Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

I look away, my whole body in a knot.
Then, Macon kicks the coffee table, sending it toppling over to its side
and everything onto the floor.
“You think those fucking little shits will spend a single night in jail with
their connected mommies and daddies?” he shouts. “Do you? Huh?”
“Macon…” Trace tries, but my brother isn’t listening.
“Goddammit,” he growls and storms out of the room, shoving a small
table in the foyer to the floor as he passes.
Doors slam, and I look over, seeing Dallas beet red and sweating, but
sitting in the chair quiet and frozen. Iron has a cut on his cheek, a thin line of
red glimmering in the light. Trace leans his elbows onto his knees, the
laughter and pride they felt five minutes ago all gone now.
Dex cries upstairs, and Army turns to go, but he stops and faces us. “You
guys got any goddamn idea how much pressure he’s under?” He only pauses
a moment before he slams his hand into the wall, shouting, “Do you?”
He steps up to Iron who can’t face him eye to eye. He stares at the floor.
“What’s he going to have to give them to keep your ass out of jail?”
Army grits out. “You ever think of that? You’re tying his hands, Iron!”
I blink, reminded that our situation in Sanoa Bay is growing precarious.
Or more precarious than I let myself believe.
And Macon hasn’t told us.
But he’s scared. Very scared. That’s very obvious now.
I still sit with my knees up to my chest, but my muscles have relaxed a
little as Dex cries.
I almost rise to get him, but Army turns to leave.
He stops once more at the entryway. “You know, we were supposed to
grow up someday,” he says over his shoulder. “Eventually, we were
supposed to grow up, and he wasn’t going to have to do everything alone
anymore.”
I bite the corner of my mouth to stifle the sudden guilt. I want to leave.
Dallas has zero attachment here. Trace and Iron are constantly fucking up and
putting themselves at risk. Army has a kid who takes precedence.
“He wasn’t always going to be the only one to care about this family,”
Army says, something strangled in his voice. “That’s what he thought
anyway.”
And he leaves, heading up the stairs to his son.
It was a helluva thing, to put this burden on people. To stay someplace