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Whistlerisoneof those guys where you wonder how the name came about. He isn’t exactly laid back or bubbly. In fact, there’s nothing about him you would associate with whistling, so how did it originate? As I’m gaping at the bald and brawny guy, it’s all I can think about. He’s so big I’m pretty sure I could hide behind him. While that should put me at ease, it doesn’t. If anything, it annoys me more than it soothes me.
My first bodyguard, or protector, was Mark. He passed the baton on to Alec, and it’s not my fucking fault we don’t know where he is. It’s like he has been demoted to an inanimate thing that can be lost rather than the strong warrior he is.
“We will find him, Miss Hargraves.” Whistler’s words don’t comfort me because I don’t let them. Why won’t any of them understand?
Fed up with the way it’s being worded, I roll my eyes and huff out an annoyed breath. I know that’s only one logical explanation for why Alec isn’t with us. He wouldn’t just wander off on his own. Hell, forget about leaving me behind, he would never turn his back on his brothers.
“Alec didn’t get lost. Someone took him!” I know my angry words will cut Coen the most. I don’t need him to say he is holding himself responsible to know that’s how he feels. It’s written all over his face.
“Babe, I’m so sor—”
Holding up my hand, I silence my brown-haired man. “It’s not your fault, Coen.” When he reaches for me, I let him pull me into his arms. Wrapping mine around his neck, I squeeze him tight, trying to offer him some semblance of comfort. “They were meant to have eyes on us at all times. They failed.” The accusation hangs in the room, festering and growing like a fungus.
I let go of Coen and reach behind me to make sure my gun is still securely tucked into the waist of my jeans, and it is. Not that it’s going to help me. When I come face-to-face with Luis, I already know he’ll take it from me. It’s as inevitable as our meeting is. I haven’t mentioned this to any of my guys yet, because I already know they will object. Having them know I’m resigned to that happening would just make it harder for me to get away from them—and I must.
Life is funny sometimes. I have never considered myself a noble person and definitely not a risk-taker or heroine. Yet, I know this can have no other outcome. It’s not written in the stars. It’s not an ancient prophecy spewed by the oracle. It’s worse, because it’s my life.
“Give us five minutes alone,” I say, looking straight at Whistler. I know he is about to refuse me, it’s evident in his eyes. “It’s just five minutes. You can time it if you want.” Rather than arguing with me, he nods once before disappearing out of the door that’s softly closing behind him.
I walk over to the bed where Kas is perched, looking as tense as I feel. “Hey,” I breathe. “What concert costs just 45 cents?” There’s no hint of laughter or mischief in his eyes. In fact, they have darkened so much that it’s hard to tell that they’re usually sapphire blue.
Sighing, he mumbles, “I’m not in the mood, sweets.” Yeah, none of us are. That’s why he needs to hear the joke as much as I need to tell it.
I place a hand on his chin, tipping his head upwards until he’s finally looking me in the eye. “50 Cent featuring Nickelback!”
Behind me, Coen snorts, “Really?”
“It adds up,” I say with a wink when he sits down next to Kas.
I startle, and yelp as Kas pulls me into his lap. “It won’t work, sweets. We know what you’re thinking in that pretty head of yours.” I lift my brows in confusion. “You have some misplaced idea that you can sacrifice yourself to get Alec back, and it will not work. We’re a team. We all want Alec back. Don’t you fucking dare take that away from us.”
Swallowing, I prepare to defend myself, but all I manage is, “But I—” before Coen interrupts me.
“Don’t play us for fools, babe. You’re feeling responsible, and you want to fix it. It’s understandable. But it’s not going to go down like that. Alec is our brother, and he’s been so for much longer than you’ve known us. Either we all do this together, or you can sit pretty up here and wait for us.”
My mouth opens, about to spew an outraged retort to Coen’s claim. I got nothing, though. They’re right. In my mind, I have concocted romanticized ideas of how to rescue Alec, like he’s some sort of damsel in fucking distress. “I’m sorry,” I breathe. “It’s not… Look, I… I’m trying.” My voice wobbles, and I bury my head in the crook of Kas’ neck.
“We know, babe. We all are. You said we’re a fucking team, so let’s act like it.”
“All for one, and one for all,” Kas quips before placing a soft kiss on my neck.
What Kas just said triggers a distant memory. My mind slowly pulls a rainy afternoon to the forefront of my mind. Reid was doing a book report on ‘Les Trois Mousquetaires,’ or, as they’re known in English, ‘The Three Musketeers.’
As the D’Artagnan of the group, I look at my Athos and Aramis. “Let’s go get Porthos back!”
“Coen, Kas, it’s nice to see you again.” My dad shakes hands with two of my musketeers, luckily not commenting on the absence of the third who completes our quartet.
As soon as we reached the private room in the restaurant where my parents are seated, the greetings began. After hugging my dad, I give my mom a sharp nod, not feeling like touching her. We may have reached some kind of truce, but right now, I don’t trust her farther than I can throw her—and since I haven’t kept up with my rigorous workout routine, that wouldn’t be far.
“What happened to your arm?” I bluntly ask, not in the mood to beat around the bush.
Mom pales visibly, her eyes shifting from me to my dad. “Ah, it’s nothing really—”
“She fell down the stairs and broke her arm,” Dad interjects, gently stroking her right shoulder.
“Is that right?” Kas asks.
Next to me, Coen shudders. “Ugh, I once broke my humerus bone like you. You have my sympathies, Miranda. That’s the worst bone to break.”
