Page 182 of Tangled Like Us
Banks tips his beer to Akara. “It’s good that you’re the one who caughtSneakersgetting his rocks off in his car. Thatcher would’ve killed him.”
I stay unmoving but send a glare to my brother. The middle-aged man who dresses in baggy jeans, whitesneakers, and carries around roses—he’s been on my radar since the Cinderella ad. And Akara spotted him masturbating in his parked car before our around-the-clock security outside did.
Cops arrested Sneakers and will charge him with public indecency. Lewdness. The best security can do is a restraining order.
Target destroyed.
But his insistence to keep coming around—after so many bodyguards told him off—makes me think he’ll be back. He’ll violate his restraining order. Go to jail.
The cycle will continue, and I shouldn’t be emotionally invested in this situation. I should be able to handle this without wanting blood. But I just keep thinking that this middle-aged fucker was in a car and rubbing his dick almostin sightof Jane.
Too close.
Too fucking close.
And this is the girl who I’m sleeping with. Who I’m protecting and have held while she’s cried against my chest—so I’m not feeling fucking even-tempered. Not as much as I should be. As any bodyguard should be.
“My civic duty,” Akara banters, “keep Thatcher from murdering targets.”
Banks smiles. “Amen.” They clink bottles and swig.
I uncross my arms, opening the fridge to grab a water.
“Did Jane text you?” Banks asks me.
I nod. “She heard the cop sirens and asked if everyone was safe.” I start putting some leftover containers next to Banks. “I texted back that a minor threat was being detained. She didn’t want more.”
“Sulli is like that,” Akara says, beer to his lips. “She doesn’t ever want extra details.”
“Who would?” Banks asks.
“Maximoff,” Akara and I say at the same time. Though, my brother knows this too. His question was really rhetorical, but we just didn’t give a shit.
I pop open the container of roasted goose and potatoes.
Banks sniffs the meat. “Smells like roadkill.”
“No it doesn’t.” I stick a fork in the cold meat.
He steals the container and holds it to Akara.
Akara is texting, but he sniffs it anyway. He smiles. “Smells like a Cobalt Empire Wednesday Night Dinner. Three days old, still edible.”
I grab the container from Banks.
Jane always brings her leftovers from every Wednesday family dinner. Usually for Maximoff. Sometimes she’ll put a container in security’s fridge.
Only Cobalts have ever attended. No Hales, no Meadows. Never bodyguards.
What goes on there is almost urban legend on the security team. No one really knows. Except that if you have a Cobalt client, they’ll usually fight to make it back to their childhood house every Wednesday, every week.
Akara glares at his cellphone, then he takes off his baseball hat and pushes his black hair back.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You remember Will Rochester?” Akara throws his cell on the counter. “Apparently he’s planning on throwing Sulli aHallow Friends Eveparty the day before Halloween.” He shakes his head repeatedly. “I don’t like where this is fucking going. He seems…”
“Like he’s into her?” Banks finishes. “Because that’s one-hundred percent certain—”
