Sinful Like Us

by Ritchie, Krista

  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.

&nb
sp; 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.”

  “Copy.” I pinch the bloodied heart and pop it in my mouth like candy. Gristly. I grind hard. It’s not filet mignon, but I’m not slow to chew and swallow. I grab another heart before Jane can even touch one.

  Ben slumps back, sullen, and he angles into Beckett. Me eating also diffuses a Charlie and Maximoff feud.

  Jane plugs her nose while dropping meat on her tongue. She squirms. “Eh, that is…not… pleasant.” She coughs in a fist. “The odor is foul.”

  “Hold on.” I pop three more nugget-sized hearts in my mouth and stand up. I chew on my hike to the bar. I have blinders.

  I’m not looking at Tony. But I hear him snickering. Fuck him.

  I mime water to my brother.

  Banks extends his body halfway over the bar. Reaching the fridge beneath. On stools, Farrow and Oscar start clapping for me. Like I’m in some fucked-up, backwoods hot dog eating contest.

  The corner of my mouth almost lifts.

  “Fucking SFO,” an Epsilon bodyguard snarls under his breath.

  I swallow down the meat, a lump left in my throat, and after Banks throws me a water bottle, I return to Jane. Unscrewing the cap, I pass her the water.

  “Merci.” She drinks, and I notice that she’s only eaten one heart.

  I finish off mine in under two minutes. Wiping my fingers off with a napkin, I’m forcing myself not to touch her portion. Don’t do it.

  But I want to put my girlfriend out of her fucking misery.

  Her eyes water. “God. I despise this,” she mutters under her breath.

  I reach for the carton. “I can eat it—”

  “No, no,” she says quickly, then pauses, palm to her mouth. “I can… I can do my share.”

  Jane is an alpha. I love that she’s in this with me. But she has limits like everyone, and the fact that she’s ignoring them concerns the holy hell out of me.

  My brows knit. “What about delegating?” She likes to delegate tasks on strengths and weaknesses. She can’t stomach bloodied rabbit. I can.

  “This is different.” She chews slowly, then swallows. “I have to do my equal part.”

  She washes down the heart and then picks up another with a heavy breath. Quietly, she asks her brothers, “What happens if I vomit?”

  Eliot grins. “You’ll have to eat it.”

  “No,” I say at the same time as Beckett.

  “You’ll lose if you puke,” Charlie says. “The game stops for you, but Thatcher will continue.”

  Jane looks simultaneously determined and afraid. “I’m finishing.” Pinching her nose, she places another heart in her mouth.

  She gags instantly. One more gag and she’s puking—she starts to.

  I cover her mouth with my hand.

  What I do for love and pussy.

  Jane has to force down vomit. Her blue eyes flit to me with relief and appreciation. She swallows. Her cheeks radiate heat against my hand, and I’m more in love with this girl today than I was yesterday.

  I didn’t think that was possible.

  She has five hearts left to eat. I kiss her temple, and it takes ten minutes for her to eat the next two.

  Three more to go.

  I wipe her watering eyes while her dirtied hands hover mid-air. And then her phone rings, and I eye her breasts.

  She stuffed her phone in her bra. Eating a mouthful, her eyes spark with panic and rest on me.

  Her brothers are going to have to deal. I reach down into her rainbow-hued blouse. My fingers brush against the soft flesh of her breasts, and volcanic tension bubbles between me and her—our eyes latched.

  Our breaths caught.

  And I pull out her cellphone on the fourth ring.

  “What was that about respecting our sister?” Charlie cocks his head.

  I grind my teeth. Whatever I say will be another shovel of dirt and deeper grave I’m digging. Lord fucking knows I can’t find the perfect words.

  Jane tries to speak with a mouthful. Mumbling.

  “The ears can’t understand thy tongue,” Eliot says.

  She enunciates better. “I asked him to grab… my phone.” She swallows, then nods me on to answer the phone.

  Audrey Cobalt is calling. Back when I was just Jane’s bodyguard, her thirteen-year-old carrot-orange-haired sister would gawk up at me while I was on-duty. I’d wait for her to say something, and she’d just let out this wheezy sigh.

  Easily smitten, I’m sure she’s had a crush on half the team, but the one that grew strong was towards Oscar Oliveira. She’d bake him cookies, up until the Hot Santa video leak.

  Audrey sent the footage to a friend, who leaked the video and screwed all of Omega.

  It wasn’t her fault. I was a lead. That was on me. The video should’ve never existed in the first place.

  I put their sister on the line.

  “Jane?” Audrey says tearfully.

  Jane frowns at the phone and clears her throat of food. “Audrey, what’s wrong?”

  “I heard all six of you are there and I’m not. You’ve all left me out.” Her voice cracks, nearing a sob. “Us, Cobalts—we’re a seven. Not a six. Yet you…you kept me from joining tonight, why? Is it because I’m untrustworthy? Because I leaked the bodyguard video? I promise you can trust me! I promise. Please, give me another—”

  “Stop,” Charlie groans, pinching his eyes.

  Jane shoots him a nasty look and then tells her sister, “I trust you with all my heart, Audrey.” It sounds more than sincere. Like if she could, she’d die with those as her last words.

  I stare at Jane, my chest rising with a powerful jolt of emotion.

  Audrey sniffles. “Why then?” Her voice rattles. “Why not include me now?”

  “Very important question, Audrey.” Jane glares at her brothers. “Why keep out our trustworthy sister?”

  “She helped with the cards,” Tom defends.

  Beckett answers coolly, “She was with Winona and Kinney. We didn’t want all the little girls here—”

  “I knew it!” Winona Meadows shouts.

  Kinney Hale comes onto the line. “You’re all a bunch of ugly trolls! We don’t even like you—”

  “Hang up.” Charlie orders me since I’m gripping the phone.

  No way.

  Jane gapes. “Thatcher will not hang up on the youngest girls of the family.” She eyes the phone. “Girls—”

  They all yell over each other. I can’t pick apart a thing.

  “We’ll talk later, I promise,” Jane says quickly. “I know they’re dreadfully annoying boys, but we’ll work this out later.”

  They voice their love of Jane, and she nods to me. I hang up.

  I focus back on my girlfriend, and she’s already grinding on another heart, her eyes wrinkling at the taste.

  “Water?”

  “Please,” she grimaces.

  I put the bottle to her lips, and she takes a small sip.

  “Am I sweating?” She tries to elbow a piece of hair.

  I tuck the flyaway behind her ear. “No.” You’re beautiful. Eating bloody rabbit hearts.

  Comms crackle, the signal distant. “Donnelly to SFO, I found the space babe.”

  Relief strikes, then confusion. How the hell did he find Luna Hale? Look—a part of me suspects that Donnelly eating Luna out wasn’t a one-time thing like they told Jane, but we’re both still keeping that secret for them.

  Akara is in my ear. “Where is Luna?”
>
  “Shake Shack. Her phone’s dead.”

  I breathe in a strong breath. Not good. Quinn should’ve rogered up on comms and given the Omega lead her AO. He’s been turning off his radio more frequently. At this point, I think he admires Akara as a leader, but he’d rather be like Farrow.

  “Tell Quinn to get on comms,” Akara says, voice tight. He’s pissed.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Oscar asks, “How’d you figure out where she was?”

  “Some fandoms posted pics of her in the area.”

  “Nice work,” Akara says, and once Quinn enters comms, Akara tears him a new asshole. I tune out the reprimand.

  In front of me, Tom is busy texting, but I catch Eliot’s attention. “Security found Luna.”

  Tom looks up. “Where?”

  “Shake Shack. Her phone died.”

  Eliot runs a hand through his hair, then he grins. “Tell her bodyguard to tell Luna that we’d like to place an order.”

  Tom’s face lights. While Jane powers through eating, I use comms to place two orders of cheese fries. This is the most normal, routine thing they’ve asked me to do all night.

  Letting go of my mic, I help Jane who struggles with the second to last heart. She starts sweating, her eyes downcast while she concentrates on chewing.

  I hand her a napkin, and we exchange a knowing look. If she needs to spit the last one out and hide it, I’ll help her cheat.

  Partners in crime, she once called us.

  That’s not long gone.

  Eyes brightening, Jane nods in agreement.

  Tom groans. “Come on.” He crashes back against the booth, exasperated. He drops his phone on the table. “My band,” he explains to me.

  “They’ve been auditioning new drummers,” Eliot clarifies. “And Tom refuses to pick the best drummer for the job.”

  “He’s just the hottest,” Tom refutes.

  Eliot mouths to me, he’s the best.

  “Can you play without a drummer?” I ask since I’ve seen some two-man alternative bands before.

  “I wish,” Tom sighs. “Our label wants three members.” Everyone’s attention veers to Jane as she gags again.

  I cover her mouth with one hand, and grab the wine with the other. I whisper in her ear, “You’re okay?”

  She nods.

  “Kick my foot if you want the napkin.” I’ll need to create a diversion.