Page 31 of Jaxon

"What the hell, Adams? Do they have property rights offshore?"

"Well, not technically, but to get those waves you have to trespass across his property." Adams lifted his hat and wiped his forehead. "Look, guys, I'm with you. This whole thing sucks. We all spent a lot of time out here on this beach, and not having it—it's going to feel like a piece of our childhood has been taken from us. I haven't surfed out here since my teens, but I brought my little sisters here all the time to swim and build sandcastles. Makes me sick that it's going to become a private beach for rich people who probably won't even step foot on the sand."

"Mr. Walsh is here," the main man, Ivan, I presumed, barked. He was still standing with his arms crossed and a deep scowl on his face.

We all stopped to watch the man most of us knew only by name, a name we'd all come to despise, as he walked confidently across the sand in his leather loafers. He was wearing a blue sport coat over a white shirt. Dark sunglasses hid his expression, but his mouth was pulled tight as he had to suffer the indignity of walking across soft sand. He wasn't a big man, slight, in fact, but everything about the way he carried himself gave the impression that he was superior to everyone else on the beach, even men twice his size. He stopped to talk to Ivan.

"Looks like he's gonna use the thug as his middleman," Theo quipped. "Too important to talk to local law enforcement."

That comment put a frown on Adams' face.

"Don't worry, Pugsley. We all think you're the coolest," Theo added quickly.

His frown vanished. "Well, I'm going to join them, whether Walsh likes it or not." Adams headed their way just as Walsh took the time to step away from his crew and stare harshly at Crusoe and Max. I instantly stiffened and curled my fists.

"That fucker better not go near 'em," I said.

"Nah, he's just showing them that he's a big man who's been wronged," Theo said.

Officer Adams walked over to Walsh. Walsh's lip turned up to let him know he hadn't been invited into the conversation. The three of us walked over to Crusoe and Max.

"Can you believe this shit?" Crusoe asked. "We were just surfing. No fucking crime in surfing."

"Cru, for now, you guys are going to have to stay off this beach," Griffin said.

"Fuck that," Crusoe said.

"Cru," I said brusquely. "If that asshole presses charges, then you two are going to jail." That statement washed some of the bravado from my brother's posture. Max looked as if he might throw up.

"Shit, Cru, my dad's going to have a fucking meltdown about this," Max said. Max's dad was one of those assholes you didn't want to cross. He was a real fucker to pretty much everyone.

Adams rejoined us. He wore a grim expression, which told me he'd be hauling the two surfers in for trespassing. "Jaxon, Walsh wants a word with you," Adams said with a look of concern. "Look, Jax, you know I do a lot for you guys, looking the other way on shit, but I've got no fucking power against this guy. He basically owns half this coast and?—"

I nodded. "It's all right. I'm not going to throw a fist, if that's what you're worried about." Of course, I would have loved nothing more than to slam a fist into his arrogant face.

Walsh lifted his glasses and gave me a look cold enough to freeze the balls off a fucking elephant. He didn't say a word but motioned with his head for me to follow him out of earshot of everyone else.

We walked a good twenty feet away. Mycrewdidn't take their eyes off us and hiscrewdidn't take their eyes off my crew. Cologne. Why the hell did rich men douse themselves with cologne? Necessary to cover up the stink of their greed and ambition, I supposed.

"Your brother is playing with fire," he said dryly. He was working hard not to show any kind of emotion and keep his tone plain.

"Just paddled out for a few waves. I don't see any harm in that," I said back … plainly.

"This is a private beach."

"Well, you'll have to excuse us. You see, this was a public beach, one that all the locals loved, until you managed to push through your dirty real estate deal." I probably wasn't helping Crusoe at this point, but it was my first conversation with Nathan Walsh and, not surprisingly, I'd taken an instant disliking to him.

He pulled his sunglasses back down over his eyes. "There was nothing dirty about it."

"Yeah? Not too sure about that."

"Look here, you piece of—" His plain tone and disaffected expression were gone.

"Go on, you can say it. It's the same word you probably use about anyone who isn't wearing thousand-dollar loafers and ripping off local people of their favorite beach."

"My daughter went out last night even though she wasn't supposed to."

"Holy shit, do you hear yourself? You have literally made your daughter a prisoner, your prisoner. Do you know how fucking nuts that is?"

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