Page 99 of Midnight Curfew

I open my mouth to say I’ll do whatever I have to, but immediately I have the thought.

I’ll go back in if he does.

I didn’t really like it, but maybe it was because I barely knew anyone, and the connections are what drive the kink. I liked fucking with him, and I honestly wish I didn’t, because he doesn’t deserve attention. Not after what he pulled with Liv.

I gaze across the green, the moonlight floating across his fair hair and his bare arms as he talks on the phone.

But neither does he deserve the pleasure of playing in there without me.

Another car bursts out from the side of the restaurant, falling in behind Callum and Jerome, and we swerve, startled. Milo Price and Vincent Law honk their horn, throwing out smiles and waving their arms like they’ve already caught us.

“They’re all gonna have a dash cam,” I point out.

Iron straightens the cart. “Yeah, I know.”

They won’t try to bust us after the fact. It would be a waste of time and money, but we don’t want to be caught doing anything violent, either.

Iron swerves the cart to the edge of the grass, Callum peering over at me. With his eyes looking almost amused, he reaches over and turns up the music, some Nine Inch Nails song playing.

“You think they know this is a distraction?” I call out to my brothers.

Not all the Jaegers are here, but I don’t think they’ve realized that.

Iron draws in a long breath. “I think they want this to go on for a little while.”

It’s a long summer. Plenty of play time.

“Hold on!” Iron slams on the brakes, the two cars vaulting ahead.

Turning the wheel, he cuts behind them, over the street, and out of Fox Hill. Veering left, we bounce to the left and race up the lane, tires screeching against the blacktop behind us.

I glance over my shoulder to see the cars’ brake lights glowing bright as the lights from a cop car spin in the distance. In a moment, about three or four vehicles are going to be on our fucking ass.

I dive into the back seat finally, hanging on. “Where are we going?”

“Around the school,” Iron tells me.

“Why?”

“Because it’s out of the hills,” he spits out. “Macon has all the liquor, and he’s loading it into the prop trucks on Liv’s movie set.”

Liv’s movie set?

And then I remember. “At Mimi Collins’s house?” I burst out.

Clay’s grandmother?

They’re filming there as of yesterday, because her Georgian colonial is the epitome of southern gothic or whatever the hell Liv said.

She’s a white-haired old lady who I’m not completely convinced isn’t running this town like her own private Mafia.

“She’ll fry us!” I growl.

I’m almost as scared of her as I am of Macon.

“Well, they know we don’t have the liquor,” Trace explains, pointing to the cars behind us.

And they’re still chasing us, which means they have no idea where it is and think we’ll lead them to it.