco walls to the second floor.

It was probably a very beautiful place once. The Seminole flag hangs above the detached garage, the bottom blowing in the light breeze.

“What a dump,” Amy grumbles. “If I lived here, I’d want to kill myself, too.”

Liv’s mother comes to mind, all of us knowing she died in this house. The story was she hung herself in the shower. Was Liv in the house at the time?

“I’m sure it’s tolerable when you don’t know anything else,” I reply.

Callum jumps up and rips the flag off the garage, and I step up to the door, touching my fingertips to the heavy, dark wood. Hundreds of years of rain weigh on it, and I run my hand up the surface, my body humming.

It feels like her. Cracks and splinters and sun and thunder, but she’s still here. I inhale a deep breath, gripping the door handle.

“Want a beer from their fridge?” I ask my friends.

I open the door, my heart skipping when it gives way. How did I know they would think they were safe enough to never lock their door? No one steals from Macon Jaeger, right?

“Clay!” Amy shouts.

I walk in, my friends following, all of us tracking mud into the terracotta foyer. Stairs sit right in front of us, and I look left and right, finding a living room—if you can call it that—and a pool table in what should probably be the dining room.

The chandelier suddenly illuminates, lighting up the whole space, and I hit the switch, shutting it off again. “Flush the bong water out of your head,” I growl at Milo.

Dumbass.

We filter out around the house, Milo and Krisjen heading for the kitchen and the beer, while Amy stays with me, and Callum inspects a tarnished silver candlestick before dropping it to the ground.

The crystal candy dish goes next, crashing into a hundred pieces on the tile, and I hear a commotion in the kitchen, knowing Milo is trashing the place. I pause, but then I realize Macon Jaeger almost killed me tonight, so fuck him.