Page 159 of Midnight Curfew

One by one, they scurry out of the water, the short one grabbing her bikini top with one last look at me.

The blonde carries her drink, spinning to smile at my sister as she passes. “Are you sure?” she taunts.

I snort. Women love the Jaegers, don’t they?

Plucking the bottle from Liv’s hand, I pour another shot, ignoring the girls and watching my sister turn away from us with a sigh to make sure they actually leave.

She takes the bottle again, but I barely register it. Reaching into my pocket, I start to take out my phone to check the time, but I stop.

It doesn’t matter. I should pay a visit to the Coldwells’ tonight. Let the town cameras pick me up at 6:00 a.m. leaving their house.

Or maybe I should fucking leave town for the rest of the week. Put in for a substitute and take off to Miami and let him wonder where the fuck I am as if he thinks two can’t play this game.

I drop my eyes. Or maybe I should just go to bed and go to work in the morning like there’s nothing wrong, because nothing is. Let him see how much he doesn’t matter and how focused I am on everything else.

That’s what the great philosophers would do. We can only control our reactions to things, blah, blah, blah.

But I’m fucking pissed.

“So Anna-Katherine helps you in the classroom?” Liv asks, kicking the beach balls back into the pool.

“Yeah, she’s a volunteer there.” I take a sip. “But she loves my room for some reason.”

“She likes you.” My sister grins at me. “Probably the first woman ever.”

“You don’t like me?”

“I love you,” she clarifies. “There’s a difference. Would I have your back? Absolutely. Would I trust you to plan my funeral? No, you’d dump me in the ocean.”

Iron lets out a quiet laugh. I simply shrug. “Our ancestors were pirates. It’s fitting.”

What’s wrong with a burial at sea? It’s better than that fucking cemetery, some commemoration to our descendants who might not be all that proud we’re still fighting for our lives.

I reach for the bottle, but Liv pulls her hand away. “What are you doing?” she scolds.

“Liv, I don’t need a mother.” I hood my eyes. “Give it to me.”

I launch for it, but she rears back again. “You’re in the rest of the night?” she asks me.

“Give it to me!”

But she doesn’t, and I set the glass down on the table, hauling my ass off the chair.

I charge her.

“Where is he?” she growls.

“Who?” I spit out.

“Do you want to know where he is?” She holds the bottle away. “Because I can tell you.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

I don’t want to know where he is, because he’s a piece of shit who’s surrendering to a life of decadence and indulging shitty people, and he’s trying to hurt those around me and I hate him.

And the liquor will make me forget that I love the way he pants on my lips when I’m inside of him.

“You haven’t touched anyone else in two weeks,” Liv points out, “and on the nights you didn’t come home, we knew who you were with.”