Page 93 of Midnight Curfew

Vincent bellows.

“Fuck!” I growl.

We try to stand in the dark, climbing over each other.

“We have to get her before she gets on the green,” Vincent spits out.

“Just fuck it,” I snap. “Let her go.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Milo gripes. “They’re going to come after us hard for this. If I’m gonna bleed, it’s gonna be worth it!”

“We’re not going to bleed anyway!” I bark. “She’s not gonna say shit. Too afraid of our families. Leave it alone.”

I wanted her willing. Maybe coerced but still agreeable.

I don’t want this.

My friend laughs in my face, though. “Not a fucking chance!”

And he runs, the others following him. “Milo!” I shout.

What the fuck did I do? I kick the wall, growling.

I’m a fucking weak piece of shit.

But I run. I pound the cement floors, racing after him. I push past the other guys, coming up on Milo, both of us stumbling out the door to the golf course.

All of us stop, looking up, my stomach sinking immediately.

Liv stands thirty yards away, Clay and several men with her.

Oh, shit.

Liv’s already covered in a flannel shirt, and I don’t know if all of her brothers are here, but Dallas is there. I would know Dallas’s outline anywhere.

They charge toward us. How the fuck did they know we were here? She wasn’t wearing a smart watch. I—

Del and his two friends scatter, the vague movement in the corner of my eye as they dash across the course and the others disappear back into the field house.

Clay holds a knife.

Milo growls, and I almost sigh with relief even as the dread curls through my stomach.

This might actually kill me.

They close in on us, and Milo quickly fumbles with his phone.

Before he can make a call, Dallas swats it out of his hand, and I simply wait my turn. Pulling out a chair from the small lawn table with a closed umbrella, I take a seat and watch them go for Milo first.

Army grabs him from behind, and Macon kicks his legs out from underneath him. He falls to his knees, and I watch, but all I’m really aware of is Dallas positioning himself behind me. I wait for something to hit my head or the feel of his hand around my throat.

“Stop,” Clay tells Macon. “You’ll get in trouble. I won’t.”

Milo chuckles, eyeing her and the knife in her hand, but then his face quickly falls. She raises the blade to his face.

“Clay, no!” he screams. “Ah!”

He winces as she drags the knife across his cheek, from his temple down to the corner of his mouth, and he’s bleeding all right. Just like he said he would.