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As a bodyguard, it’s inappropriate. But I’m off-duty and her boyfriend. To breach the fortress of this family, you can’t be timid.
And I know I’m not that. “Why were you all so sure that your sister’s feelings were one-sided?”
Jane whips her head to me, smiling. I’m not easy to push over, honey.
“I just didn’t think you’d be into her,” Beckett admits, and to Jane, he says, “I owe you an apology, sis. I’m sorry.”
Ben drops his feet beneath the table. “Me too.”
“It’s okay,” Jane says with a warm smile. “Thank you.”
Charlie pulls at his messy hair, his annoyance visible and on me. “You gave us no indication of liking our sister. I’m not apologizing for that.”
I nod. “You don’t have to.”
Eliot grabs something from behind his back and tosses it down to his brother.
Tom catches what looks like a gold statue, a twinkle in his eye. He flashes a smile in my direction. “For you.”
Muscles stiff and hot, I reach forward and collect the statue. I turn it over in my palm.
I breathe in through my nose. What the fuck. I’m holding a trophy shaped like a snake. The plaque reads Master of Deception with the year engraved below.
Comms crackle. “Flash it to us, Moretti,” Oscar banters.
No chance.
If I acknowledge SFO, the Cobalt brothers will think I’m choosing security over them. I set the trophy on the table and hear Farrow, his voice picked up on Oscar’s radio. “Cobalts are extra as fuck.”
He’s not wrong.
Donnelly enters the line and starts asking questions since he’s not at the bar anymore. Their chatter escalates and starts drowning out Akara, who’s still searching for Quinn.
I click my mic and speak hushed. “Shut the fuck up.”
Comms quiet.
I add, “Thank you.” Then I drop my hand.
Tom leans back with a grin. “You even fooled our mom and dad.”
Weight situates on my strict shoulders. I blame myself for how my relationship with Jane started out on a bed of dishonesty. Us lying to her parents and siblings.
I could’ve pulled the trigger earlier.
I should’ve. Even if they don’t care.
Eliot threads his palms behind his head, lounging back. “You could teach a master class on How to Deceive a Genius.”
My brows cinch in confusion. He’s impressed?
Tom lifts a finger. “I’d enroll.”
They both are. I glance at Jane for confirmation.
She leans in and whispers, “They’re devious little devils.”
Right.
I should be happy that two out of five brothers already somewhat like me. But I’m not jumping for fucking joy that they see me as a third devil in their merry gang of terrors.
Eliot grins. “As would I, Tom.”
Ben lets out a pained sound. “Stop sucking his dick—”
“It was just the tip,” Eliot laughs.
“—he’s a liar,” Ben continues.
One of them cares that I lied.
Eliot is serious in a sudden flash. “Ben—”
“A liar is dating our sister!” Ben motions to me. “That should worry everyone. Why am I the only one in this family who’s upset about that?”
Eliot and Tom share a glance I can’t decrypt. Maybe they’re concerned about Ben or they’re more suspicious of me.
“Hey, kid,” I say.
“He’s not a kid,” Charlie chastises.
I forgot the Cobalts hate that.
I nod, raking a hand down my mouth, and I tell Ben, “I’m being straight forward with you now. I’m sorry I couldn’t before.” I’m lost on how else to right this wrong and rebuild my integrity. But I’m trying.
His eyes redden. He pounds his head back, chin lifted higher. When I’d been the Epsilon lead, I was in charge of protecting the minors. Of Ben. He has a big heart.
He fights for what he feels is right.
But I lost count of all the times I had to inform bodyguards that Ben would be staying late in detention. For fuck’s sake, I’m not even a lead anymore, and I just heard on comms that Winona and Ben got in a fight at Dalton Academy. She jumped on a senior’s back because he called Ben a crybaby pussy.
Jane scoots towards her youngest brother and gathers his hand in hers. “I lied too, Pippy. If you fault Thatcher, then you have to fault me.”
Ben lets go of her hand. “I don’t know anything about him, Jane.”
“We’re about to fix that,” Charlie says smoothly.
Beckett snuffs out his cigarette on an ashtray and then fans out a deck of blue cards on the table. Gold lions are hand-drawn on each one.
Can’t be ordinary playing cards.
For all I know, this could be tarot and Beckett is about to read my future. Rich, poor—I don’t care. I just want her.
Jane steeples her fingers to her lips in focused thought.
“What are these?” I ask them.
Charlie flashes a half-smile. “It’s a game called What Would You Do for Jane Cobalt?”
I cross my arms and nod. I’m Oscar Mike. Ready to move out in whatever direction they point to. But honestly, this isn’t my normal.
Where I come from, we’d throw some punches then crack a beer and laugh about the old rift. Or we’d just never talk again. Grudges have detached friends and family like broken 1000-piece puzzles. Pieces missing or edges too worn to fit back.
At least they’re offering me a shot.
Jane screeches her chair forward. “I request a modification.” She folds her arms on the table. “I’d like it to be called: What Would We Do for Each Other?”
&n
bsp; She wants in.
I almost smile. I’m not stepping on her toes or holding her back. Not unless this spins into a place that scares her to death.
“It won’t be easy, sis,” Beckett warns.
“I’m prepared.” She waves to the cards. “How do we play?”
Eliot slides down onto the seat. “Pick a card and complete the instruction.”
Sounds too simple. “That’s it?” I ask.
“You won’t flip all the cards tonight,” Charlie explains. “Whenever we tell you to turn over one or two or five, you’ll do it. Until you’ve gone through the entire deck.”
I get it. I finish the game and I gain their respect or trust or both, and without wavering, I turn to Jane. “You pick.”
She drums her lips, then slides out a left-center card. She flips it over, and I narrow my gaze on the gold script.
Tell us the number of people you’ve had intercourse with.
Unholy fuck.
I rub my mouth.
She intakes a sharp breath.
I haven’t even told Jane my number, and she hasn’t told me hers. Now we’re about to announce this shit in front of security, her cousins, and brothers.
But based on the NDAs her sexual partners had to sign, I can estimate her number. Which is probably why this task exists.
To put me on the same footing.
Eliot squints at the card. He has trouble reading—it’s one of the first things I had to tell new bodyguards on his detail. His dyslexia screws with how he sees letters. In the booth, he whispers in Tom’s ear, and Tom whispers back.
“Really?” Jane snaps at Charlie and Beckett, the two oldest.
Charlie taps the card with his cane. “If Thatcher can’t complete this, then he’ll drown every time he’s with our family.”
“Around forty,” I announce my number. Suddenly. Just like that.
“Around forty?” Ben glares. “You can’t remember the exact number of girls you’ve slept with?”
“People.” Beckett calmly corrects his brother and lights another cigarette. He’s being inclusive.
I’m straight, and I’ve only slept with girls. But I don’t feel a need to emphasize this, so I just tell Ben, “I didn’t keep count. Around forty is my best guess.” That’s all I’ve got.
Tom rests his arm on his brother’s shoulder. “Higher than yours, Eliot.”
