Page 60 of Midnight Curfew

“It’s too hot for this,” Vincent pants in exertion.

My ball soars into the blue sky, past the few clouds, as the afternoon sun beats down on us.

It falls to the green, rolling a little before stopping a few feet from the hole. I back away from the tee, smiling. “When else do we get the course to ourselves?”

The heat, coupled with the off-season, has driven most people away from the club this week. But they’ll be returning from the city or from their yachts for the weekend.

“Maybe during the next storm?” Vincent sounds hopeful. “Rain’ll cool us off.”

I glance at him. “Before the lightning kills us?”

I don’t swing long, metal objects into the air during storms.

“Like Russian roulette,” Milo sings, swinging his club around. “Let’s see who makes it out alive.”

Vincent chuckles, stepping up to the tee, and I wipe the back of my neck with a handkerchief. I should’ve worn shorts. And no fucking shirt, like Milo. My pants are light-colored, but my shirt is black and so is my damn hat.

I was too busy thinking about other things this morning, after that chat with Dallas.

“Another round of drinks, gentlemen?” a light voice chirps behind us.

I jerk my chin over my shoulder at the girl in white shorts and a turquoise blue polo, her beer cart parked behind her. “I’ll take one.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Vincent calls out, testing the position of his swing.

We’re the only ones out here, and she knows what we drink.

“So they arrested two people for breaking curfew last night,” Milo remarks.

“The Jaegers got them sprung, though,” Vincent says, then rears his club back and swings.

I lean on my driver. “The Jaegers are who we really want anyway,” I remind them.

It was to send a message to Sanoa Bay that even their ruling family isn’t safe.

I mutter, “No need giving a couple of nobodies free room and board.”

Vincent’s ball lands on the green, as well it should. He was on Clemson’s golf team.

“I want to patrol.” Milo steps up for his turn, digging a ball out of the pocket of his shorts. “Anybody else up for some fun?”

The dark-haired girl hands me a Red Stripe, and I glance at her name tag, which says Aleida. Turning away, I shove the lime slice in with my thumb before tipping back the bottle for a drink.

She looks about old enough for Dallas.

I’m sure he’s noticed her. He doesn’t sleep alone, even if he likes to avoid their own women for fear he’ll get one pregnant and be stuck in the Bay forever.

He seems to have found purpose here, though. And he could never resist a pretty face. I take another swig, sweat trickling down my back.

I’ll bet he’s fucked everybody.

“I’m game,” Vincent replies.

It takes me a moment to remember what Milo wanted to do. Patrol.

I watch him shoot his ball, but it doesn’t even make it off the fairway. He’s fucking drunk already.

I hear Aleida uncap another beer. “Do it Friday night,” I tell Milo.