Fearless Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  Akara reaches over for the avocado-shaped pillow and tosses it to Banks. It goes underneath me, arching my hips higher.

  The angle feels better. Deeper, even.

  “Whoa,” I breathe out. “Whoa.”

  “Is that a bad whoa,” Banks asks.

  I shake my head, in another blissful fucking world.

  Akara smiles. “Definitely a good whoa.”

  Banks pulls out and pushes back in gently. I can tell he’s going a little further in this time. Cheek on Akara’s chest, I hold onto him and bask in how Banks takes my body.

  Trust.

  I feel it completely with both of them. As Banks thrusts, my pulse races and adrenaline spikes. I’m going to come. I’m going to come. I mutter the words against Akara’s heart.

  Akara holds me tighter against him. I’m on the same ascent, this time at a slower pace. I’m going to—I come. “Banks. Kits.” I reach a beautiful peak.

  A beautiful high.

  Banks swears, then groans out, “Sulli…” He breathes hard and gently, gently slides out of me. Banks collapses next to us, tossing the filled condom, and I roll onto my side, cocooned between them. Like it’s so natural and second nature, their arms drape over me.

  “That was…” Everything.

  I know they’re smiling. Akara asks, “Better two than one?”

  “It’s more intense…so yeah, I think so. Do you guys like sex better when we’re all together?”

  Akara and Banks share a look, then Akara nods. “Yeah.”

  Banks says, “Yeah, same. It keeps me on my toes.”

  “Not literally,” Akara smiles. “You’re already too fudging tall.”

  “Hey, I like his height.”

  “She likes my height.”

  “I like Akara’s height, too.”

  They’re both laughing.

  I want to laugh with them, but sleep tugs at me. I’m just about to shut my eyes when Akara’s phone buzzes loudly.

  Banks asks him, “Do you even know how to put that thing on silent?”

  Akara grabs his cell off the nightstand. “I do, but it’s never going to happen.” He glances at the screen. “Shit.”

  I lazily tap his arm with my knuckles, too spent to do a real friendly slug.

  He smiles down at me for just a split-second.

  “Who is it?” Banks asks.

  “Connor Cobalt.”

  41

  AKARA KITSUWON

  Business calls. Which I know I can’t avoid.

  I wouldn’t.

  I take care of Sulli and Banks and the rest of my men, and I’m trying not to drop a single ball because dropping one means hurting them. And everything I’ve ever done in security has been to safeguard these people who I love most.

  I already dropped something.

  For a hot, brief second, my fight with Banks roars back to life in my head. The crappy thing, I don’t regret fighting him at all. But I do regret throwing blows at the Winter Festival. I bruised my company’s reputation and almost lost the respect of my men.

  Can’t believe I did that.

  And then, I can.

  Because he’s at the top of my list of who I’d do senseless things for. Right next to Sullivan Meadows.

  Now we’re in bed together, and I thought we screwed the tense parts of the night away. Sulli is sleepy and bare and totally gorgeous as she battles exhaustion, not wanting to miss a thing because of sleep.

  I prop myself further up the iron headboard. “I’ll put it on speaker if you two agree to stay quiet.” I have no interest in relaying this conversation again.

  Mainly, I have about negative-infinity desire to leave this bed for a phone call. Not again. We’re all naked, sweaty, warm, and content. Leaving this peace and refuge is being erased off my to-do list tonight.

  Sulli rolls over to face me. “My lips are sealed, Kits.”

  Banks mimes zipping his lips and chucking the key, then he sits up behind Sulli and focuses on the phone that I answer.

  “Connor,” I speak first.

  “Akara,” Connor says, his voice smooth and even-keeled almost always. “Have you seen the news?”

  I briefly glanced at tabloids on our ride home. No articles ran with the headline Bodyguards Fighting at Maximoff Hale’s Charity Event, but more time has passed. Is it out there now?

  I push my hair back. “I’d like to apologize about the fight—”

  “Not entertainment news. Financial news.”

  My face scrunches in a frown. No, I can’t say I’ve been browsing MarketWatch or Bloomberg recently. Not my go-to channels, but I’m not a novice to those sources.

  My dad worked in stocks. He used to have Bloomberg on the TV practically all the time. Even during dinner, he’d play the channel on mute in the background.

  I motion to Banks.

  He’s already grabbing his cell from the nightstand nearest him. He hands it over.

  “I’m checking it now,” I tell Connor. On Banks’ phone, I pull up the financial site.

  No.

  Dismay constricts my face, and I zero in on the first headline.

  Cobalt Inc., Fizzle, & Hale Co. Stocks Down in Wake of Familial Leaks

  I reread it twice just to make sure I’m not seeing things.

  “Akara,” Connor says.

  “I see it,” I breathe out. “The Royal Leaks are impacting the stock market now.” Their companies are being adversely affected, and if my dad were alive, he would’ve seen this coming. He would’ve cautioned me about this screwed outcome.

  Beyond my position as a bodyguard, my girlfriend is a shareholder of Hale Co. and Fizzle.

  “It might blow over,” Connor says diplomatically. “The public is latching onto the website now, and we have the ability to make this go away. But time is running out. I need you to find the source in any viable way and shut it down as soon as possible—primarily for our children’s sake, secondarily for our companies.”

  “Understood.”

  “Daisy talked to Price Kepler tonight. Triple Shield will be trying to do the same thing.”

  I slip my tensed fingers through my hair.

  Wonderful.

  So very wonderful.

  I’m in a race with Triple fudging Shield.

  “I’ll be upfront with you, Akara,” Connor says. “I don’t care who stops these leaks as long as they’re stopped, but I’d rather it be you.”

  I hang onto his words in shock. I just showed my ass at the Winter Festival, and Connor Cobalt hears all. I’m certain he knows I punched one of my men. It looks…worse than bad.

  Professionally, I might as well be writing with crayons. And guess what—you can’t cash a check written in Crayola. Childish, sure.

  Enough to write me off, maybe.

  But Connor didn’t.

  He still believes in me. And he’s still rooting for me in this quasi-competition between two security firms.

  I could say, it doesn’t matter who finds the mole as long as they’re found.

  But I want to prove my men are the best. They deserve that recognition for all the sleepless nights, heartbreak, and sweat they’ve put into protecting these families. And I won’t screw up again.

  “I’ll get it under control,” I promise.

  “If you need any of my resources, I’m a call away,” Connor tells me. “Stay in touch.” We say a quick goodbye and hang up.

  Sulli wraps the white sheet around her chest, sitting up. “I can’t believe my families’ stocks are taking a hit because of some dirty fucking mole.” She yawns into her fist but keeps talking. “And…I can’t believe my uncle is on your side of things. I thought he liked Price.”

  I pass my phone from hand to hand. “I guess he likes me more.” I’m still stunned that he’d pick me over a bodyguard he’s known for literally decades. I think back to when I started security. And I say aloud, “Connor gave me a lot of advice when I was his bodyguard. Advice for Studio 9. My company…companies.” I tap my phone to my knee, rem
embering how I called him when I started up Kitsuwon Securities.

  Having Connor Cobalt in my corner is like having a titan behind the ropes. Makes everything a little easier. Yet, I’m warring with his biggest advice to me.

  The one where he told me to choose. Between being a bodyguard and a businessman. Price is a bodyguard and owns Triple Shield—he does both—but I know Connor is referring to me running an MMA gym on top of security.

  Protecting Sulli comes before anything. That is written in stone. And I didn’t create Kitsuwon Securities Inc. for accolades or pride. I did it for SFO. For men who needed out from under Triple Shield, and everything we do is to keep these families safe. They’d say they don’t want the praises either.

  They don’t need to be told they’re the best.

  But it’s nice when that hard work is appreciated. None of them will turn down a pat on the back, and yeah, I want that for them.

  I want a lot for the people I love.

  My gym is a selfish pursuit.

  It’s the one thing that’s for me. Connecting me to my father and my mother, and I should hypothetically let it go.

  Pain slashes my lungs even imagining selling the gym. Or shutting it down.

  I can’t.

  I’m torn up. And I barely hear Banks and Sulli talking about Connor and his status as “king” among the families. I do a quick social media sweep.

  Twitter.

  Great.

  “Kits?” Sulli sees the tension all over my face.

  “It’s fine.” I’m about to pocket my phone, thinking she doesn’t want to see, but she reaches for my cell and I just show her.

  She groans into a wince. “That means Bodyguard Brawl is trending in Philly, right?” She points at the hashtag.

  “Yep.”

  Banks leans over and reads over her head. She scrolls down through the most liked tweets and retweets.

  Banks Moretti must have made a move on Sulli! Look at how he’s carrying her. #BodyguardBrawl

  Akara Kitsuwon vs Banks Moretti. My money is on Akara. #KitsulliWins #BodyguardBrawl

  OMG Sulli has 2 men fighting over her!! GOALS #Meadows4Life #BodyguardBrawl

  Banks is just mad he lost his chance with Sulli. What a loser. #KitsulliWins #BodyguardBrawl

  Look, this #BodyguardBrawl proves one thing. Banks and Sulli are OTP. #SullettiWins

  “Ship wars,” Sulli murmurs. “Fuck me.” She looks crushed. Sulli falls face-first onto the mattress and yells into a pillow, voice muffled.

  Banks rests a comforting hand on her back. “You okay, Sulli?”

  “Sul?” I whisper, my chest constricted. Banks and I exchange a concerned look. She’s not unburying herself.

  I fling off the white sheet. Dang. She has such a cute ass, and I have a flash of being inside her from behind. Sex with Sulli so far has been in its own league, probably because I have the deepest friendship with her, and even now, looking at her naked makes me want to scoop her in my arms and shelter her from storms and fuck her madly, wildly, until she’s spent and happy.

  But instead of scooping her up, I reach down and grab her foot. I blow a raspberry on her sole.

  She jerks into a laugh, “Kits!” She’s smiling for a brief second before the weight of the news descends. “Kitsulli fans were one thing. Having Sulletti shippers enter the chat is going to fuel the rumors about my love life. And I don’t want the fucking world to pit you two against each other.”

  “Hey,” I coo, “that’s online bullcrap. It’ll stay inside the internet.”

  “And even if they try us, we’re not giving in,” Banks adds. “The three of us here know there aren’t any sides. We’re all in this together.”

  Sulli breathes in our assurances. “Okay…okay.” With a flop onto her back, she shivers, and Banks draws the white sheets up to her collarbones.

  We all lie back down.

  I collapse my head back against the pillow. Sulli rolls on top of me for a change, her cheek against my inked chest. Banks drapes an arm over her waist, and his hand brushes my bicep. Tension ekes from my muscles. The rise and fall of our breaths sync together.

  Even with the ease of the air, the ease of my body, my mind is still wide-awake and racing.

  Sulli lets out soft noises in her sleep, and Banks turns his head, meeting my eyes. He whispers, “What are we doin’ about the leaks?”

  “The only plan is the same one,” I whisper back. “We dissect the next leaks that are dropped.” I think for a second. “Christmas is coming up. We’re all going to the lake house, so if the penthouse is bugged, then the leaks could stop over the holidays.”

  Unless they are hoarding them.

  “Theoretically,” Sulli mumbles, waking herself up.

  I give her a look. “What happened to hating that word?”

  “I still fucking hate it. Maybe even more.” She yawns and tries to peel her eyes wide open.

  “Sleep, Sul.”

  “I want to be awake with you two.”

  Banks murmurs against her ear, and his words ease her into deep, deep slumber. I watch her lashes flutter, then her eyelids close.

  He kisses her head, and I press a featherlight kiss to her cheek.

  Night, Sulli.

  I nod to Banks.

  He nods back, and I try to relax so that sleep can take me.

  42

  SULLIVAN MEADOWS

  My coach whistle thumps against my chest as I hop out of Booger. Cold wind whips across the snowy fields, and skeletal trees sway in the breeze. I’m still in Pennsylvania. Tomorrow, we leave for the Smoky Mountain lake house, burrowed in privacy and tranquility, and usually, the trip would be the chocolate sprinkles on the end of the year.

  But my dad is still Team Choose One Boyfriend.

  At least Moffy is being supportive. He said he’d have my back at the lake house. All my roommates did. (Minus Thatcher, who I don’t talk to that fucking much.)

  FaceTime on, I hold the phone screen up to my cold, reddened cheeks, and while I linger at the Jeep, I explain all of this to my best friend.

  “I would’ve had your back too,” Beckett smiles sadly. “If I could be there.”

  I wish he could join everyone for Christmas, but the Nutcracker is in full swing during the holidays, so he’ll be working in New York.

  “You’ve had my back the very moment I told you I fell for two guys. That’s meant everything to me.” I share his burgeoning smile. “And hey, the Nutcracker would be totally lackluster without you. They need your talent and not Leo-what’s-his-fucking-face.”

  Beckett dunks his spoon into a bowl. He’s eating cereal for lunch at his Hell’s Kitchen apartment on his day off. “I was hoping the company thought the same thing and they wouldn’t renew his contract.”

  “Did they?”

  “He signed on to another year like me.” Beckett looks peeved. “According to the company, we can’t exist without the other.”

  “Really?”

  “Our rivalry boosts ticket sales.”

  Beckett dances for the art, but of course, the ballet needs to make money, so I’m sure ballet politics play a part in everything.

  He scoops a spoonful of Cheerios. “Did you talk to Moffy after the leak yesterday?” With the little time Beckett has to talk, he’s more interested in hearing about our families.

  Whenever we chat, I try to catch him up as much as I can. And yesterday’s Winter Festival is still fresh on the brain.

  “Yeah, we talked a bit this morning. He said he’s okay and that he’ll get through it. You know Moffy—he can handle any fucking thing.” I usually smile with pride for Maximoff, but jealousy twitches my lips.

  I want that I can handle whatever you throw at me kind of strength, especially in the face of the media. For so long, I just let Maximoff handle what I couldn’t. Just like I let my dad.

  “I was thinking of calling him,” Beckett says. “But if you think he’s okay—”

  “No, you should call him,” I encourage. “
You know what it’s like to have pieces of your sex life exposed.” When Beckett’s hookup broke her NDA and exposed their private text convo, he was angry and devastated, way more than Maximoff is outwardly showing me. “It feels good knowing you’re not alone in something.”

  The Royal Leaks have even banded me and my roommates together, lessening the strain that existed between us. When the world is trying to tear us apart, our instinct is turn to the ones we trust the most, the ones who understand the most.

  I want to say everything is cool on the roommate front, but…this morning was fucking awkward.

  And not with Moffy.

  “Speaking of sex lives…” I go into a whole rant about Thatcher’s Penthouse Rules. Beckett’s eyes widen midway through, and I say, “I’m serious, Beckett, Thatcher not only emailed me the Penthouse Rules but he stuck the list to the fridge. Rule #2: don’t have sex in communal areas.”

  Beckett makes a what the fuck face. Dipping his spoon in milk, he says, “You know what I said about Thatcher being someone I’d want to live with?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I take it back. That rule is bullshit.”

  “I know, right?” I smile, sort of fucking giddy over the fact that I can confide in my best friend over something new.

  Sex.

  I’m having it. I’m doing it.

  With two guys.

  And I always thought I’d be gushing to Luna and Jane first, but Beckett understands poly relationships more. He’s not critical or worried about heartache and pain and potential break-ups.

  In the next quiet beat, embarrassment returns and swaths me in uncomfortable heat. “I just broke that second rule last night, and I’m telling you, Beckett, somehow Thatcher knows I did it with his twin brother and his best friend in the kitchen. The timing of the Penthouse Rules is fucking suspect.”

  “Did you leave behind clothes or condoms?”

  “No. Akara grabbed my clothes.”

  Beckett thinks while he eats. “What’d Banks and Akara say?”