Page 15 of Alphas Like Us
But I notice them more now, and I worry a bit that they’re bothering Farrow. He just lost his fucking privacy, and this is only thebeginning.
He said he’d tell me if the press or fans piss him off, and so far, he hasn’t said anything about it. I trust him, so I’m not going tooveranalyze.
My muscles try to unbind, blood still set to simmer from Douglas Cherrie, the patronizing event organizer that I almostpunched.
I’m not proud ofit.
I shake my head, jaw aching from clenching. “I thought I could reason with him,” I tell Farrow. “Remind him that Luna is only eighteen and she doesn’t want this…” I lift my gaze to meet Farrow’s understanding. “I asked to switch places with her. He saidno. I offered to buy Luna back—and Jesus Christ.” I cringe at thosewords.
BuyLuna.
Like my little sister isproperty.
“Hey,” Farrow says, drawing me closer, his hand shifting to the back of my head. Camera flashes spotlight us, and we both rotate our backs to block the harshglare.
Farrow lowers his voice, and I strain my ears to hear him over the music. “Price is on Luna’s detail for the charity auction,” he says. “It’s a little bit disturbing that a sixty-year-old fucker won the bid for her, but you don’t need to be paranoid. Your dad and mom have been breathing down security’s neck all night, and almost everyone in SFA is watchingher.”
My shoulders just won’t loosen, my neck strained. I’ve been in DEFCON 1, damage control mode for the past hour and ahalf.
And byhour and a half, I meanmillennium.
Farrow studies my features. “Shit, you’re somoral.”
I stretch my arm over my back. “You’re so damn cool. How do I become just like you?” I ask, sarcasmthick.
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, smartass, it’s a charity auction. Not a prostitutionring.”
I frown, my jaw locked for a long pause. Until I ask, “How sure are we that it’snot?”
“Maximoff,” he starts like this is paranoia, but he pauses. Because I’m not in control of this H.M.C. Philanthropies charity auction. I have nodetails.
Wehave nodetails.
I signed on becausethis—right here—was the stipulation Ernest Mangold made, the one task the entire H.M.C. board said I had to complete in order to be reinstated as CEO: a charity auction that they orchestrate. I’m supposed to be told where to go, what todo.
A follower. Which I’ve never fuckingbeen.
I finally understood why the H.M.C. Philanthropies board chose this—why they even agreed to vote me out of the company I built and let Ernest take my spot. I’ve always rejected the board’scharity auctionproposals where my cousins and siblings were the ones up forbid.
I would never in a million light-years agree to this unless they had kicked me out and held it over my head likebait.
Which theydid.
Farrow lets go of my hand, just to clutch my waist. His fingers glide beneath my tee, and my skin electrifies at thetouch.
More confidently, he says, “This is nothing but an innocent, aristocratic, stuck-up gala”—our eyes dive deeper in each other, our mouths closer—“because if it were anything that threatens your body, your life, I’d break the neck of the motherfucker who bids onyou.”
“Pretty sure I’d break a neck first,” Ijoke.
Farrow shakes his head, but he looks like he wants to kiss me. I probably, most definitely, look like I want to kisshim.
But his tattooed fingers suddenly touch his earpiece, his gazedrifting.
While security speaks to him through comms, I can’t stop thinking about everyone else’s fate at thisauction.
I’m thinking about mysister.
About Jane my best friend, and then my cousin Beckett and even Charlie. The four who signed-up for this insanity. Sullivan bowed out when she heard the title of the event, too uncomfortable, and Beckett planned to join her—but Charlie, of all people, convinced his twin brother to do theauction.
