Which is already too uptight to begin with.
“You should drink,” I try to encourage. “You’re not on-duty, and you won’t see Jane later. We’re not meeting up with the bachelorette party.” The thought sours my stomach because I’d love nothing more than to hang out with Sulli in a brewery, spa, barn, fucking horse-manure stalls—I’ll take anything, being honest. As long as I can spend more time with her.
“Agreed,” Akara says, approaching with a couple beer flights. “You need to enjoy this, Thatcher. You’re only getting one bachelor party.”
Thatcher doesn’t ease at those words. Not really sure what’ll take the ice out of his bones tonight. “What’s the word on the security meeting?” he asks Akara. “SFO is finally together now, we could have one in five before the gents are drunk.”
Akara checks the time on his watch. “Maybe in twenty.”
I wag a finger, then pound the table with said finger. “No work. No meetings. This is a fucking party. Can you two please shove the pencils and calculators in a drawer for one night?”
Akara fits on a black beanie, smiling. “Hey, I’ll do whatever the groom wants.”
Thatcher shoots me a look. “If we’re not talking about work, what do you want me to bring up?”
“Phillies, Eagles. Hell, I’ll take an hour of Jesus and Mary and rehashing the birth of Christ.”
Thatcher almost smiles.
There we go.
He grips the porter but doesn’t drink yet. “What about Sulli?”
I stiffen and shift, then scratch the back of my head. My brother is making casual conversation like my dumbass suggested, but I didn’t think he’d surface Sulli.
Akara is the one to say. “What about her?” He does a much better job not looking like he has spiders in his pants.
Thatcher’s gaze slices between us. “One of you likes her, one of you said you’re just friends. I thought you two would’ve talked it out by now.”
Lying to my twin is the biggest sin of my life. It’s more painful than any migraine. Like drinking gasoline by the gallon and lighting a match in my lungs. So I struggle to clarify the truth. That Akara hasn’t actually friend-zoned Sulli.
That we’re both dating her.
That I’m still likely to be heartbroken in the end.
“No conclusion yet,” Akara says to Thatcher, skating by a lie into a fucking gray area that I’m not sure I could find as easily.
Thatcher retorts, “Go talk about it then.” His South Philly lilt comes out in his simmering ire. He wants both of us to get our heads out of our asses. “If you need time alone, I can find Farrow.”
It’s surreal how buddy-buddy he is with Farrow. So much so that Farrow is one of five groomsmen. Along with me, Akara, Charlie, and Beckett. Never really saw a friendship with Farrow and Thatcher coming, not for how long Farrow really despised my brother. Probably for good reason since Thatcher had to single Farrow out, but I think pretty highly of Farrow that he was able to see the good in my brother in the end.
It means a lot to me, even if I’m not as close to Farrow.
Akara reaches up and clasps Thatcher’s shoulder. “It’s your bachelor party. We’re not going anywhere, man.”
Thatcher nods once, but he sets down his porter again.
Akara mimics one of my cousins, “So how about them Eagles?”
We all laugh.
Though, my brother is still scoping out the venue, mostly hawk-eyed on the Cobalt brothers.
We’re not alone here for long. Oscar, Quinn, and Donnelly leave their tabletop once they see our beer flights. “Don’t mind me,” Donnelly reaches for a small tasting glass and downs the beer in one gulp.
“That’s not a shot, bro,” Oscar says into a laugh.
“Where’s the stout?” Quinn asks, inspecting the flight.
“I’ll get it,” Oscar says, eying the bar. Pretty sure, he’s more likely heading that way for his husband. Jack is flagging down the bartender with zero to little luck. His brother Jesse seems to be chatting his ear off too.
Before Donnelly can down all the beer, Akara steals two from the flight and hands them both to me.
“Thanks,” I say.
If my brother’s not going to drink, I’m doin’ it for him. I take them both like shots, too. Warm liquid slides down the back of my throat, and then I tell Thatcher, “The temps are actually trained well, so you really shouldn’t worry about anyone.”
That statement shocks him out of his vigilant stance. “What?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said.” He stares at me like I’ve grown three horns. “Just didn’t think you’d be praising Dad.”
“If it gets you to enjoy yourself tonight, I’ll kiss his fucking feet, if I have too.”
That gets me a major eye roll. “I’m having a good time.”
“Says no one.”
“Says me.”
I pick up his beer glass again, and he grabs the thing out of my hand and puts the rim to his lips. He takes a baby sip that causes me to roll my eyes.
“Fucking hell,” he curses.
My muscles tense and I follow his gaze to the Cobalt brothers. Eliot has pulled a flask out of his jacket. No one on Epsilon will stop them from underage drinking. They’ll just report it to the parents tomorrow.
But Thatcher made it very clear that Jane’s under-twenty-one family members were only invited to the bachelor party on the stipulation they wouldn’t drink.
Sober Cobalt brothers are difficult enough. We don’t need shit-faced ones too.
Thatcher takes a step forward.
I put a hand to his chest. “I’ve got it.”
He gives me a look.
“This falls under best man duties.” I point at myself. “Me, best man.” I point at him. “You, not.”
He glowers at me, but I’m so not affected by my brother’s broody nature.
I add, “Jane would be really upset if she found out you spent tonight corralling her brothers.”
He lets out a resigned breath. “Fine. But if you need me, use your radio.” SFO all have their comms on an Omega-only channel. Even though we’re all off-duty, it makes it easier to stay relaxed in case there really is an emergency.
“Copy that.” I smack his chest, then hightail my ass to the sofa area. Charlie, Eliot, Tom, and Ben all stop talking as I approach, and I don’t waste a minute to plop myself down in the tiny space between Tom and Eliot. They have to scoot out of the way so we’re not thigh-to-thigh.
Eliot’s pint of soda almost sloshes on his lap. He curses under his breath.
“Hey, gents.” I pull out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. “We having fun here?”
Charlie has his feet kicked up on an expensive-looking coffee table. My mom would’ve dragged me by my chicken-wing if I did that growing up. He tilts his head to me. “Depends on your definition of fun.” His yellow-green eyes pierce through me.
As though saying, I know Akara and Sulli kissed, and I know you’re protecting that secret too.
He could let loose that fact at any moment. With his family around, he might be more inclined to ignite drama for fun.
I’m on edge for a second and shove my cigarettes back in my pocket. Thatcher might only be six-minutes older, but I’ve definitely shirked a lot of responsibility onto him. So he always feels older, and I didn’t grow up with a lot of little brothers. Just younger cousins. Rarely gave orders to anyone, just took them.
Still, I can handle the Cobalt brothers who’ve strewn themselves over the leather furniture like they’re cigar-smoking, heaven-dropped and hell-raised American gods.
I have to believe that for my brother’s sake.
While I turn to Eliot, I say, “I saw your flask. How about you give it to me, and I won’t cause a scene?”
Eliot grins mischievously. “What if I want a scene?”
Ben leans forward on the opposing couch. “Come on, Eliot. Just give it to him.”
Tom’s the one who
reaches into Eliot’s blazer and pulls out the flask. “What are we to deny a thirsty patron?” He hands it over to me.
I untwist the top and take a small sip. It’s only wine. “Thanks for the vino. Tom’s right; I was thirsty.” I stand up and take the flask with me. In and out quick.
I just became a certified firefighter tonight. Extinguishing flames every which way. I laugh at my thought as I tip the flask to my lips and continue through the packed brewery.
Fuck no.
I eagle-eye Tony Ramella. He saunters away from the loud pack of cousins at the bar. He’s laughing at a conversation he pulls away from, but he’s aimed for Thatcher.
Swift as a motherfucker, I cut off his path.
His laughter slowly fades on me, but his shit-eating grin lingers, which makes me want to shove his face in literal shit. He’s shorter but tries to pull himself higher. “What’s up, nephew?”
A brittle laugh sticks to my chest. “The day I call you uncle will be the day I’m dead and buried and you resurrect me as a fucking ghost. And then, I’m only gonna say it right before I murder your ass.” I swig from the flask.
Tony grimaces. “Jesus, Banks.” He shifts his weight, his eyes tightening in emotions that I don’t recognize. “You’re still pissed at me?”
I’m unblinking. “My brother almost died in a fire trying to save you when you should’ve never gone back in there at all, so pissed is putting it mildly.”
Tony’s nose flares, staring at the ground. “I’m sorry for what happened, and if I could take back that night, I wouldn’t run into the fire.” His eyes meet mine. “Can’t we put this in the past?” He’s about to touch my shoulder, but I smack his hand away. He lets out a short, frustrated laugh. “I expected this from Thatcher, but aren’t you supposed to be the shy one?”
I glower.
Fuck him, man.
Fuck him.
I was a shy kid, but that attribute should not be attached to me at twenty-nine when I’ve never been a shy adult. “Aren’t you the dickish one?”
Tony snorts. “That’s right, you’re the funny one.” He swigs his beer. “Before you came stomping over here, I was just going to ask Thatcher if he wants a whiskey flight. On me and the Ramellas.” He gestures to our family at the bar.
I make eye contact and the guys nod to me.
“Hey, paesan’!”
“Youse heard about them Eagles, Thatcher?” a cousin calls out.
“That’s Banks, you scustumad’.” Another cousin called him stupid.
“Fuck me, sorry, Banks!”
Tony laughs and tells our cousins at the bar, “It’s the same thing. They’re basically the same person—one is just getting married first.”
They all holler and cheer for Thatcher.
Every word out of Tony’s mouth rakes across me. Grating my brain like shredded meat. It shouldn’t eat at me that much considering I’ve heard all that horseshit growing up, and I thought I moved past it. The off-handed “they’re like the same person” comments.
How I’m one half of one person instead of a whole fucking individual. While I silently fume, I know not to cold-cock Tony and tear apart our families. I manage to corral Tony back with the others at the bar. Leading him away from Thatcher.
“Gloria’s really officiating the wedding?” a cousin asks me.
“Yeah,” I answer, “with Rose.” Both my mom and Jane’s mom will be marrying off the happy couple. I make a quick exit after I diss the Eagles, knowing they’ll boo me away.
“Get outta here!”
“Ah fuck youse, Banks!”
I leave, just as Akara approaches.
He eyes my cousins and the curses that trail after me. “You need backup?”
I shake my head. “They’re harmless.” Though, I think of Tony. I dig in my pocket for a cigarette. “Christ, I can’t believe Tony is Connor Cobalt’s bodyguard.” I stick a cigarette between my lips. “Why doesn’t he just can his ass already?”
“Because Tony’s related to his future son-in-law,” Akara says like the answer is clear as day. “If he tells Price that Tony isn’t working out, what is your family going to think of the Cobalts?”
They’ll think that the Cobalts only care about the Cobalts, and not the whole family. Which includes the Ramellas.
They’ll never forgive the Cobalts.
“Fuck,” I mutter, cigarette in my mouth while I fumble for a lighter.
Akara shakes his head. “I wish you would quit.”
“I already did,” I remind him.
He tries not to smile and digs in his pocket for his buzzing phone. “I wish that stuck.” His face sobers as soon as he sees the name on his phone screen.
“Who?” I ask.
“Loren Hale wants to talk.” He checks his watch. “I have to call an SFO meeting.”
“Now? Really?”
Akara says, “Your brother wants to hold one too. Think of it as a bachelor gift to him.” The fact that they’re both so ready to jump into a meeting during a party reminds me that they’re best friends.
“Fuck it.” I light my cigarette. “Let’s get some.”
41
AKARA KITSUWON
Outside the lodge, the Montana land rolls towards foggy mountain peaks, and a fall breeze passes through the ranch. Quinn Oliveira zips up the hoodie underneath his blazer.
I like Quinn a lot, but man, do I wish he didn’t take after Farrow. The maverick, the rule-breaker. It’s hard enough having one on the team. It’s even harder when Quinn tries to go rogue—because I really don’t like being tough on him. He’s the only guy on Omega who’s younger than me. So disciplining him feels like disciplining a little brother.
I’d rather just guide him. Teach him.
Thankfully, he’s here for the team meeting and I didn’t have to go flag him down somewhere.
I snap my finger to my palm while all of SFO gather on stone stairs that lead to the brewery we just exited. I stand before them. At the bottom, but I don’t need to be towering over them to wield authority.
They know I’m at the top.
Thatcher and Banks sit side by side on the middle stair. Banks smokes on a cigarette, ignoring Thatcher’s side-glares, but they’re both quiet, waiting for me to start.
As I look between them, it’s easy for me to say that Thatcher is my best friend. I’ve always been closer to him. We’ve been leads at the same time. Dealt with shit that Banks never had to, but when I think of Banks, I inhale a stronger breath and I can’t help but picture what we’ve been through recently.
Not just the intimate parts. The cougar attack. The way he’s been there. He’s always there. How much I’ve relied on him. And needed him.
I’ve known that I can’t live without Sulli.
But it’s starting to feel clearer and clearer how much I can’t live without Banks, and I hate the scenario where our friendship gets decimated.
It’s the most plausible outcome.
The most likely thing.
Because if she chooses Banks, I can’t stick around and watch him be with her. No more than I know he could stomach watching me with her.
Too painful.
Even thinking it draws down my face, and so I try to regroup.
Farrow has Ripley on his lap. Baby needs a bodyguard. I swallow those words. If I had more time, I’d definitely fling that issue into today’s meeting, but it’s not important right now. And I want this to be quick because we’ve all been drinking and it’s still Thatcher’s bachelor party.
“So here’s the deal,” I tell them, “as of now, you’ve probably heard about the incident at the Hales with Donnelly accidentally causing Ben to fall into the pool.” I’m guessing this is why Loren Hale wants to talk.
Donnelly hangs his head, his hands cupped together. Oscar squeezes his friend’s shoulder.
“We all need to be more careful around the minors,” I tell them. “Epsilon protects them, and the only client on our list that’s under-eighteen is Xander. So the
y feel a sense of entitlement to their well-being, and they’re going to feel threatened if we overstep or make any kind of mistake, even one with no potential harm.”
They listen closely, and I know they don’t like hearing me talk about playing nice with Epsilon. Trust me, I’d love to play dirty, but for the sake of the money I’m putting into Michael Moretti and training my temps, I have no wiggle room to go into legal battles with Price’s Triple Shield.
My men don’t need to be punching Epsilon. Let them take the first swing.
I add, “We win this by doing our jobs better than Epsilon. That’s how it’s going to be.” I focus on Donnelly. “You can’t get between family members. Do it in private, I don’t care. But don’t do it where anyone on Triple Shield can snitch on you.”
He sits up straighter. “Got it, boss.”
I nod and address everyone, “They’re going to try to make your lives harder with the parents. Don’t give them reason to.”
Oscar nods strongly.
Farrow nods.
Quinn, Banks, and Thatcher all nod.
“Papa!” Ripley says up to Farrow, which causes the men to reroute focus onto the baby.
Oscar grins. “Look at him, using his words.”
Ripley is wiggling out of Farrow’s hands, and then the group of men all let out groans.
Oscar plugs his nose. “The kid had an explosion.”
“No shit,” Farrow says, then playfully gasps at Ripley. “You need a changing, little man?” Ripley wears a silly smile and touches Farrow’s cheeks.
Farrow combs a hand through his bleach-white hair, before standing up and hoisting Ripley on his waist. He catches my gaze and motions to the door.
I nod to him, letting him dip out early.
I’m seconds from letting the others go back to the party when my phone rings. Loren Hale. I was just about to call him, but I tell everyone, “Meeting’s not over. Hold on.” I put the phone to my ear. “Akara Kitsuwon speaking.”
“Akara,” Loren says, his voice sounds like razor-knives. “I just found out something about one of your bodyguards that’s disturbed me.”
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