Page 145 of Wild Like Us
I pass Sulli a pair of binoculars.
She puts down her harness and peers through the binoculars, looking out for movement. Before Sulli began her climb today, we released crickets in Team Apex’s tents.
Now we wait.
Hopefully they’ll spend as much time clearing out the insects as we did the snakes. I light a cigarette, and both Akara and Sulli shoot me disapproving looks.
I blow smoke away from them. “What? You two have never had a smoke during a stakeout before?”
They’re trying not to smile.
Times like these, Akara would smoke a cigarette. He’s a social smoker. But he must really want me to quit because he doesn’t ask for one.
“I think I see their Jeep,” Sulli whispers in eagerness. She lowers the binoculars to double-check.
Sure enough, the Jeep Wrangler is headed to their campsite. After everything, I need a win. Let this be one.
Akara’s phone buzzes loudly in his pocket at the same time Sulli’s chimes. She fumbles to remove it from her backpack on the ground, while Akara slides his out.
I take the binoculars and peer through.
They’re piling out from the Jeep. Looks like they’re aimed for the campfire, carrying bundles of logs. Thankfully they’re not searching for the cellphones ringing out in the distance.
I’m about to ask Akara and Sulli who’s calling, when my phone pings.
Xander Hale is sending a text to a group chat with Thatcher and me.
Rare.
He’s only sixteen.
When we were his full-time bodyguards, he was supposed to only use the thread for emergencies since he’s a minor and we report to his parents. Sometimes, though, he’d recommend us fantasy TV shows and books to watch. More so lately, our text communication is about boxing since Thatcher, Farrow, and I started to teach him on our days off-duty.
But the message I’m staring at now has nothing to do with Jon Snow or Frodo Baggins, the dweeby-looking elf, goblin thing, or sparring when we come home.
Banks. Thatcher. PLEASE don’t let Donnelly get fired. It’s not his fault!!– Xander
What in the fuck happened?
34
AKARA KITSUWON
Sometimes I haveto remind myself that I don’t work for Price Kepler anymore. Now that I own my own security firm, he can’t fire me from Triple Shield. But Price isn’t a bad guy. He’s been there for Daisy Calloway since his early twenties.
Young.
So young.
And now I’m young, just twenty-seven to his forty-some-years, and I’m protecting Daisy’s daughter. I’ve respected Price. Admired what he built. Having the Tri-Force—three leads to rule them all—awarded his men power alongside him.
He gave me power as a lead in his firm.
He respected my calls, my decisions. And when I told him I was creating a security firm, we were cordial.
But the minute Triple Shield had egg on their face from losing the girl squad in Anacapri—he began resenting me for building Kitsuwon Securities. Which looked shinier, better, newer,younger.
Recently, my firm has had missteps with temp guards screwing up and Charlie getting robbed at the Carnival Fundraiser. So Price should feel better.
