Nothing is better than this.

I groan. “I… Oh, God, I… Liv—”

But a blaring sound hits my ears, and I startle. Liv sits up, hands still on my hips as tingles and heat rock through me.

What? I wince at the sound.

It’s a horn. Outside. It goes and goes. Blaring. Constant. What is that?

“Liv?” I ask.

But worry hits her eyes. “Shit.” She doesn’t look at me. “Baby, get dressed.”

I ALMOST REACH for Clay’s hand, but I stop myself. Swinging the door open, I bolt out of the room, making sure she’s behind me, and we run down the staircase, hearing a commotion of chatter, laughing, and squealing as the horn screams into the night outside.

Clay straightens her clothes and fixes her hair. “What is that?”

“It’s the old storm siren.”

“It’s still operating?”

Obviously. I peer out the window as we descend, seeing waves rising high and crashing onto the beach. Darts of rain spear the windows, the staircase now empty as everyone evacuates, not so much because people are scared, but because rain means the canal floods and a lot of rain means the tracks close in case a train needs to break schedule to get out of Dodge.

Anyone from St. Carmen needs to get home now or they’re here all night.

Bodies pour out of the lighthouse, running to cars, and Clay and I stop, looking around. Dallas, Trace, and Iron came with me, and I look past the lightkeeper’s house, down the dirt road running parallel to the beach, seeing my brother’s truck.

“Oh my God,” Clay breathes out, covering her head, rain plastering our clothes to us.

I turn to her, wondering if we’re saying goodbye now, but then I decide for her. “Get in my brother’s truck.”

She’s staying.

I walk and she better fucking follow.

We both run and then stop, cut off by the crowd running in every direction as they bump into each other and slip on the ground. Headlights light up the night, engines peel off, kicking up the inch of rain that’s accumulated already, and I see Dallas and Iron making their way for the truck.

But then I hear someone scream, “I don’t care!”

Krisjen stands opposite her shitty boyfriend, throwing her phone and then her arms, getting in his face and challenging him.

“I couldn’t care less!” she goes on.

He advances on her, the back door of his car open and a couple of guys from our school inside.

“Post them!” Krisjen tells him, the rain making her white crop top see-through as her hair hangs in her face. “Post the videos and my texts and everything! Fuck it all! I don’t care!”

He grabs her hair, and I jerk to attention. What the hell?

“Liv, come on!” I hear Iron at my side.

But I ignore him, seeing Clay head over to her friend ahead of me. “Milo!” she warns.

But he pays Clay no mind. “You don’t care, huh?” Milo growls in Krisjen’s face.

“What’s he talking about?” Clay yells at Krisjen.

“He took a video of me ages ago,” she chokes out as he yanks her in by the hair. “The little bitch didn’t like me dancing with another man tonight, so he posted it online.”

“He did what?” Clay barks, kind of forgetting she did the same thing to me, but whatever.

“And she doesn’t care,” Milo repeats her words. “Doesn’t care at all.”

“Nope, post them all!” she growls, defiant. “It’ll be the best way to get rid of you!”

And it happens before I can leap—his hand whips across her face, sending her spinning and falling into the car. She catches herself, I jump into action, but then I feel Iron advance first.

No. I stop and push him back, knowing one more arrest will be his last. “I will handle it,” I bite out, shoving him away.

“Fuck that.” He pushes, trying to get past me to slice Milo up.

“No!” I yell.

I spin around to help Krisjen, but she’s already recovered. Launching back around, she slams a fist across Milo’s face, and he grabs his jaw, hunching over a little. I barely have time to be impressed before the back of his hand sends her flying to the ground.

My brother grabs my shoulders, trying to throw me out of the way, but I dig in my heels, wanting to jump on Milo’s back and bring him down, but Iron is about to end his life, and my brother is more important right now.

Clay runs over to Krisjen, but Milo reaches down and grabs his girlfriend. He shoves her into the back seat. “Meet some of my friends,” he says, spitting blood onto the ground. “You wanna fuck other guys? You can fuck them.”

The guy in the passenger seat looks over his shoulder at the dazed Krisjen, while the guy next to her takes hold of her and Milo slams the door.

I launch myself toward the car, yanking on the handle and hitting the glass.

“Milo!” Clay screams. “No!”

“Fucking Saints pieces of shit!” Iron growls, trying to kick the windows in.

But Milo speeds off, all four men taking Krisjen with them.

“Liv,” Clay cries.

“Car now!” Iron yells over my head, and I turn, seeing Dallas and Trace jumping into the truck.

Jesus Christ. Iron’s going to jail tonight.

He runs, meeting the truck as Dallas pulls it around, and I push Clay toward the back door. “Get in.”

I can’t let my brothers do this alone. Usually, it’s their own damn fault, but Krisjen needs help. I opened up the Bay to the Saints. This is my fault.

We climb in, Dallas kicks it into gear, and we speed off after Milo’s douchey BMW.

“Guys, don’t, okay?” I tell them. “Please. We’ll get her and then we’re gone.”

But no one hears me. “Where’s he going?” Dallas glances over his shoulder at Clay.

“How would I know?” She meets his eyes and then mine, suddenly defensive. “Back over the tracks where there’s more cops to stop you guys, probably.”

“His house, Fox Hill, somewhere else? Where?” I question her.

“I don’t know!” she insists. “There’s no clubhouse where our men take women to commit felonies, Liv! What do you want from me?”

Clubhouse…

“Fox Hill!” I shout to my brothers as I grab the dog tags and key around hanging from the chain around my neck. We’ll try there first.

Clay takes out her phone, probably calling Krisjen. “Pick up, pick up…” But after a moment, she grits out a Dammit and hangs up, dialing someone else. “Milo, you asshole.” And then she hangs up again, Milo not answering, either. “I’m calling the police,” she says. “I don’t care.”

But I push her phone down. “Don’t.”

She stares at me. “He’s going to hurt her.”

“They can hurt us.”

“Which is exactly what they want,” Dallas shouts from the front, eyeing Clay in the rearview mirror. “You all live for this, don’t you? Are you that bored? Need to slum to feel a little excitement once in a while? Huh?”

She narrows her eyes to slits, glaring back at him.

“You got this bitch messing around with Trace to make her boyfriend jealous,” Dallas gripes, “and you’re doing the same thing, flashing your fucking little ass around here and screwing with Liv’s head.”