Wild Like Us

by Ritchie, Krista

  I almost want to shut my eyes to avoid his reaction.

  But I can’t.

  My eyes are wide fucking open.

  Thank you!

  Thank you so much for reading Wild Like Us! Akara, Banks, and Sulli’s romance is far from over! See how Ryke Meadows reacts to the news of Sulli’s boyfriends in FEARLESS LIKE US, Book 9 in the Like Us series.

  Plus, continue scrolling for a bonus scene in Banks Moretti’s POV!

  FEARLESS LIKE US - BOOK 9

  MFM ROMANCE

  Akara & Sulli & Banks

  * * *

  All caught up on the Like Us series but still craving more from Maximoff & Farrow, Jane & Thatcher, Oscar & Jack, and Sulli, Akara & Banks? If you’re the kind of reader that wants to revisit your favorite characters and keep updated on their whereabouts, our Patreon is the place for you! We have bonus scenes, podcasts, and behind-the-scene snippets from the entire Like Us series — featuring all your favorite characters (including side characters!). And there is new content releasing…Every. Single. Month! It’s all available on our Patreon!

  Signing up to our Patreon gets you access to all the past bonus scenes (over 200,000 words of material — the size of 2 books!), podcasts, and extras plus the new content for the month.

  Thank you for sticking with this series and making it all the way to Book 8! There’s so much more in store in this world, and…right now, we have a BONUS SCENE to share with you in Banks’ POV!

  All the love,

  xoxo Krista & Becca

  Banks Moretti - Kick the Door In

  This bonus scene takes place during Chapter 33 in Lovers Like Us (1 year and 8 months before the beginning of Wild Like Us). For more bonus scenes like this one visit our Patreon.

  * * *

  BANKS MORETTI

  Age 27

  I MISS MY BROTHER LIKE something bad. Even more when meteor-sized shit balls create shit craters around him, and I’m the lucky fuckhead stuck miles away, unable to lend a helping hand.

  I dig a snow shovel in thick white powder. Clearing the driveway.

  Security Force Epsilon’s mansion towers behind me in this bougie neighborhood. My current residence. Still shocks me, sometimes. Just never thought my ass would end up among the Bugatti-driving rich.

  I’m not even the guy who’d be allowed to pop the hood of a Bugatti. (Can’t believe I’ve done that already.) I’m the one who’d maybe be granted permission to wash the tires.

  My eyes flit to the mansion while I chuck snow off the driveway.

  Most Epsilon bodyguards are in for the night since Cobalt, Hale, and Meadows kids (our clients) are safe and sound in their mansions one street over.

  Five years running and my client is still Xander Hale. He’s now fifteen and home alone with his little sister Kinney. Their parents are at a charity event for children in New York.

  I got off-duty not that long ago, but I’m not planning to rack out until I hear that Lily and Loren are back in Philly.

  I stake my shovel in the snowy yard. Breaking to check my phone since SFO is out of comms range. My heavy breath smokes the night air.

  Way back when—not sure when, exactly (I’m not trying to be a fucking timekeeper)—Akara created a group text chat with me and Thatcher named The Losers Club with a red balloon emoji.

  A movie reference.

  If it’s trending and mainstream, Akara has probably already seen the film or heard the song, but my brother and I had watched It with him and a bunch of bodyguards years back. During our early days of security.

  The text thread has been quiet since they’ve been on the phone with Alpha. I scroll up and read through messages I sent and their replies.

  I texted: there’s no exit out of the hotel?

  None that we can take anytime soon – Thatcher

  Omega and their clients are stuck in an L.A. hotel room, after fans and paparazzi mobbed the building. Comms were blowing up since Luna Hale was supposed to fly back to Philly today.

  Didn’t happen.

  L.A. is a stop on the charity FanCon tour—the reason me and my brother are split. I go wherever I’m needed.

  And I feel like I need to be here right now, at least during this transition period for Xander. Thatcher left our client to protect Jane and to help keep Maximoff’s relationship with Farrow hidden from the media on tour.

  Bodyguards were pissed when Farrow broke the golden rule. Even more pissed when Thatcher voted to keep him on the team. It’s still fresh since the fallout happened in December. Now it’s February 4th.

  I tried to stay out of the vein-popping anger and pile-ons.

  We definitely need Farrow around, and Maximoff is an adult. It’s hard to knock either of them for falling for each other.

  And I think life is too short not to do what fuels your soul. Thatcher can’t conceptualize shattering the “don’t fuck a client” rule, but he has trouble realizing that the “what” that fuels you can also be a “who.”

  Anyway, ever since Thatcher has been on a tour bus driving across bum-fuck nowhere USA, Xander has taken it hard.

  He’s been resigned recently, hardly talks much to me.

  I want to request another guard on his detail. So there are two of us and we can go back to a 24/7 watch, including night, but currently, there’s no Epsilon lead. Not while the FanCon is underway and Thatcher is in this limbo co-Omega lead position.

  I’m gonna have to ask the Alpha lead, and I have a feeling he’ll tell me to wait until I have someone to report to. My client is a minor. Anytime there’s a change with their security protocols, there’s ten to twenty more hoops to jump through and more parents to talk to.

  Still scrolling through the text thread, I land on another message I sent: what are you doin about Sulli’s birthday?

  She’s turning twenty, and they were planning on going to a waterpark.

  Nothing, just stuck here – Akara

  Got her cupcakes at least – Akara

  Jack is picking them up – Akara

  My lip almost curves upward. I would’ve made a comment about him and Sulli, but Omega is dealing with a video leak.

  Every 24/7 bodyguard was messaged the “Hot Santa” video where SFO wore red underwear and competed in a fake pageant on the tour bus.

  I laughed my ass off when Thatcher appeared in a jockstrap. Now that the footage is all over the internet, it’s less funny.

  My brother won’t care that his ass is now circulating news sites. He’s gonna care about Jane. And he’ll care how this affects me.

  I’m just concerned about his job…and my job. Because I look just like Thatcher Alessio Moretti, and Mary Mother of God knows well that bodyguards can’t be famous like their clients. That’s the saying on the team. But I think the Alpha lead underestimates how much we all can get done while being fawned over and gawked at.

  Hell, that already happens on some scale to the better-looking bodyguards. Which includes the Oliveira brothers and practically all of Omega.

  And me.

  I’m six-seven—I’m not exactly blending in everywhere I fucking go.

  But if Thatcher is suddenly the Hot Jockstrap Bodyguard, then people will think I am too. It’s just the way it is being identical.

  So I might be unemployed soon. Yippe-ki-ya motherfucker.

  And it could be the end of the line for all of SFO, including Akara. The team is going to have a fucking issue replacing them.

  On top of that uncertainty, no one knows who leaked the video. But it’s not Epsilon.

  I’m SFE.

  And the men living with me here, I’ve known for a long time. A couple need to learn to shut up and just do their jobs, but I could say the same for some guards on Alpha and Omega. For the most part, the guys around me aren’t bad. I trust them, and Thatcher has been their lead for years.

  If it wasn’t a new guard, it has to be someone in the family – Akara

  It couldn’t have been SFE – Thatcher

  I recall those two texts
, and it’s not a good feeling thinking the leak might’ve come from a family member.

  It’ll crush Xander, who already has trust issues.

  If the leak came from security, the Tri-Force could just fire the shitbag.

  I pocket my phone, and I wrench my shovel from the mound of snow and go back to work.

  Shoveling the driveway, my bones grind and muscles throb. Cold bites my exposed face, and I push through aches and pains from two deployments.

  If I could tolerate twenty questions tonight, I’d be inside watching the Flyers game with SFE.

  I can let a lot roll off my shoulders, but I’m not looking to be bombarded with questions about Thatcher and updates on Omega.

  I have the answers. Perks of being the twin brother to a lead and friends with another lead. I probably know too much.

  Akara and Thatcher told me not to spread intel yet, and I’d sooner rip out my vocal cords than betray those men.

  I’ve shoveled maybe a fourth of the driveway before my phone rings.

  I dig the cell out of my pocket and tear off my glove with my teeth. Clicking into a call from my brother.

  He must have news about Omega’s future on the team.

  I put the phone to my ear. “Hey—”

  “Xander is in trouble,” Thatcher cuts me off, his voice like a cement block. “He locked himself in his room.”

  I barely hear him say, you need to go. I don’t think—I just react, a shot of adrenaline thrusting me towards the Hale mansion. I shove off.

  Can’t grab car keys.

  No time.

  Can’t turn around.

  No time.

  I sprint through thick snow down the half-shoveled driveway. Pain recedes in my body, silent behind urgency, and I reach the mailbox. Where a bike is resting.

  I grab it.

  I climb on.

  Comms buzz in my ear.

  The rich neighborhood is plowed daily, and so the streets are clear. I pedal fast, standing up and hearing the chains creak under my weight and height.

  Cold air chills my face and cracks my lips, my eyes burning from the freezing wind, and I keep pedaling. Even as snow begins to fall. Even as my pulse thumps hard and deep.

  I pedal until the chain breaks.

  And then I run.

  I’m too laser-focused for jumbled thoughts. I’m on a single track that says, help Xander. Help the kid you love.

  The one you’re tasked to protect.

  I storm past the fir tree in the yard and up the porch steps. And I put a hand to the knob. Mother of Christ, be unlocked.

  It’s open.

  And in my peripheral, a car is already parked in the driveway. Rose Calloway, plus Daisy and Ryke Meadows are already headed to the front door too.

  Not stopping to greet them, I rush inside the house, through the foyer, and instinct guides me up the stairs. I hear a strange noise like hacking and Kinney’s distressed sobs.

  My pulse pounds.

  “Kinney, I’m coming!” I yell. “Back away!”

  She shouldn’t be the one to break down her brother’s door. She shouldn’t see Xander if he’s…

  Stop stop stop.

  One track mind.

  One goal.

  I never slow, not even as I reach the second floor. I run harder and come up to the scene. Kinney Hale fists a kitchen knife and has crumpled to her knees, crying. She tried to carve out pieces of Xander’s door.

  Rose has somehow caught up to me, but I run past her. Straight for my client’s room, and Ryke is right next to me when I slam my boot against the wood.

  He does the same.

  One more time, and we kick the door in. It crashes against the wall.

  Rose is behind us as we enter.

  His room is a mess. Just like when I left. Clothes piled up on his four-poster bed and slung on his life-sized armored knight.

  I bypass it all.

  And I sprint into his bathroom.

  Xander jolts—he’s sunk neck-deep in a bathtub, headphones covering his ears and blaring music. “What the hell?” His voice cracks, looking between me and his uncle. Xander’s eyes are puffy and cheeks red like he’s been crying.

  I sweep the bathroom for razor blades, and clicking my mic, I quietly report to the team. “Banks to Alpha-Epsilon, Xander is okay.” I’m hoping someone will relay this by phone to Omega. Thatcher is probably losing his mind.

  “You can’t lock the fucking door,” Ryke growls.

  Xander lets out a heavy breath. He already looks shattered, and I glance at Rose as she places Kinney’s knife on the counter.

  “Am I not allowed to take a bath anymore?” Xander retorts. “Is that off-limits too?”

  He’s wearing boxers and submerged in water. I’m not the only one who notices it.

  “Why are you fucking clothed?” Ryke asks.

  Xander chokes on a noise and looks to me, like I might help him out. But his eyes lower because I think he remembers that I’m just his bodyguard. I can’t speak out of turn in front of his aunt and uncle.

  “Were you planning on hurting yourself?” Rose asks, her voice not that gentle but her eyes try to be.

  Xander grimaces like he might start crying again. “Just…leave me alone. Jesus.” He’s about to put his headphones on his ears.

  I squat and check around the tub for anything sharp.

  “Talk to us,” Ryke tells him.

  “I don’t want to talk!” Xander shouts in tears. “You don’t get it.”

  Rose edges closer. “Xander—”

  “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here.” He takes sharp breaths and bows into himself, hands on his head and knees to his chest.

  My heart is fucking breaking, and I stand up, doing one last quick sweep of the bathroom. I can’t do much to console him. While his family is around, it’s not my place.

  Rose kneels at the tub and places a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, Xander.”

  He inhales raggedly, face covered in snot and tears. “I want my mom.” His voice quakes.

  Ryke is already dialing Lily.

  No sharp objects.

  I back up into the bedroom. Giving them privacy.

  “Alpha to Banks, did your client hurt himself?”

  My eyes sear, muscles still flexed, and I lift my mic to my lips and answer, “Negative. Xander was in the bathtub with headphones on. He couldn’t hear anyone knocking. He’s currently on the phone with his parents.”

  I drop my mic back on my collar and hear commotion from the hallway. I glance outside the door frame.

  “Let us see him!” Winona yells, trying to dive between her bodyguard’s legs, but he lifts her up and blocks her from reaching the chipped door.

  “Come on, dude!” Tom gapes at his bodyguard. “Let us through.”

  “That’s our cousin!” Ben chimes in, trying to rush forward. His bodyguard restrains him too.

  “It’s imperative!” Audrey shouts in panic.

  Their bodyguards don’t relent, even as the kids protest more.

  Strict orders have already come from the Alpha lead. We’re not supposed to let any of the kids into Xander’s room. The parents don’t want their children to see him. In case…

  He’s fine.

  I pinch my eyes once and shake it off.

  Daisy is holding Kinney on the floor, soothing her, and I slip back into Xander’s room when the Alpha lead says Lo wants the hinges on Xander’s door removed.

  I click my mic. “I’ll do it.”

  He’s my client. And I need to physically do something right now. I don’t want to sit with my feelings. Plus, I like working with my hands. With tools. Usually on cars, but I’ll take anything.

  So I leave for the garage, grab a toolbox, and Novak, Ben’s bodyguard, and I take the door off its hinges in a few minutes.

  After all the kids leave and file out, I’m told that I’m “relieved” from my post. I’m back off-duty. Apparently Ryke and Rose are staying with Xander until his pare
nts arrive. Lily and Lo will be with their son through the night, and so my job is done.

  Just like that.

  It’s hard to leave. But I have to trust that he’ll be fine, and I’ll see him tomorrow.

  Epsilon and Alpha bodyguards pat my shoulders as I pass them out of the house. A small acknowledgement that, it’s okay. They don’t understand how difficult this night actually is for me.

  They won’t.

  Hell, I haven’t fully confronted what just happened.

  And I know Thatcher will understand, but we have trouble surfacing some old history. I’m worried about my brother though. I don’t know how he’s dealing with this news from L.A.—and so I dial his number on my slow walk back to Epsilon’s mansion.

  “I was just about to call you,” Thatcher tells me.

  “He’s okay,” I say stiffly, my right hand cold. I only just now realize that I’m wearing one glove. I took the other off and ran to the Hale’s before I could put it back on.

  Thatcher speaks under his breath. “Did he look upset?”

  I bounce my head before saying, “Yeah.” I stare up at the falling snow. “He was sad.”

  “Like last time?”

  Yeah, this isn’t the first time we’ve seen him at a low and been there when he’s wanted to end his life…

  I run my tongue over my molars, emotion balled up in my throat. “It wasn’t that bad,” I get out. “But I’m not saying it was good either—he’s okay.” I reinforce that. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine. You?”

  I rub my mouth. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  He’s quiet.

  I exhale the weight off my chest.

  “Banks—”

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” I say with more heat, breath visible in the cold. He knows I’m not referring to Xander.