Page 46 of Sinful Like Us
My objective:don’t piss off my girlfriend’s brothers.
And behind that objective lies another:take care of them.
Her brothers are in their teens and early twenties, and I’m still a bodyguard—I’m not here to cause harm. I want to defend and protect them, and the sooner I’m on their side, the easier this’ll be.
But Christ, I havenoidea what they want me to do.So I’m in recon-mode. Attentive.Frosty.I assess each guy in every passing beat. Trying to determine which one will be the flat-out hardest to please.
Charlie Cobalt? He’s a wild card. Could be helpful, could be antagonistic. Could be something that I’ve never confronted before.
He lounges like he’s about to be fed grapes: his foot on the cracked leather cushion, elbow on his knee. His yellow-green eyes puncture me. “You were fucking our sister during the fake-dating ploy.”
I don’t blink.
“Charlie.” Jane’s face is beet-red.
I’ve listened to men talk crasser about so much fucking worse. Hearing this should be like popping a jellybean in my mouth.Too easy.But a sharp taste sears my throat, and I rake a hand over my hardened jaw.
“I was respecting your sister.” I willalwaysrespect Jane.
Eliot hoists himself on top of the booth frame. He uncorks a bottle of wine between his legs. Itpops. “Did you hear that, brothers? Thatcher, here, was respectfully fucking our sister.”
Starting off just great.
I stare blankly.
“Dear God,” Jane mutters under her breath, wide-eyed like a freight train just smacked into her face.
Concern flexes my muscles. I watch Jane out of the corner of my eye but keep fixed on her brothers. “I didn’t say that.”
“It’s what I heard, dude.” Tom slouches back, lip upturned.
“All Thatcher said was that he was respecting our sister,” Ben argues.
I nod once. I’d angle towards the idea that Ben Cobalt already likes me, but with his long legs tucked to his chest and head tilted back, he’s sizing me up.
Haven’t won him over.
Beckett brings a cigarette to his mouth with a graceful hand. Not saying a thing yet. Based off past history—Beckett trying to nail Farrow down—I’m guessing he’ll be the last to come around on me.
Eliot fists the neck of the wine and tells Ben, “It was said between his words.”
“Subtext.” Tom drums his fingers on the table.
I adjust my earpiece, static crackling with comms chatter while Akara tries to locate Quinn Oliveira, Luna’s bodyguard.
Empty bottles and half-eaten baskets of wings are cleared off the table. Familiar scents of cheesesteak and beer linger. I shouldn’t be surprised the Cobalt brothers wanted to stay at South Philly Brew since Charlie bought out the bar.
But they could’ve easily just taken me to some upper-class, blue-blooded, rich-prick place where I’d have to feel my way in the dark to the finish line.
It puts me on a steep edge. Like they’re up to something more unexpected. Something worse. My senses hum on a taut vibration.
Jane’s collarbones jut out, and she slips each brother a warning look.
The security team is going to talk about this shit for years.Not because I plan to run my mouth about it.
Anyone who isn’t a Cobalt—like Maximoff, Sullivan, my twin brother, like Omega and Epsilon bodyguards, like fuckingTony—watches us from the bar. Not even pretending to be disinterested.
They’re all turned towards this table like my ass on this hot seat is a nine o’clock blockbuster. And they’re viewing it for fucking free.
