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But Tony and O’Malley can’t know this.
Farrow and the rest of Omega whisper at the boxing bags. In their own conversation.
“It is what it is,” I tell Tony professionally. “In another month, your probationary period will be over, and you won’t have anything to worry about.”
Donnelly laughs at something.
My senses are ringing, hyper-vigilant to any movements and sounds. I catch O’Malley looking past me and my brother. His eyes blazing on Omega.
Honestly, I wish O’Malley wasn’t here, but he’s Beckett’s bodyguard. And Charlie has confirmed that Beckett is still using cocaine, so the plan to make Beckett go to Scotland is intact and waiting to be executed.
Banks whispers to me, “This is gonna be a shit show.”
I stay alert and uncap a water bottle. “Dealing with shit shows is what we do.” I take a swig and wipe my mouth with my wrist, then I hand him the water.
His lip quirks. “What you and Akara do,” he corrects. “I’m just your cowboy.” He swallows a gulp, and we hawk-eye Epsilon. “Incoming,” Banks says under his breath.
O’Malley takes an affronting step forward.
I block his path. “Don’t.”
He ignores me and raises his voice. “You shouldn’t be here either, Donnelly!”
Laughter dies.
Farrow pops his gum, Oscar’s hand freezes in a bag of Bugels, and Quinn solidifies midway in a sit-up.
“What’d you say?” Donnelly glares.
Oscar removes his hand from the snack bag and clutches his friend’s shoulder. Keeping him back. Farrow leans casually on a boxing bag, tattoos inked on his neck and chest. Intimidating in his relaxed demeanor. He pops another bubble with his gum.
“I said, you…shouldn’t…be…here…either,” O’Malley repeats annoyingly slow. “Your client is Xander Hale. He’s staying in Philly, so you’ll be in Scotland as a friend of Farrow’s, not as security. And this is a security meeting.”
Farrow cuts in, “Donnelly has to be here in case we need extra hands. It’s that simple.”
This shuts up O’Malley for half a second. “The team isn’t paying for your travel expenses, Donnelly,” he yells. “How are you even affording this?”
“My good looks,” Donnelly quips.
O’Malley laughs with Tony, then nods back to SFO. “Still working that street corner?”
Christ.
“He gave that corner to you, O’Malley,” Farrow says easily.
Oscar chimes in, “We heard no one even wanted your free blow jobs.”
Donnelly smirks. “Need tips?”
“From someone who’s had ten different STDs, I’ll pass,” O’Malley retorts, then outstretches his arms. “You want to keep going? It’s not changing the fact that Beckett is my client. It’s not changing the fact that I’m always—”
“O’Malley,” I growl.
I’ve already heard him say I’m always cleaning up Donnelly’s messes. And I’m not letting him unleash that twice. I nail a patented stern look on him again.
He cuts his gaze to me.
And in a split-second, I become the target.
Good.
“You remember what you told me on my first day?” O’Malley asks, trekking closer. Feeling how hot my blood is running, I cross my arms and step back.
Again.
And again.
“You said this was a brotherhood.”
I nod, my lungs burning, and my deltoids hit a punching bag. Nowhere to go, I stop in place.
He edges nearer, much shorter but he lifts his chin. “You said that we put the clients first but the people who have our backs are the guys to our left and right. You said that if I couldn’t be dependable, then I needed to pack my bags and leave. You remember that?”
I do.
Because as a lead, I gave that same speech to every man who joined SFE. My jaw hurts from bearing down on my molars, but I have nothing to say. Nothing to make this right.
I can’t apologize for falling in love with her.
I can’t call what happened a mistake. Gun to my head, I’d repeat every moment so I’d have the boldest, smartest girl next to me—a girl I shouldn’t have.
But she’s mine, and I might not deserve her but I swear to God, I’ll never harm her, and I’d give my life to protect her. I know I’m not a prince.
I’m not a king.
But I’d treat Jane like she should be treated. She’s my princess, my angel, and my queen. Every morning and every night. I’d kneel at her feet and stand by her side.
“It was all bullshit in the end, right?” O’Malley is up against me, chest to chest. “You’re a fucking liar. I should’ve known that when we learned you’re a Marine. But I was stupid enough to defend your ass to SFE.”
“Leaving out some facts isn’t lying.” Banks sticks up for me, but I shoot him a look across the gym.
I’m not putting him in this mess.
He shakes his head and lets out a frustrated noise. He doesn’t want me to take the fall for all of it, but I’m ready to go all the way down.
“Leaving out some facts isn’t lying,” O’Malley repeats with a dry laugh. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
With our height difference, I stare down at him. Hating how he keeps bumping up against me. My flexed arms stay woven over my chest, biceps bulged.
“I bet your new friends don’t even really know you.” He glances past my shoulder and zeroes in on Farrow, Oscar, Quinn, and Donnelly. “Did he ever tell you we both went to Saint Joseph’s High School?”
Strain stretches the air. Omega doesn’t give O’Malley the satisfaction of wearing surprise.
“Why would that come up?” I ask him. “You were in a grade below me. I barely knew you.” We had different social circles. I was a football player who worked church functions to get tuition.
He was well-off and voted student body president.
“I don’t know, Thatcher,” O’Malley snaps. “Maybe I thought my lead cared about other things than finding roundabout ways to fuck Jane.”
Hearing her name causes my muscles to tense. Like my body is triggered into defense-mode.
SFO starts launching insults at him, either on my behalf or Jane’s—I can’t tell.
“Let him talk,” I say loudly, silencing Omega, and then I nod O’Malley onward. “You have shit on your chest. Get it off.”
He cranes his neck more to look up at me. “Admit what you did was wrong.”
“I can’t do that.” Flat-out.
I can’t.
Being with Jane is the most right thing I’ve ever done.
“Great.” He’d be in my face if he could reach it. “So you’re saying that if I find myself in a room alone with Luna Hale, and she comes onto me, I’m in the clear to fuck her. Right there. Down and dirty on the floor.”
I almost snap.
I almost yell, she’s nineteen!
But Jane is only twenty-three. SFO rustles behind me, fuming. I take a short glance backwards. Oscar looks murderous.
Farrow straightens up more than usual. He places a hand on Donnelly’s chest. “Ignore the fucker.”
“He’s been asking for a fight.” Donnelly boils. “He’s gonna get hit—”
“Come here then,” O’Malley goads, but his attention veers to Luna’s bodyguard.
“You can’t talk about my client like that,” Quinn growls.
He raises his hands. “I’m just using the precedent Omega has set. If they’re of age and willing, then it’s fair game, right?”
“No,” I say harshly. Deescalate this shit. I try to take a breath. “You were Luna’s bodyguard when she was sixteen,” I remind O’Malley. “Jane was twenty-two, an adult, when I was on her detail. Maximoff was twenty-two when Farrow went to his. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s fucking different.”
His jaw drops, like he can’t believe I’m rationalizing this. “Who the fuck are you?”
“The same person who spoke to
you your first day.”
“No, that guy is dead. You chose pussy over your own integrity,” he sneers. “Hope it tastes worth it.”
I see red.
It’s a switch, but all I want is distance. I want him out of my perimeter. I want him to stop bumping against my fucking chest.
Like a reflex, I uncross my arms and shove him back. He careens into a punching bag. It sways, but he barely loses balance on his feet. He charges at me.
I see the fist coming.
I can’t move. My feet are forced to the fucking mat. Cemented by guilt and blame, and his knuckles smash into my lip.
Bitter iron of blood floods my mouth. People yell around me.
“Heyheyhey!” I hear my brother.
My head spins, the surrounding chaos and my bottled emotion igniting boxes in my head. Boxes that I’ve stapled shut for years. Senses tweaked, my eyes are narrowed, unable to close.
I hear rounds firing in violent succession. My pulse ratchets up. I turn my head, but I have tunnel vision. This—this hasn’t happened before. Not while I’m awake.
Fuck me.
“Back up!”
“Let go, O’Malley!”
I blink into focus and realize O’Malley is fisting my damp black tee. Banks tries to shove between me and him, and I react like I’ve pressed play on a paused movie.
I block my brother and let O’Malley crush another fist into my body. Pounding into my shoulder. Fuck.
Banks tears him off me.
My adrenaline accelerates, chest rising and falling.
Farrow and Oscar drag me from the fight. My brain is screaming to protect my brother, who’s standing on the firing line.
