They did something.
“Sul?”
I’m going to kill them.
“Who?” Daisy asks her daughter, wrapping her arms around Winona.
She looks up at Daisy. “The douchebros. Kinney calls them the three T-bags: Tate, Topper, and Tristan—they all live in the neighborhood.”
Ryke is murderous. For once, it’s not towards Banks and me.
“Banks, check the perimeter,” I order.
“Roger.” He’s gone.
Ryke grabs two flashlights, charging out behind Banks, and while I pull out my phone, I ask Sulli, “Did they hurt you or Winona?”
“They threatened her, Kits.”
I feel my jaw clench with my teeth. “What’d they say?”
“You want the exact words?”
“If you have them, Sul.”
While she thinks, I text Price Kepler with one hand.
“They said, you are lucky, bitch. Like they would’ve done something if she’d been fucking alone out there.” She pants hard, distressed.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” I tuck her close, and I ask her sister, “You okay, Nona?”
“Yeah…” She looks a little rattled.
Daisy whispers in her ear and hugs her tighter.
Sulli glances down at my phone. “Who are you texting?”
“Price.”
Her brows jump.
“He’ll want Triple Shield guards to scout the perimeter of the cottage.” In a whisper, I add, “I’m playing nice.”
Considering I’d rather just call my temp guards to the job, who are more than qualified now that Michael Moretti is kicking their ass. But Price is Daisy’s bodyguard, and he’ll want to be informed of teenage trespassers now. Not later.
Plus, teen issues aren’t in Kitsuwon Securities’ wheelhouse, as Price has so often and patronizingly told me. Xander Hale is the only minor on my client list. He’s enrolling at Dalton Academy starting in January, but until he’s in school, Price is staking claim to threats around the teenagers.
The T-Bags are his problem.
As long as the Meadows girls and everyone else are protected, it’s fine.
Though, yeah, my ego is a little bruised.
I know Kitsuwon Securities has better bodyguards than Triple Shield.
The door opens.
“All clear,” Banks slips inside.
Ryke is right behind, shutting off the flashlights. “Did they touch you?” he asks Nona and Sulli.
“No, Dad,” Nona says.
“I’ll call their parents later,” Daisy tells Ryke. “I think Rose has met some of them at PTA meetings.”
“Fucking fantastic.” He unpockets his phone. “What are their last names?”
Daisy tells him quietly.
Banks isn’t lingering in the kitchen. He aims straight for Sulli, and I glance at her jeans, blood sleeping down her thighs. My phone vibrates like bullets unloading in my fist.
Messages from Farrow, from Price, from Michael Moretti, Connor Cobalt—on and on and on.
“You alright?” Banks asks our girlfriend, gently holding the back of her head.
“Yeah, the T-bags are real D-bags.” She blows out an unsteady breath. “Fuck, fuck.” She notices the blood in the light. “This period sucks.”
Banks rests a comforting hand on her lower back, and I whisper to Sulli about how she can go change. We’ll wait, but she’s adamant on staying here.
“I’m not leaving you guys again.”
“Did you try to hit them?” Ryke asks his youngest daughter.
“Sulli held me back. But I should’ve spit at them,” Winona says angrily, but her arms still quake. She squats down to hug Goldilocks.
Ryke shakes his head. “You did the right thing walking away.”
Winona frowns. “They might’ve heard me and Sulli talking about her boyfriends.”
Lovely.
But I hold on to the fact that Winona said “boyfriends” like she’s accepted me and Banks. I’ll take any win these days.
Ryke buries his face in his hands for a second. He’s not ready for our relationship to leak. Honestly, none of us are ready. We’d rather stay in private for as long as possible. Less stresses and voices. We’re free to be happy without total condemnation.
The thing that I’ve learned about us is that we’re not as careful as Farrow and Maximoff were. Not as careful as even Thatcher and Jane.
Charlie caught me kissing Sulli in Yellowstone.
Jane found out about Banks and Sulli around then too.
When it comes to Sulli, I’ve always walked a risky tightrope. But it’s even riskier now that we’re together. The feelings we feel are like a haze I walk into and never want to come out of.
Sulli turns to me and Banks. “Back in the woods, they never said anything about my love life or my bodyguards, so there’s still a chance they never heard a thing.”
I ease. “We’ll keep an eye on headlines.”
Nona rises to her feet. “I’m going to Vada’s to study. Is that okay, Mom?”
“I can take you,” Daisy says.
“No, I can,” Ryke cuts in.
“No, I have this.” Daisy rests her hands on his waist. “I love you to the moon and back, Ryke.” She loops her fingers in his waistband, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You should stay and talk more with your daughter’s boyfriends.”
Ryke glares at the wall, but his gaze softens on his wife. “I fucking love you too, sweetheart.”
Daisy grabs Nona’s hand. “Onward and out.”
As they leave, Ryke takes over what Daisy left unfinished. He sets a saucepan on the stove. “Akara, can you grab the fucking marshmallows from the pantry?”
Sulli begins to smile, more hopeful, like maybe we buried the hatchet. But I’m pretty dang sure the blade is out in the open. Sitting between us. Waiting for someone to grab and hack.
“Yeah, sure.” I give Sulli a look to lower her expectations on my way to the pantry.
She nods understandingly. Her smile is gone.
Disappearing, I text Price back and find a bag of Dandies marshmallows on the shelves. The silence is skyrocketing the level of awkwardness. Astronomically.
And I’m not even out there.
When I return, I rip open the bag. Sulli has an even sadder face, and I toss a marshmallow at her. It bounces off her forehead. Coming close, I catch the marshmallow before it hits the ground.
A softer smile plays at her lips.
She tries to grab the Dandies from me. I raise the bag over my head. “Uh-uh.”
“Kits.”
I grin.
“Fucking A,” Ryke growls. “Not in front of my fucking face.”
I stiffen.
Ryke pinches his eyes. “Fuck, I sound like my brother.” He throws a dish towel and sighs heavily. His back is turned to us while he’s sorting through his own feelings.
I hold out the marshmallows to Banks, who takes one, just to put in Sulli’s mouth. She grins up at him, then tries to feed Banks a marshmallow.
He has to bend down to her.
When Ryke turns around, he’s missed that interaction, and I hand him the bag.
Ryke takes it roughly. “I’m still waiting for one of you to leave.” He looks between Banks and me. “That hasn’t fucking changed.”
“You’re going to be waiting all night,” Sulli tells him.
His nose flares. “By the time these Crispy Rice treats are fucking baked. One of you is gone. That’s the best deal you’re getting all night.”
“Deal,” Banks and I say at the same time.
Sulli pulls her hair up in a messy bun. “I guess I should take what I can get, right? The alternative is you punching them.”
Ryke grimaces. “I don’t feel good about that, Sul.” He runs a hand against the back of his neck. “I’m not fucking proud of it.”
“We don’t blame you,” Banks says. “We know you were just trying to protect Sulli.”
“I’m
still trying to protect her. Something I don’t fucking believe you two are trying to do.”
“That’s not true,” Sulli cuts in.
Ryke takes a breath. “Look, I don’t think Akara and Banks have your best fucking interest at heart. If they did, they both wouldn’t be with you.” He sets his glower back on Banks. “I changed my fucking mind—one of you should really leave before this gets any worse tonight.”
“I’ll go,” Banks says the words first.
He backs away from Sulli.
22
BANKS MORETTI
Last thing I want is to continuously add more friction between Sulli and her dad. They have a chance to repair things these next couple days, and if it takes me getting out of everyone’s hair, so be it.
She tries to catch my wrist, but I rest my hand against her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, mermaid.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Cross my heart, hope to never die.”
Her lips try to rise.
I almost lean in and kiss her, but Ryke’s glower has torched to volcanic levels, so I back the fuck away. And I leave.
Cold wind hits me from the outside, and I dig in my pocket, feeling a pack of cigarettes. I scan the moonlit cul-de-sac. Threat still at large.
You’d think I’d feel like utter shit leaving Akara with Sulli and her dad. The one true boyfriend to rule them all. But I feel light. Happy, even. For once, I could give him something. A win. And hell, Akara Kitsuwon needs a win more than me these days.
“Wait up!”
I wince at the sound of his voice, and when I rotate, I just shake my head. “You dumbass,” I say to Akara and let go of the cigarettes.
He wraps an arm around my shoulder mid-step on his way to the driveway. He propels me with him. Not missing a beat. “How am I the dummy when I came to keep you company?”
“I don’t need any company,” I say. “I need you to get your ass back inside there—” I shrug his shoulder off me, but we’re already at Booger.
Akara twirls the keys, then unlocks the door. “I’m not going back without you, Banks.”
Slinging my head back, I let out a long cantankerous groan. “Mother of Christ. You’re so fuckin’ diehard SFO, you can’t even see that you’re hurting yourself in this—”
“So what if I am? I’m the boss. You’re my responsibility. I take the hits.”
“You have a chance to be alone with her—”
“Not at your expense,” Akara cuts me off, twirling the keys again but slower. “Ryke shouldn’t see you as the dispensable one.”
Dispensable.
He doesn’t even know the full brunt of what my dad said to me the night Skylar died, and still, he’s looking out for me.
How the hell does Akara think he’s the bad guy when he’s been so good to me?
“That’s the thing, Akara, I don’t care how the fuck Ryke sees me. I don’t even agree with half of what he said. Daisy was making more sense.” I lift my shoulders. “I don’t need her dad to like me—I need him to fix what he broke with Sulli, and they can do that with you there. Not out here freezing your nuts off with me. So go.” I shove his arm.
He wobbles and glares.
I huff, and our heads turn as floodlights from a security vehicle shine on us.
Price must be here.
We share a tense look and squash our fight. I’d rather end things short than have a run-in with Triple Shield, and Akara must feel the same.
“What’d Sulli say?” I ask him quietly.
“She wanted to come with us.” He hangs onto the edge of the door. “I told her to stay. Talk with her dad. She may not get another chance like this.”
I nod, feeling the same.
Just as Price rolls up to the curb, we climb into Booger. Akara gives him a polite wave on our way out of the neighborhood. As far as we know, Triple Shield doesn’t have a clue about our relationship. Not about to spill those beans tonight.
We make the short drive to the hotel. It’s late. Sun set, and tomorrow we’ll have a full day of destroying the penthouse top to bottom in search of any bugs. I’m just looking forward to getting some shut-eye tonight.
My back is fucking killing me.
At the front desk, I stretch my arms backwards, and Akara pulls out his wallet. “One room for tonight.”
The receptionist clicks on the computer, barely looking up from the screen. “King or two queens?”
Akara glances at me for a split-second.
Gun to head, my initial reaction is king. We’ve been spending almost every night in Sulli’s bed together. She’s been on a monsoon period, and all we’ve done is curl up against her.
And every night, I keep thinking I should’ve been in a relationship sooner. I love just holding Sulli in bed more than I’ve ever loved a one-night stand.
Then again, she’s the only girl I’ve ever wanted to hold all night long.
I curl my hair around my left ear, then right. How strange will it feel having a bed all to myself? But Sulli is gone, and Akara and I—we’re not physically intimate with each other. Should that make a difference?
“What do you think?” Akara asks me for advice.
Screw it.
“I’d get the king,” I tell him.
Akara nods to the receptionist, “The king is fine.”
Again, she’s superglued to the computer as she collects his credit card.
Entering the elevator, quiet stretches. I turn my head, half expecting to see Sulli standing between us. Her absence leaves a crater.
A fucking abyss.
An emptiness that I hate. It makes me want to be less and less alone. Akara sees the same space where she’d be, and his gaze lifts to mine.
We’re friends. The two of us will always be friends, but I can’t deny that the three of us share something I can’t quite explain. None of us really can.
I dig in my pocket. Not for cigarettes.
Really, I want to smoke, but Akara, just being here, is helping me dick-kick my vice. I don’t want to smoke in front of him.
Instead, I pull out a travel-sized Tylenol and pop two without water. Swallowing hard. Christ, that sucks.
Akara tenses. “You have a migraine?”
“No, I fucked my back running around the woods.” I arch my aching back with a wince. “Don’t ask me what I did because I don’t know.”
“Migraines, back problems, anything else I should know?”
“I have a suspicious looking mole on my ass. Wanna check that one out too?”
Akara fits his baseball cap backwards. “For your health, yeah.”
“I’m not going anywhere, man.” Our gazes are latched, almost in challenge. Me saying, I’m fine. Him saying, you better be.
The elevator beeps.
After a short walk along the hall, Akara unlocks the hotel room with a swipe of the keycard, and I close the door behind us.
“You can take the shower first,” he says. “I have to make some calls.”
“To my dad?” I pull off my shirt.
“He’s one. Yeah. And then I have to call a team who deals with surveillance technology and make sure they’re still available tomorrow to help sweep the penthouse.”
How he juggles all of that and still stays upright, I don’t know. I couldn’t do it. “Anything I can help with?” I ask him as I step out of my jeans.
He’s already dialing a number. “I have it. You shower.”
Don’t need to be told twice. Leaving him in the bedroom, I head for the warmth of the water. When I finish up, I dry off and tie a towel around my waist. Once I exit into the room, I hear Akara on his phone.
“Yeah, it’s nine thousand square feet.” He sits on the edge of the mattress, his windbreaker and hoodie off, just in a Studio 9 tee. He sees me and stands up. We pass each other as he heads to the bathroom. “I’m aware it’ll take more than a day.” He shuts the door.
Hell, I feel alone.
I wonder if this is how Sulli feels when sh
e’s alone with Akara. Or if she’s able to help him pull away for a second. It’s not even his fault.
It’s the job.
A time-suck that’s sucking him dry.
I change into gray boxer-briefs, hop into bed, and scroll through the TV channels. Battle Ring, a pro-wrestling show, wins out, and I watch a couple of guys tussle against the ropes. When the smaller guy lands his finisher, Akara exits the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist.
Cellphone in his hand.
“Alert the press,” I say. “He’s off his phone.”
Akara throws up a middle finger my way.
I smile. “You masturbate with that hand too?”
“I sin with my left,” he says seriously, waving his other hand. He eyes me up and down. “You?”
I hold up my right hand. “I swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”
He lets out a short laugh, his smile rising.
“Truth: I used to do it with my left hand, but I popped my shoulder out in boot camp. Been doing it with the right ever since.”
“Too much information.” He changes into a pair of boxer-briefs quickly, and I get a nice view of his bare ass. “Or as Sulli would say, TMfuckingI.”
“Yeah, I miss that girl, too,” I breathe out.
“It’s the worst when she’s not around,” he agrees as he climbs into the king-sized bed.
Spacious room lies between us, and I’m not sure how much I like the emptiness. I pound a pillow next to me, where she’d be, but everything in my head feels disconnected to what I’m actually feeling.
I shove the pillow onto the floor.
Glancing over, Akara is on his phone, the light illuminating his features. And then he rests his cell on the nightstand.
I lie back, getting more comfortable.
Akara lies back.
We’re staring at the ceiling. The air eases, and there’s nothing weird about tonight to me. But where’s his mind at? “You wish I said get the doubles?” My head rolls to the side on the pillow, and his gaze catches mine.
“No,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
Alone.
We could have been in the same room in different beds, and not been technically alone, but I know what he means.
It’s a feeling we’re both trying to combat like we’re on home base swinging at fast balls. Loneliness might be all three of our kryptonite.
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