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Eliot holds the back of Tom’s head in some kind of brotherly affection. Salt scalds my eyes, a glimpse of my childhood surging hard. And fast.
I see Skylar.
He’s cupping my head, his smile rising. “Thatch.”
I blink, and he’s gone.
My pulse jack-knives. A sheen of sweat built under my shirt. I take a measured breath, and I nod to Jane when her hand touches my knee. She’s silently asking if I’m okay.
I’m good.
She nods and turns to the booth. “My number is eight, and I want to footnote that it’d be even higher than Thatcher’s number if I felt safer with more one-night stands.”
I thread my fingers through my hair. Ignoring how my ribs constrict. Mention of her safety and sex reminds me of the Chokehold Incident—and my frontal lobe blisters, my knuckles craving to slam into a bag.
She should’ve never had to deal with that.
Her brothers go quiet, and a wave of concern flows towards Jane.
She sighs softly. “I didn’t mention this to gain sympathy. It’s just a fact.”
“It’s a sad fact.” Eliot pries the card off the table. Pinching the corner, he whips open a Zippo lighter. A flame licks the paper and eats through the gold lion.
We watch the card torch between his fingers, and Eliot never blows out the fire; it just dies in his hand. Nothing left to burn.
“Flip another,” Charlie orders.
Jane says, “You choose this time, Thatcher.”
I pick the card on the far right and flip.
Tell us your favorite part of Jane’s body.
My face almost screws up. I must’ve read this shit backwards or ass-fucking-sideways. Because in my head, there’s no way brothers would want to hear this shit about their sister.
Jane has her knuckles to her lips, analyzing the card like it’s a chess piece.
“She’s your sister.” My voice is stern. “You really want to know this?”
“It’s not for our pleasure,” Charlie retorts in a tone that says, you’re a fucking idiot.
I’m feeling pretty fucking stupid.
Eliot outstretches his arms. “‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.’”
“Hamlet,” Jane whispers to me.
Hamlet? I would’ve never guessed that he just quoted Shakespeare. But I’m starting to think that how I respond to the cards is telling them about who I am as much as my actual answer. In a tense beat, I mentally file through all of Jane’s body parts I love:
Her pussy.
Her hips. Love handles.
Stretchmarks.
Ass.
Freckles. Cheeks. Legs.
Arms.
Hands.
Breasts. Nipples.
Curve of her neck.
Brain.
I race down literally every inch of this girl. I love every part of Jane, but I can’t say that. They’ll just see it as a cop out.
Goddammit, hurry up and choose.
I land on safe non-sexual territory, and I answer, “Her heart.”
Jane smiles.
Beckett makes a what the fuck face. “So you’re not physically attracted to her?”
I shake my head, a hot breath coiled in my chest. I’m not seeing the exit sign inside this burning building. “You want me to embarrass your sister and say a body part?”
“Jane’s fine,” Tom defends. “Right?”
“I am,” she nods, but she’s tense as hell beside me.
I’m not shouting that I love her pussy. Not with Tony in earshot. Not so he can shit-talk to Epsilon about her body for the next however many months.
At the risk of pissing off Beckett, I never retract or backtrack. “I said my favorite.”
He looks concerned for Jane. Like her sexual needs aren’t being met. He has no clue.
I would love to carry her out to the limo and fuck her in the backseat for three hours.
Jane cups her hands. “His ass is my favorite.”
I kiss the top of her head, and after Eliot incinerates the card, they tell us to flip a third one. We decide on a middle card together.
Jane overturns it.
Eat the hearts of many rabbits.
Gut reaction, I almost laugh. “Real rabbit?”
“One pound each,” Charlie says in reply.
Tom drops a plastic takeout carton on the table. Gotta hand it to the Cobalts. They don’t fuck around. It also dawns on me that these cards are an elaborate, twisted game of Truth or Dare.
I can put down a 48oz steak no problem. Jane, on the other hand, isn’t as big of a carnivore. She eats burnt hockey pucks for burgers.
Jane mutters to herself, “It’s just a little rabbit. You like cooked goose.” I listen to my girlfriend’s pep talk while I pop the lid.
I grit down, the gamey stench of meat hitting my nostrils like a slap to the face.
Jane pinches her nose. “Is it raw?”
“It’s cooked enough,” Eliot assures.
Fresh road kill would smell and look better than what stares back at us. Blood drips off rare, greasy pieces of heart. Collecting in pools at the bottom of the carton.
Jane ties her hair back. “Where’s a fork?”
“Wait,” Ben says, anger hacksawing his blue eyes. He pivots to Charlie. “You said you’d throw out this card.”
“Oh fuck,” Sulli says too loudly, her voice audible from the bar.
“I said I’d think about it.” Charlie flips his phone in his palm.
Beckett places a comforting hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Thatcher and Jane aren’t vegan like yo—”
“It doesn’t matter!” Ben yells. “You should all respect my feelings on the consumption of animals. This didn’t have to happen!” He points at the hearts and then whips around on me. “Don’t eat it.”
Sulli was right.
Oh fuck.
I need to make a hard call. Eat the rabbit and piss off Ben. Will he hold this against me forever?
Or I could just not complete the card and irritate Charlie, Beckett, Eliot, and Tom. Before I even move, Ben tells his brothers, “How would you like it if I cracked your ribcage and tore out your heart?”
Charlie rips open the last buttons of his white shirt. Bare chest and toned abs in view. “Go ahead.”
Eliot unpockets a switchblade, twirls the knife, and stakes it on the wooden table near Ben.
“No,” Jane scolds.
I tear the knife out of the wood and snap the blade closed with a quick hand. I shove the weapon in my back pocket.
“Murder-blocker,” Tom quips.
“The worst,” Eliot jokes.
I nod and breathe out of my nose. “Symbolic death and brothers might be your afternoon tea, but it’s my nightmare.”
They don’t know it’s one I’ve met. Sky’s death still isn’t public fact. But I have another brother, and that nightmare exists for us. If I lost Banks…
Just kill me.
You’d think Eliot and Tom Cobalt are all humor, but they can turn a switch quickly and they voice their understanding.
Ben goes to steal the rabbit carton.
Charlie pushes him back. “Let Thatcher decide.”
I look between the Cobalt brothers.
Choose.
I dip my head down to Jane. “I’m eating it.”
“Me too,” she whispers with a wince. She feels for Ben.
I tug the plastic container closer to us.
Ben makes a noise like I impaled him. “Don’t eat it, please.”
I shake my head in apology, my muscles tensed up, and Eliot starts telling us that we need to eat with our hands and divide the meat in half.
Ben swerves towards the bar with urgency. “Moffy!” He speaks in fluent Spanish to Maximoff, and I can’t translate that much.
I wouldn’t be able to list off which other Cobalts know Spanish. Not all of them advertise the depth of their knowledge.
I’m just positive that Jane only knows French.
/> Charlie rolls his eyes in aggravation. “Maximoff can’t change this, Ben.”
We’re heading towards a clusterfuck.
Behind me, I sense Maximoff standing up from the barstool. He talks to Ben in Spanish, and Beckett is rubbing his younger brother’s back in soothing circles.
“Can’t you just skip this card, Charlie?” Maximoff gestures to the table. “Ben is uncomfortable—”
“Life is uncomfortable,” Charlie sneers. “Stop trying to save him.”
Maximoff glowers. “Jesus, man.” He tries to cool off before igniting a war with Charlie that they’ve put to rest this past year.
Jane leans in and whispers to me, “We should eat before this worsens.”
