Chapter 10
Callum
He thinks he’s going to have a good time.
I know exactly why he wants into the Wolfe Room.
To get dirt his family can use to blackmail the right people and get the curfew lifted so they can peddle their black market liquor and seduce more Saints into their family.
Like it’s not bad enough they already have Clay Collins and Krisjen Conroy, not only the best-looking but the most tolerable options Milo and I had for our futures.
I actually would’ve married Clay Collins. Happily.
Especially once I found out she liked to fuck women.
That made my day. It meant she might’ve been the one person I didn’t have to pretend with.
It was a win-win situation. I’d let her satisfy her attractions, albeit discreetly, and she’d let me do the same, all the while having the home, kids, community, and status, and we wouldn’t have to hide anything from each other.
She would’ve been my best friend.
How amazing it would’ve been to come home and have it actually feel like a sanctuary. The way a home is supposed to feel.
No, it’s time to play offense. I’m done with that family taking from me.
Dallas Jaeger will never have more fun—that he’ll soon regret—than he will this Friday night.
I swing the club, hitting the golf ball and sending it flying into the air with more force than I intend.
“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.
“I’m going to the Wolfe Room Friday night.”
“And they know that,” I fire back, “which is why they’ll be trying to move then.”
Beer Cart Girl hands Vincent his Dos Equis just before Milo takes her by the waist and presses into her, forcing her to back up. “You know what I like.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes away, but he hauls her back in. She bares her teeth, hitting him in the chest.
“Plus, I’m playing in the Wolfe Room Friday night,” I add. “I want my pick.”
Milo’s attention falters, and he releases her, turning to me. “I can’t be there?”
I eye him sternly. “It’s my turn.”
I don’t want the distraction, and I don’t want competition.
At least, that’s the message I’m sending.
He lifts his brows, walking away. “Got it.”
Really, I just want Dallas to myself, without my friends’ interference. Or observation.
“Hey, give us a beer, honey,” someone calls out.
Jerome Watson strolls up, his cart parked next to ours. A man with dark hair, a little taller than him, follows.
Jerome holds out his hand to me. “How’s it going?”
We shake. “Thought you were busy today,” I say.
We had invited him, but he has a real job, unlike us.
Plus, it’s fucking hot.
He nods, gazing toward the green. “I was,” he tells me. “Just brought my friend in for lunch.”
Jerome moves aside, pointing to each of us. “This is Vincent Law,” he tells the guy, who goes around and shakes hands. “Milo Price, and…” They turn to me, the man closing the distance a couple of steps and locking eyes with me. “This is Callum Ames,” Jerome says.
We shake, his hazel eyes unblinking, his hand holding mine until I feel a dip in my stomach.
“This is Micah Hearst,” Jerome tells us. “A buddy from college.”
He looks like he wants to smile, but it’s only in his eyes. “Hi.”
I swallow. “Hi.”
Finally, we let go, and I take a deep breath. That’s the friend Jerome wanted to introduce me to. Fuck, not now.
“Micah owns Sotherly House and the Lord Hotel,” Jerome announces.
“Nice.” Vincent bobs his head. “A big fan of the State Suite.”
Milo chuckles. “And the discreet entrance for playmates.”
Micah shakes his head, but the smile is there. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he teases.
I take a drink as I let my eyes fall down his body. Long, toned legs in off-white pants, like me, and muscular arms in an ocean-blue shirt. Dark hair, tanned skin, everything manicured. His haircut, his nails, the alterations of his clothes.
Women look at him before they look at me, only he doesn’t like women, Jerome had said.
“But um…come anytime you want,” Micah tells everyone, a taunting smile on his lips as he focuses on me. “I’ll set you up with all the fun you can handle.”
The innuendo in his words is clear, and warmth sinks below my stomach to my groin. Dallas used to look at me like that. For about two seconds.
If this guy went to school with Jerome, he has to be about thirty-five. We’re not in the same place in life—I may still go to grad school—so there’d be no question of what we wanted from each other. Which is good.
“Anything else, gentlemen?” the girl asks us, and I notice everyone has their drinks.
I dig in my pocket for my money clip to tip her, but Milo waves me off.
“I got it.”
He walks back to her cart and she follows.
Micah stands next to me, both of us watching Jerome line up his shot.
“We’ve got a nice beach at Sotherly House,” Micah says, his tone smooth. “You like the water?”
Heat rolls off of him, his scent like something you want to sink into and never leave. It’s not just fucking soap.
But I reply, “Not in June.”
Even the water feels like soup this time of year.
“We got a nice spa, too.” He flashes me a half grin. “You like massages?”
My heart pumps a little harder, and I drop my eyes, releasing a laugh because whatever he’s doing is hitting. Maybe an older man is just what I need.
“Oh, shit,” Vincent laughs. “Milo!”
We all turn, and I see the girl bottomless with her shirt pulled up above her tits and her back to us as she leans into her cart with her legs spread. The top of Milo’s head is just visible as he goes down on her.
What the fuck?
Jerome rumbles with a laugh. “Oh, Jesus.”
Is she cool? Her head isn’t dropped back in pleasure, I don’t hear any moans…
Milo stands up, flips her over on her bench seat, and opens his shorts.
“You guys go on without me,” he groans. “I’ll just be a minute.”
He pushes inside of her, her hair in her face and her mouth open as he thrusts into her fast and hard.
Vincent looks at us, unfastening his belt as he backs away. “Nah, I want some.”
And he joins Milo.
The somersaults that were happening in my stomach a minute ago are gone as I take in the scene of the beer cart girl getting railed in broad daylight on a golf course, probably because she wants the money and probably because it isn’t the first time a rich guy has used her for a quick nut.
She pushes up on her hands and backs into it, biting her bottom lip.
Bile rises up my throat, but I don’t know why. He’s not forcing her.
“Can’t take them anywhere,” Jerome remarks, smiling as he leads us away to the next hole.
They can bring the carts when they’re done, I guess.
But I can’t swallow normally, following behind them in a fog.
I’ve seen shit like that plenty of times—at college, spring break in St. Bart’s, and of course, the Wolfe Room.
I’m going to see it a lot more. A meeting in a private room at a restaurant with a table full of business partners and a waitress.
The strippers at a bachelor party.
Someone’s assistant delivering papers late.
Hotel maids dropping off extra towels.