Page 71 of Sinful Like Us
“It can’t be you, Thatcher.” Banks sounds adamant.
I stare hard at my brother.
We’ve wrestled and sparred each other plenty before, but I can’t lie—this feels different. Maybe because I just got my mind right.
I turn to Farrow.
His lip rises, entertained at the absurdity of this situation. “You really want me to hit your brother?”
“I’m not forcing you,” I tell him. “But yeah.” I trust Farrow.
I’ve always trusted him.And I need him.
“Okay.” Farrow slides off his silver rings from his right hand. His smile grows. “Shit, this is not how I thought today would be going.”
Banks begins to smile and kneels on the tile. “Just don’t knock my teeth out.”
Farrow has a strong right hook, but the Oliveira brothers were pro-boxers and would do worse damage in a single blow.
“You’re not the Moretti brother I’ve wanted to uppercut,” Farrow says lightly. “Your teeth are safe.” His joke alleviates some tension.
My lip wants to lift.
Banks makes the sign of the cross, and I weave my arms over my taut chest. Watching as Farrow forms a fist.
One breath later, he slings his knuckles at my brother, landing with precision on his mouth. His head whips to the side, lip broken open.
I force back a stabbing pain.We planned this,I remind myself. But seeing Banks hurt will always hurt me to some degree.
Farrow shakes out his hand. “Good?”
Banks touches the spot, blood on his fingertips. He cracks a quarter of a smile. “What do you think?” he asks me.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Should work.” I clasp his hand and help him to his feet. I upnod to Farrow in thanks on our way out. We return to the mats where the meeting is taking place, and the team quiets and zeroes in on my brother’s swollen mouth.
Sinclair grimaces. “Which one of you shit-tickets hit him?”
“I fell, sir,” Banks lies.
SFO is smiling. I focus more on the Alpha lead, Price’s glare drilling me with fueled disappointment.
I hear Jane.I’m very, very proud of you.
Remember that.
I’m trying.My chest rises.
“You fell?” Sinclair knows my brother is bullshitting, but he nods and says, “Stop tripping over your damn feet, gent.”
“Yes, sir.”
13
THATCHER MORETTI
Only 2 days until Scotland,and there’s another loose thread that needs to be tied.
Comms active, gun holstered, I stand on guard against the doorframe of a familiargeekybedroom, triple the size of any bedroom I’d ever seen as a kid.
