Wild Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  Being six-seven, I’m the only one who can see over the shelves. I wave a hand until Sulli’s mom spots me. Her face lights up, she speaks to Ryke, and they both sprint over to the tents.

  When I was Xander’s bodyguard, I dealt with Ryke’s half-brother: Loren Hale. Xander is a particular client, and mostly Lo was grateful for me and Thatcher.

  Ryke is different. He’s told me, “Don’t get too fucking close” when I was already standing four hockey sticks away from Sulli.

  He has more guards up around me than around Akara.

  Because A.) two bodyguards have fucked clients. One of them is my brother. And B.) Ryke hasn’t known me like he knows Akara.

  So again, I’m coming in at a disadvantage.

  I’m coming up short.

  Usually, I wouldn’t be that aggravated. I’m useful to security, to the team, to people—to Sulli. They need me. But I’m starting to feel more second-rate than ever before.

  Ryke asks to speak alone with me and Akara.

  His daughter was about to take a secret trip out west and rock climb without a fucking harness. Most parents would want to pack their kids up and ship their ass back home.

  I get his fear.

  But I’ve been on Sulli’s detail while she’s climbed, and she’s careful. Is out west different? I don’t know. Taller cliffs, a greater ascent, a worse fall—but danger isn’t something anyone should look to me for an opinion.

  I served in the Marine Corps. I’ve been in firefights and screamed in frustrated rage when my NVGs busted and thought I’d lose a buddy more than one night. Danger was a constant, living thing, and the only way to mitigate it was to come home.

  While Ryke, Akara, and I leave for the bathroom, Sulli stays back at the tents with her mom and Alpha bodyguards.

  Swiftly, Akara and I check the toilet stalls—all clear—and then we face Sulli’s intimidating dad. No other way to describe him than intense.

  His stare is hardened with history and grief. He reminds me a little of my twin brother. Stoic, stone-faced, an expert on hell but a lover of heaven.

  Ryke adjusts a Patagonia backpack across his shoulder. “I’m going to make this as short and fucking sweet as I can because I don’t know how else to do it.” His nose flares for a second and he grinds on his jaw. “I have to let her go.”

  He looks physically pained by those words.

  I imagine my own dad saying them. I have to let you go.

  But there’s no pain. No heartbreak. My dad walked away when I was twelve and never cared enough to create a bridge back.

  Ryke is a good father, someone I respect.

  Someone Akara respects. Hell, someone every man in security respects.

  He takes a breath. “I made a fucking promise to myself…” He pauses, the words stuck in his throat like normally he wouldn’t say them out loud, not to us, but he’s forcing himself to speak. “I promised that I’d give my daughters what Daisy’s mom never gave her. That I’d never fucking control them.” He smears a hand over his mouth. “Sully—Adam Sully would’ve hated if…” He shakes his head at himself. “Fuck, he would’ve hated if I quit climbing after his death and he would’ve hated if I kept my daughters from climbing because of him.” He wipes angrily at his eyes. “We live for the ascent, and if Sulli needs this, she has my blessing.” His eyes darken on me more than on Akara. “But I have to make this painfully fucking clear—I was on that mountain when my best friend died. It wasn’t a free-solo. We were roped in. Tied together.” His voice tightens in pain. “I held him in my arms as he was dying. So understand that she can be the best climber in the fucking world, but when it’s time for her to go, she’s going to go. Just like him. Just like me.”

  He takes an agonizing breath.

  My chest hurts. Burns. Most people I love keep dying or sitting on the brink of death, so his declaration is like seven-tons of lead in my body.

  Just don’t fall in love with her.

  Maybe then she won’t die.

  What a dumbass thought.

  I keep picturing Thatcher. He’s gone through something like what Ryke described. My twin brother held the dead body of our oldest brother. Life isn’t everlasting. I’ve felt that since I was a kid and asked God why He had to take Skylar.

  I wasn’t there.

  I wasn’t there when he died.

  A part of me hates that Thatcher has to carry those memories alone. We’re twins. I’m supposed to carry half the weight. Half the burden. But he’s shouldering it all.

  Akara steps forward. “Ryke, we won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “She’s going to be up on that fucking mountain, Akara. You can’t promise me her safety. So this is where I’m at.” He swings his head from me to my best friend. “If I lose her while you’re with her, every time I look at you two, you’ll remind me of the daughter I fucking lost—so I want nothing to do with you two after that. I don’t want to ever see your faces again. You’ll be dead to me.”

  Dead to Ryke Meadows.

  None of that will really matter—because if Sulli died on our watch…it’d kill me in the end. My duty is to protect her, and I wouldn’t…I’d never go back to security.

  I couldn’t.

  I’d be done.

  A withdrawn fucking hermit fixing beat-up Hondas for a living.

  Akara can barely keep his head upright; his eyes are bloodshot. Chest collapses, but he fixes his gaze on her dad.

  Ryke looks to Akara. “I love you like a son, but I love her more.” He pauses. “So now’s your chance. You can give her another two bodyguards for this trip.”

  The risk has always been clear to me.

  To Akara too. Strongly, he says, “I’m not giving this to someone else, Ryke.”

  Her dad turns to me.

  “Respectfully, sir, I’d rather be there for Sulli.”

  We’re all living on the edge of death. And Ryke nods in acceptance of the road we’re driving down with his daughter.

  If only he knew about the funhouse. My brain is trying to crack a joke, and it lands flatter than a fucking pancake.

  6

  AKARA KITSUWON

  I love you like a son, but I love her more.

  Ryke’s words stay with me as we exit one state and enter another. Miles and miles away from the REI, from Philly, they still sit inside my head. Even as we stop at a gas station in the Ohio, Midwest countryside.

  Fathers.

  I used to have one. He was the kind of father that would watch morning cartoons with me. That would pick out all the oat pieces in the Lucky Charms, leaving me with a bowl of colorful marshmallows. I’d see him in the early mornings before school and then in the late evenings after long hours at his office.

  He was the kind of father that demanded he’d be the one to teach me how to drive, even though he barely had the time. So I learned in the dead of night, and he was right by my side. I rammed the Mercedes straight into a trashcan on my first try. He laughed.

  After his death, relatives would come up to me and tell me that I was lucky. He passed away when I was seventeen. I made memories with him that I’ll remember forever. But it was a load of shit. In those memories he’s faded. Like a blurred image that I can’t quite make out.

  What good is remembering, if I can’t even have the full picture?

  I’m twenty-seven now.

  No one can replace my dad.

  But I can’t deny how much Ryke’s words have crashed into me. I’ve been on Sulli’s detail since I was twenty-two. I’ve traveled the world with the Meadows family. They don’t have legions of children like the Cobalts. They’re not rooted to Philly like the Hales. I was the youngest bodyguard to be on a Meadows detail.

  Ever.

  In a way, I always felt like a part of the family. Ryke would tell me over and over and over how he sees me as Sulli’s big brother. How I’m that protector in her life.

  But I’ve never actually heard him say those words until today. I love you like a son.

&n
bsp; My phone rings in my back pocket just as I remove the gas cap to Sulli’s Jeep.

  Sulli jumps out of the backseat, saying, “We’re going to have to put a No Fucking Phones policy on this trip.”

  Hey, I’ll take any jab at my phone and workaholic nature, especially since half the car ride has been spent in excruciatingly hot silence. Awkward shit that I could hardly bear. Her virginity statement was the first time where I sincerely didn’t know how to answer. So the silence is my fault.

  The other half of the journey here was spent in something more familiar. Easy, friendly banter, but it kept dying on impact with each hour. Like it had a constant expiration date.

  I prefer teasing her because it feels like Sulli and I are on a path towards rebuilding something. But it might be too much to ask for it to travel back to how it used to be. Before the funhouse.

  I’m good at juggling everything. At managing time. Split between being a leader and a friend and someone’s short-term date, the almost-boyfriend, but I can barely pinpoint when it all changed between me and Sulli.

  I’ve been rapidly trying to bandage something between us since before last week. Shit, even before Scotland when she had a boyfriend. Maybe it was sometime around Greece.

  When she was questioning what we are to each other, and my emphasis and reassurance of our friendship never felt like enough.

  Near me, Banks shuts the driver-side door. Stretching his arms above his head, he tells Sulli, “Take the new policy up with the boss.”

  Sulli is tying her Timberland boot. While I put the nozzle in the tank, her green eyes rise to mine. She says, “You work too fucking much.”

  I work more now than I used to, and Sulli was the first one to notice the difference. But I’m building something beyond myself, and it takes time. Energy.

  I begin to smile. “You curse too much.”

  She stands up and nods her chin at me. “You lick your lips too much.” Did not know that.

  “You worry too much,” I counter.

  Banks smiles softly at that one, then pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jeans.

  I’m quick to steal the carton. “You smoke too much.” I chuck it into the garbage beside the gas pumps.

  He rests a tensed hand on the Jeep. “We all have vices; you don’t see me throwing yours in the trash.” His gaze pins on my ringing cellphone.

  “Mine isn’t killing me,” I say in a friendly tone.

  Sulli grabs her wallet. “That we know of.” Her voice sounds icier with me, and I deserve the arctic storm. Part of me likes when she’s all frost because it’s better than nothing.

  I want her anger over apathy.

  Is that bad?

  Yeah. Because I shouldn’t want to enrage Sulli.

  Shit, I am an asshole. Banks is right.

  “It’s not killing me,” I say again. “I can easily go without answering it.”

  Banks and Sulli watch as I let the call ring out in the next three seconds.

  “See?” Though, on instinct, I pull out the phone to see which call I missed.

  Fuck.

  I need to call them back. Like now. When I look up, they both can read my expression too well.

  Banks is near laughter.

  “You were saying?” Sulli jokes, her smile peeking.

  I smile, then glance at Banks and laugh. I shove his arm. He tries to capture my phone and toss it in the trash. We side-arm wrestle, shoving more, grunting, and then with one hand to his chest, I hold the cell behind my back.

  “I love you, Banks, but you trash this, you die.”

  He laughs lightly at my glare. I can skewer men with one look, but Banks—Banks never takes them to heart. It should piss me off, but I usually end up smiling. He has a way of making the absolute worst days somehow full of life, and I love him for that.

  “Screw you,” I say at his laugh.

  “Hey, hey, hey, you’re the one who threw my cigarettes out. I should file a workplace complaint.” He’s full of shit.

  I push my hair out of my eyes. “Take it up with HR.”

  “Who is?”

  “Your brother.”

  He rolls his eyes in a groan because if anyone would’ve trashed his cigarettes besides me, it’d be Thatcher.

  I look for Sulli.

  She’s watching us, and her smile…it’s completely vanished. Like we left her out of our exchange. Forgot her. Not possible. “Hey, string bean—”

  “I’m going to get some snacks,” she cuts me off and jabs a thumb to the gas station. Turning on her heels, she walks away from us.

  I shoot Banks a look like guard her. He doesn’t need the instruction—he’s already following her footsteps—but I always feel better giving it.

  As he passes, Banks nods to me, then catches up to Sulli. He opens the door for our client. Leading her into the store. I needed a second bodyguard on this trip for times like this, and I could have picked anyone. Even a temp. Shit, it might have even made more sense to choose Farrow since he has a medical background. But the idea of spending hours upon hours in a car with Farrow sounded less than appealing. I enjoy Banks’ company the most, and I trust him to protect her.

  It was an easy decision. Probably easier than the phone call I’m about to return.

  More tensed, I walk to the edge of the poorly paved road. Cool wind blows long grass stalks, and I unclench my fist where my phone lies. The missed call stares back at me.

  Michael Moretti.

  Fathers.

  This one is Banks’.

  He’s supposed to be flying into Philly tomorrow, and with his unexpected call, I’m afraid he’s bailing on me. I’m the one who offered Michael a position in Kitsuwon Securities. When he finally took me up on it, I was relieved.

  Michael left training Navy SEAL recruits in Coronado to help me train temp guards for my start-up security firm. Banks thought his dad would never leave his cushy military job for private security.

  I feel indebted already.

  Even if I do know the main reason Michael Moretti took the job offer was for the pay. I doubled what he made in Coronado, and the raise motivated him enough to make the jump.

  What if he is quitting before he’s even started? Banks kept telling me his dad has more bad blood over here than the west coast. He burned every bridge with his family, and it’d take “an unholy fleet of effort” to permanently pull him back here. Those were Banks’ words, at least.

  If Michael does actually fly to Philly tomorrow and join my company, it’s going to be a double-edged sword. Positive: I now have the best guy around to train temps. No more taking my full-time guys off their clients to put in those hours.

  Negative: I will have proven Banks wrong.

  That his dad did come back for more than just Jane & Thatcher’s engagement party. He’d be in Philly permanently. Because I asked. Because I paid him a shit ton of money. And I know it’s going to wound my friend. I don’t like choosing my company over my friendships, especially the ones I have with Thatcher and Banks. But this is different.

  Since the moment I created Kitsuwon Securities, I’ve been pushed into a corner, and I need to stop feeling like I’m five-steps behind Price Kepler’s Triple Shield. I need to start feeling like I have a chance and I’m not some underdog coming into a fight with a broken leg and a hand tied behind my back.

  I redial Michael’s number, and he picks up on the second ring. “Kitsuwon, I’ve got some crummy news,” he says in a matter-of-fact voice.

  My fingers clench tighter around the cell. “You can’t make it.”

  “Not on tomorrow’s plane. Something came up. But I’ll be out there this weekend. You can count on it.”

  Not good. Not horrible.

  “Alright, thanks for the update, Michael.”

  He laughs dryly. “Gonna have to get used to that.”

  “Used to what?”

  “Being called Michael. Everyone out here calls me Moretti.”

  I can’t call him that. “I’m sure you’ll
get used to it,” I say. “Send me your flight information when you’ve got it. I’ll send someone out there to pick you up from the airport.” Probably Thatcher.

  He harbors less resentment towards his dad.

  Michael says a quick thanks and we end the call.

  I circle back to the Jeep, and my gaze cuts to the gas station. Through the glass windows, I see a plastic bag around Banks’ arm like they’ve checked out. But they loiter inside while Sulli stacks gummy worms on a donut.

  They talk but I can’t hear what they say—she laughs more than once. I watch as Sulli lifts the gummy worm donut up to his lips. He bends his head a little. I think…she’s telling him to shut his eyes.

  He closes them.

  Sulli feeds him the donut—why are you watching this, Nine?

  My chest falls.

  I turn my head away, but I look back. I’m a glutton for punishment. For pain, because I’m standing alone beside a Jeep, the gas done pumping, and I’m watching my two friends flirt.

  It’s okay.

  It’s okay.

  I try to remind myself that my life has changed. It changed the moment I signed the papers to create my own security firm. I’ve had lawyers all tell me the same thing: you should quit being a full-time bodyguard. Even Connor Cobalt, my mentor, told me that I was going to overwork myself if I’m not careful.

  That conversation was a hard one.

  Connor has given me business advice since I joined his detail.

  I was nineteen. Ambitious. He was my first client in security—at a time when I was a full-time bodyguard and struggling to keep my new gym afloat. I put my dad’s life insurance money into the gym, and if it failed, it felt like I was failing him.

  I needed everything to work out. And I would’ve taken any advice, from anywhere, but it just so happened that I had access to the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company, who’s graced Forbes more than once in his lifetime.

  Sometimes I joke that I graduated from the University of Connor Cobalt with a Master’s in Business. He taught me how to rely on people that I trust, that I need. That the best hire the best, and the best lead the best, and I can’t do everything myself.

  After two years protecting Connor, I was transferred to his oldest son’s detail. The fact that I couldn’t cut it protecting Charlie—it bruised my ego. Because I thought I’d proven myself.