I blink and turn forward. "Ready."

He angles the board just right. "Paddle as hard as you can. You'll know when it catches."

I nod, my belly flip-flopping like crazy.

"'Kay, babe, here ya go." He shoves the board just as a swell builds behind me. "Paddle!"

My hands dig into the water, one after the other. Hard and fast, I push through the ocean until my shoulders burn.

"s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, I'm gonna miss it." I groan and throw every last bit of my strength into pushing myself ahead of the wave.

Then it happens. The board thrusts forward on its own.

"I did it!"

"Atta girl!" Mason's voice is laced with pride. "Now pop up!"

Pop, right! I push up to my hands and knees then wobble. Stay centered. Bringing one foot forward, I pop up. The board tilts, almost tossing me off, but I regain my balance. I did it! I'm not going nearly as fast as Mason and I did on the bigger waves, but I'm still moving.

"Go, Bea!" My siblings cheer me from the beach, and I sway but manage to stay up on two feet.

"Yeah, baby!" Mason yells.

Holy s.h.i.t! I'm surfing!

"Woo hoo!" My holler is mixed with my laughter as the power of the ocean propels me forward.

And for the first time since before Svetlana died, I feel free.

Twenty-three.

Mason The sun is getting lower, and our little group of ragtag beach-goers is running out of steam.

After we ate the peanut-b.u.t.ter sandwiches and grapes that Trix brought for everyone, I busted out my ice chest full of mini-mart snacks, including chips, candy bars, and flavored sports drinks. The kids went nuts, and for a second, I felt guilty like maybe their parents wouldn't want them gorging on c.r.a.p, but when I caught the soft look on Trix's face while the kids gobbled up chocolate bars and cheese puffs like it was their job, I knew it was something more.

My guess is they don't get the opportunity to indulge in s.h.i.tty food while living on a budget. After watching Isaac power down four sandwiches and having been a sixteen-year-old athlete myself, I'd be willing to bet it takes every cent they have to keep him fed, and that's only one of the six kids living at home.

I pop my shades up, squinting into the lowering sun as Isaac carves into a wave on my short board. Is there any sport this kid doesn't dominate?

Isaac picked up on surfing the long board quickly and had asked if he could take mine out. I went with him, showing him the basics, the differences in how it moves, and gave him some pointers on a few waves.

"He's getting really good, Mason!" Trix is lounging back on the sheet. Thankfully, her gorgeous bikini-clad body is wrapped in a sweatshirt, as Leah dozes off in her lap.

I rip my gaze away to follow the direction of her pointing finger. Isaac's still holding his own against the sunset break. I scan the horizon for surfers, who appear like black dots, noticing it's gotten more crowded since the sun started to set. Usually, this beach doesn't attract the surf locals as much as some of the heavier breaks in the area. Cowell is a great place to learn to surf, but the seasoned shredders prefer a more challenging wave.

However, with some recent big open-ocean storms and El Nio, the waves at Cowell are a wild card and predictions are high.

I shake off the edginess that p.r.i.c.ks against my skin, but maintain a visual on Isaac. Truth is, when the local surfers come out, not a single outsider is safe.

The b.u.mp of a swell rolls in from the distance, and all the little black dots paddle into position. My eyes stay fixed on Isaac. I stand up, trying to gain a better vantage point, blocking the glare with my hand.

"Mason?" Trix is up and next to me. "What is it?"

"Nothing, he's fine." For now.

I watch as the wave builds, and little does Isaac even realize, he's in the optimum position, but not in the right order of the line up to catch this one.

Bottom line, this wave doesn't belong to him.

If he catches this wave, he's going to get his a.s.s kicked.

The swell builds, barreling in, and I see the exact moment that he realizes where he's at. He turns his board around, paddling in front of a group of black dots.

"f.u.c.k," I hiss under my breath.

"What?" She grabs my hand.

Isaac moves, completely unaware that he's thrown down a challenge and is s.h.i.t deep in a paddle battle. My jaw locks down and I grit my teeth. Lose, Isaac. Don't out paddle these guys.

He hits the lip of the wave at full force. It catches, grabbing Isaac along with one other guy on his outside. s.h.i.t. I move, headed for the waterline, dread heavy in my gut.

The guy catches up to him. f.u.c.k. He dives off his board and takes Isaac down.

Trix gasps. "That guy went after him!"

Motherf.u.c.ker. "Yeah, your brother dropped in on his wave."

Now let's just hope the dude's not a local.

"What does that mean?" I don't look, but I know Trix is scanning the water just as I am, waiting for her brother to resurface.

"Isaac was in the wrong, but . . ." I squint as two black dots surface only to be surrounded by four more. "f.u.c.k. Stay here."

"Mason . . ." Fear and worry lace her voice.

I kiss the top of her head. "It'll be okay; just stay with the kids."

I run into the water, hopping small waves until it's easier to swim. I break the surface with a dive, powering through waves with urgency. Surf conflicts escalate quickly and under no f.u.c.king circ.u.mstances will I allow Isaac to learn this lesson the hard way. I make it to the group of guys who are chest deep and bobbing in the current.

"Hey." I barely get the word out when Isaac takes a fist to his jaw. "f.u.c.k."

Fights are bad enough, but fights in water while waves thrash all around are almost impossible to win. I make it to Isaac just as he's about to swing on the guy, wrapping my arm around his chest.

"Let me go, man!" Isaac tries to kick from my hold, and I, again, give the kid credit for his strength. "That f.u.c.ker hit me out of nowhere!"

"Yeah, I know." I drag him toward sh.o.r.e. "Don't worry." I look back to see that, sure enough, they're following us in. "It's not over yet."

As soon as our feet hit solid ground, the group of guys descends. Trix moves toward us, but I hold a hand up to keep her far enough back so that she can hear what's going on, but she's not close enough to get hit.

"f.u.c.king, kook." The guy shoves Isaac, who at sixteen stands eye to eye with the dude that could be twice his age. "Go back to your island, c.h.i.n.k."

Isaac rushes the guy. I hook him around the waist before he makes contact and toss him behind me. "Enough. He's new to Cowell, doesn't know the rules yet."

"No s.h.i.t, a.s.shole. That's what I'm here to teach him." The guy puffs out his chest, and his crew backs him up. They're all tense, flexed, and I know from experience they won't walk away until Isaac bleeds.

"Listen. Give him a pa.s.s just this-"

They all burst into laughter, but quickly sober and step into my s.p.a.ce. "Maybe you'd like to take the beating for him. Break our rules; pay our fines."

I hate to play this card, but I grew up in this area and know for a fact that it's my only chance to save Isaac from an a.s.s-kicking. "This ain't your break," I say low enough to avoid drawing attention.

A short bulky dude with a shaved head and wild eyes shoves my shoulder. "What the f.u.c.k you know about it, kook?"

A growl bubbles up from my throat, and I swear if there weren't the eyes of little kids on me, I'd destroy this c.o.c.ky f.u.c.k.

"B3 protects this break." I know it, they know it, and even though I'm no longer an active partic.i.p.ant in the local surf gang, these guys understand me.

They each blink, pa.s.s a guarded look to each other, and glare at me. "Whatchu know 'bout B3?"

"Emery, dude . . ." d.i.c.khead number two whispers something that sends Emery's eyes to my hip. He tilts his head, and his eyes widen. "No s.h.i.t?"

My tattoo isn't obvious, but anyone familiar with B3 and everyone local is more than familiar with, if not terrified of, The Brotherhood. They see the waves of the B3 emblem curling up from my hip.

They visibly tense.

"I think it's time you guys move on, yeah?"

They flash looks to each other, trying to hide their concern or fear with the nonchalance of gangster bada.s.ses and failing. "Keep your friend safe. Guarantee if he dropped in on one of your brothers he'd never live to talk about it."

That's probably true.

They strut to their boards and head back into the water. With my hands propped on my hips, I feel the unexpected release of tension in my muscles. That could've been so much worse.

"Mason?" I turn to see Trix holding the little kids to her body while the bigger ones crowd around her.

I turn to Isaac, who looks like a ticking time bomb. His fists are clenched, jaw hard, and back rigid. "Go for a run, man. Blow it off. Letting that s.h.i.t fester will do you no good, understand?"

He's scowling at the guys who are back to being black dots on the horizon. "I could've taken him."

"I don't doubt that. But those guys don't fight fair. It would've been six of them against two of us, and your brothers and sisters would've witnessed it." I slap him on the back. "Now go. Run the beach and blow it off. Trust me."

He drops his eyes to the sand and nods, his shoulders relaxing. "Yeah." He blows out a long breath. "Okay."

"Alright."

He takes off running down the beach, and I turn to Trix, who's chewing her bottom lip and pulling at the skin on her throat.

"Where's he going? Is he okay?"

"He's burning it off. He'll be okay." I motion to a concrete fire ring in the sand. "You guys up for a fire and s'mores before you head back?"

The kids jump with excitement, the mere mention of more junk food erasing what just happened from the forefront of their minds, but Trix doesn't look at ease.

I pull her to my chest. "Babe, what's wrong?"

She curls into me easily, not seeming to care that I'm wet. "He's my baby brother, Mase."

"I know and he'll be okay."

"I guess B3 is a bigger deal than what you told me. 'Just kids' my a.s.s."

I fumble with how to tell her this and have it make sense, or better yet not freak her the f.u.c.k out. "B3's a big deal around here. It's a big deal to a lot of people. It means very little to me anymore. If my brother weren't neck deep in it, and if I didn't need to use it to keep your brother from getting sand in his blood, I'd never think about it again."

"Your brother and all those guys who came to Vegas, are they . . .?"

I nod into her hair. "They are."

"So, B3's a real gang."

I run my hands up and down her back with a soft pressure and feel her melt deeper into me. "Started off as a way to protect the locals here, but greed led them to hook up with some bad dudes, and things went downhill from there."

"That's what your brother's involved in now, all the stuff they had lying around the hotel that first night?"

"Yes, and no matter how many times I try to fix this s.h.i.t for Drake, he just keeps running back to it because of his dad."

She pushes back enough to peer up at me. "I guess any relationship with his dad, even an unhealthy one, feels better than none at all."

I nod and lock my hands together behind her back. "Let's not waste the rest of our time together, focusing on that s.h.i.t. I'm going to blow my surfer girl's mind with the best s'mores she's ever tasted, and then we're going to get these kids home before they all pa.s.s out on the beach and we're carrying sleeping bodies back to your van. Sound good?"

The dark shadows from her eyes clear and she grins. "Sounds perfect."

It's been a couple of hours since the sun dipped below the horizon, and our fire is burning the last piece of wood we have. Leah and Aaron are sound asleep on Trix's lap, their mouths caked with a mixture of sticky marshmallow and sand.

Trix's hair is pulled away from her face, the flicker of fire light highlighting her cheekbones and full lips. She looks focused, but somehow vacant at the same time as she watches the flames dance.

I wish I knew what she was thinking, could see inside that pretty head of hers, and carry the burden of whatever makes her drift off like this. Other than the run-in with those locals, today couldn't have been any better.

After Isaac got back from his run and we stuffed ourselves with s'mores, we sat around while everyone shared stories about growing up on this beach. They all lit up with stories about Lana, their sister, all except for Aaron and Leah, who were too young to remember much of her.

As quiet as Isaac and Trix are now, I have to think they're lost in memories of her life or her death.

"Thank you for this." Trix slides her hand into mine. "We needed this day."