“Legal?” He raises a brow, fighting a grin.

I nod.

That’s a solid five-hundred dollars’ worth of crab, if not more, and that’s just what’s in front of me.

“It is, but there’re some restrictions,” he shares, looking around at all the others, some fishing, some doing as he was. “It’s how a lot of people around here feed their families.”

“Well, they eat well then.”

He licks his lips, coming closer, his voice lowering. “They don’t eat them, Trouble, only sometimes for special occasions will they do this for themselves.”

I frown and he adds, “They sell the crabs for way too fucking cheap if you ask me, but a buyer is a buyer. With the money, they get the things that make more sense for their households: rice, flour for bread and pasta. Things that can make more for less.”

Embarrassment colors my cheeks, but Beretta only grins, coming in to kiss my temple.

“Give us five, we’ve been here long enough.” He looks to Arsen, gripping his bicep before he turns back.

The two of us step around the group, making our way to the start again, but Beretta slips between us before we’re even halfway there. “Ransom’s coming.”

“I feel like an asshole,” I say instantly, and he grins, throwing his arms around both me and Arsen’s shoulders.

“You’re not an asshole. If you’ve never been down here to see, how would you know?”

I frown, facing forward.

“Here, come on.” He tugs us to the right, off the pier and toward a little roller cart a woman is frying what looks like diced green peppers on.

He orders and pays her four dollars for a giant bowl.

It looks delicious. Some sort of greens topped with tomatoes, cilantro, and crumbled cheese.

He holds it out for me to grab the spoon.

“What is it?”

“Cactus.”

My eyes bulge, and he laughs.

“Cactus,” I deadpan. “So, when you asked if I ever tried it you meant—”

“Eaten, not grown.”

I cover my eyes, shaking my head. “I’m so embarrassed!” I look to him.

He chuckles. “It’s all that fine dining, Trouble. Stick with us and you’ll learn a whole bunch of new, average joe shit.” He scoops a spoonful and holds it out. “Try it.”

I open my mouth and take the bite.

It’s a little slimy, but also crisp, like a partially cooked pepper, but the flavor is all in the spices.

I have no clue what they are, but it works.

I take another bite.

Beretta grins, his eyes cutting over my shoulder, and I glance the same way to find Ransom leaning against the ledge, watching us.

He frowns and looks away.

I face forward and Beretta looks from him to me, but I ignore the flair of frustration in my chest and turn to Arsen.

“Can I have my phone from your bag?”