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“There’s always a way out. You don’t have to fall on a sword because it’s sitting in front of you, waiting. You put together the team that’s going to find the right exit. You sidelined me. That’s on you.”
This time, I tapped him in.
I asked for his help. And the takes-no-shit Omega lead is standing beside me, his eyes also locked on Tony.
A second later, O’Malley climbs down the staircase and throws his duffel near the front door.
“Ramella, O’Malley, I need a word with you both,” Akara says in a way that makes it clear this isn’t a request.
The Epsilon guards amble over, and the rest of Omega lingers in the foyer, eavesdropping.
O’Malley’s head is somewhere else because the first thing he says is, “I know everyone says I’m a shit driver, but I think I should at least be in a front passenger seat to navigate.”
“Sure, that’s fine.” Akara nods. “But we need to talk about what you two are planning to tell Price and Sinclair when we’re home.”
Tony extends an arm. “I’m not about to lie to my superiors. Sorry not sorry, but I have a good reputation with the old guard.”
Surprisingly, that’s a fucking understatement coming from Tony. The old guard treats him like Jesus Christ.
I understand that asking Tony and O’Malley to lie is asking them to break protocol. They won’t. I wouldn’t for them.
I deserve this. A punishment, a suspension—being fired, maybe, but I love her too much and I want to protect her too badly to accept that.
O’Malley looks from me to Akara. “I’d rather not rock the boat. It was fucked up, Thatcher, that you told everyone the truth and then lied to me, Tony, and Will—but at this point, you’re still Jane’s boyfriend. I’m Beckett’s bodyguard. It’s a conflict of interest, so I’d consider keeping my mouth shut.”
“You’re not lying,” Akara says to them. “You’re just not going to say anything about this. Price and Sinclair won’t ask you straight out if a twin switch transpired. Keep quiet, and in return, I’ll make any transfers happen that you want.”
Tony rocks back with a laugh. “For real?”
“For real.”
My muscles contract. Akara is offering power to Tony. I wouldn’t give him a socket wrench, and he’s handing him a fucking jackhammer.
“I want to be the Omega lead,” Tony says without pause.
I glare. Give the guy a rope and he’ll take the entire fucking ship. “No,” I say severely. “You can’t be a lead.”
“Then no deal. Take it or leave it.”
O’Malley sends him a hesitant look. “Way to shoot for the stars, man.” He shakes his head. “Akara, I like where I’m at. I don’t want a transfer.”
Back to being fucked. I expel a breath through my nose.
He looks to me. “But I’d like a promise from you.”
My brows draw together, and I think of Jane. What would I do to stay in security, to work near her, to protect her day in and day out?
I tell O’Malley, “Anything.”
“I’ve only ever been on Epsilon. Before Jane, you had too, and I always considered you one of us. Even after you transferred to Omega. Even after our fight. I guess the moment I realized you weren’t was when I was the one being kept in the dark about the twin swap.” He lets out a laugh. “Shit, I should’ve known it was you, Thatcher. It sucked that I didn’t figure it out. It sucked being blindsided again by a guy I’d die for.” His forehead wrinkles in a deeper frown. “I just want honesty. Just promise me that going forward.”
My men.
It’s been a while since Epsilon was my responsibility. Since he was, and like O’Malley, I feel that loss. I’m Omega.
My loyalty is with those men first. But I won’t give my word flippantly. I have to mean what I say or else I’ve lost all fucking sense of integrity, and I can’t live with that.
“I promise,” I say seriously, deeply. “I’ll be honest with you going forward.”
O’Malley gauges my sincerity and then nods. “Thank you.”
I nod back.
Genuine feelings exchanged, he grabs the duffel strap and pats Tony’s shoulder. “Good luck swinging lead.” He leaves out the front door.
I cross my arms and nod to Tony. “You’re not getting lead.”
“At least not immediately,” Akara says, deadening the air.
Muttering and whispering and what the fuck is he doing comes from the foyer, but none of the men interject or approach.
Tony smiles. “When? Because I’m not waiting around a year.”
The bottom of my stomach drops out. “Akara, you can’t.” Not for me. This is exactly what I feared the first time—back when I was sleeping with a client. I didn’t want him to bear the repercussions for my actions.
“I’m the Omega lead. I can do whatever the fuck I want.” Akara says this while staring at Tony, and he tells him, “Price and Sinclair love you. They’ll be fine with the promotion as long as the recommendation comes from me. Short term: you should stay on Jane’s detail until I have the transfer approved. It’ll probably take a couple months.”
I grit down so hard my jaw feels like it’s splitting in two. I could fucking scream at the top of my lungs—but I stay quiet. I scowl and glare—and this can’t be right.
We’re losing everything.
Akara as SFO lead.
And Tony was supposed to be off Jane’s detail weeks ago. His probationary period has been over, and all the confetti-popping parties I planned to have just fade away.
I turn my head. “Akara—”
“It’s two months.” He pulls a beanie over his head. “You and Jane can handle it.” To Tony, he says, “Long term: you can’t stay on her detail. So pick someone else.”
“Charlie,” he says. “You all say he’s the most difficult client, but he just hasn’t had me on his detail yet.” Fuck.
“Done,” Akara says. “We good?”
“All good.” Tony nods. “And Akara, if this doesn’t happen in two months, I’m going to tell Price and Sinclair what I know.”
“That’s fair.” Akara slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Everyone move out. We need to get on the road.” He leaves out the front door, a gust of snow flying in before it shuts.
Tony trailing right after.
The rest of SFO come up from behind me and stand on either side.
Farrow.
Oscar.
Donnelly.
And Quinn.
We watch Akara leave, and Oscar says, “Either Kitsuwon is the smartest motherfucker here or we’ve all just been fucked raw.”
“Tony as our lead,” Farrow says the unbelievable reality. “Count me out, boys.”
“You’re quitting?” Quinn asks.
“No.” Farrow slings his duffel across his chest, and walking backwards, he says, “I’m just not listening to a thing that fucker says.” He spins around, raises his fingers in goodbye, and exits into the cold.
Quinn grabs his backpack. “Me too.” Strap on one shoulder, he heads out.
Donnelly stuffs his hands into his pockets and saunters out next.
It’s just me and Oscar left.
I take fault for the cards he’s been dealt. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.?
? Oscar ties a bandana around his forehead, curly pieces falling over. “We’re all glad that you and Banks switched.”
Confusion hardens my face.
Oscar is already telling me, “She needed you here.” He clasps his duffel by the short handles and follows the SFO bodyguards.
I’m last.
I stare around the quiet Mackintosh House that isolated our frustration, anger, feuds, fistfights, hurt, and rage—but I’m going to remember the good.
The laughter, the love.
Growing closer to Jane. Growing closer to her family, to Farrow and this brotherhood of men.
I smile.
And I lock the doors on my way out.
Right now, I want to see one person. Rental cars are lined up in a row, and I spot Jane in the first one. She sits in the backseat, Maximoff already in the front.
Swiftly, I slide in beside her and shut the door before cold air blows inside.
“How’d it go?” She takes my gloveless hands, rubbing my palms to warm them.
I’m entranced by Jane for a second. Her wavy hair flows out of a cat-eared beanie, a purple puffy jacket zipped up, even in the heated car. Cheeks rosy, she looks warmed. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, and she leans her weight into me.
I find the words to explain everything.
When I finish, she takes a sharp breath. “Akara said not to worry?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Then we shouldn’t worry.” Her confidence is palpable.
But unsaid sentiments still claw at the fucking air. Two more months of Tony Ramella is sixty days too long.
40
THATCHER MORETTI
The townhouse smells of garlic and tomato sauce, a familiar aroma that should be comforting. On any other night—maybe.
But it’s the first night we’ve been home.
Hours ago, I learned about the break-in from my brother. I just stared at him for a long…long time, and I shook my head. I should’ve been here in Philly.
He should’ve been in Scotland. But I remember what Oscar said—and I know we were right where we were supposed to be. If I confronted the target, he’d be dead.
