Sinful Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 5)

by Krista Ritchie

“It doesn’t bother me.” He sighs out frustration. “Except…”

  Banks. They’re identical twins. They look so similar. “Your brother.”

  He nods slowly. “He’d be okay.” He pins his focus to me. “It’s also easier for me than you. I’m not a girl. I’m not born into fame. I’m not Jane Eleanor Cobalt. These consequences don’t hold the same severity for me.” He pauses. “If I give up here, will you?”

  And ruin this game for him?

  I feel awful just at the thought. So I shake my head and say, “Let’s continue this together.”

  Thatcher doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “No?” I blink, my eyes burning.

  He glares, and the intensity is like the hottest heat wave. He quickly diverts his eyes to the ceiling. “You don’t want to do this, honey.”

  “I just said I did.”

  He dips his head down, his brown eyes hitting mine again. Glare softened just a fraction. “And you’ve said the opposite up until now, so the only fucking thing that’s changed here is me. Tell me you’re not doing it for me.”

  I can’t deny the truth. “If you’re taking a risk, I have to, too. There’s no way around that.” I add quickly, “And you want to do this, so I won’t stop you. I just don’t want you to stop me from doing it too.”

  “Fuck that,” Thatcher says. “If you think, for a second, I’m going to stand around with my dick in my hand and watch you do something that could harm you—all just for me—then you don’t realize what I’d do to protect you.”

  I’m on the edge of a cliff. I’ve always loved how he’s my safety net. But… “I have to try.”

  His narrowed eyes are bloodshot. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you.”

  I fight for deeper breath, and I hate that this has all spiraled here. The threads of this relationship have tangled, untwisted, and slipped between my fingers.

  How can I be in a relationship where I let my number one, my life and soul run through fires without me?

  Thatcher turns to my brother. “Throw this card out.”

  He won’t.

  “No,” Charlie says. “You quit, you lose. You finish, you win.”

  We are given hard choices, and I feel this one barreling down. “I can take a few nudes.” My voice has risen, confident and blazoned. I can do this.

  I can do anything.

  Thatcher stares at me deeply, and I realize the chess game is now between him and me. We’re in a standoff. Rook to rook, and I make the next move.

  “You can’t physically stop me.” The words come out fast, and immediately, I feel like a brat. Dear God, just bring in the shovel. Bury this whole thing into a thousand-foot grave. I’m waiting for someone to cover the dirt on top of me, suffocating me. I hate what I said. I hate how this is going. I want to eject from all of it. “I’m sorry, I just…this is wrong…and what if we’re just not right for each other?”

  My breathing does a weird dive.

  His nose flares. “I promise you we are.” He checks on Tony over at the door, then back to me.

  “I don’t know how to do this…” I drop my gaze. “I don’t want to break up with you again, but I just…”

  Thatcher is about to speak, but Charlie’s brows jump sky-high. “Again?”

  I ignore that to ask, “How do we even send nudes with no cell service?”

  “Swap phones.” Charlie plays a new classical piano piece. “Take your nudes on each other’s. It’ll be like you sent them.” He zeroes in on me. “I’m curious though. Breaking up with your boyfriend, is this some strange ploy to have makeup sex, or are you just copying Mom and Dad?”

  With those words, he obliterates the oxygen from the room. “What?”

  “Mom and Dad,” Charlie repeats, the music shrill. “You do know Mom used to break up with Dad before they were married. All the fucking time. But she would do it because she was pissed at him. Not at herself.” He waves a hand at me. “There’s a lot of self-loathing coming from this corner.”

  I can’t breathe.

  “Stop,” Thatcher says.

  Lightheaded, I don’t know if he’s talking to me or my brother. But his hands are on my cheeks, and I turn to my left and right.

  Tony isn’t at the door. Neither is Oscar nor Farrow. They must’ve pulled my bodyguard out of view, and Thatcher speaks to me. “Jane, take a breath.”

  “I’m not…I’m…”

  I love myself.

  I do.

  I do. But I hate who I am right now. Simpering mess of a fool. One who can’t make decisions, or choose to have a relationship that might not be what she envisioned. But one she loves.

  One she can’t live without.

  One she desires so deeply, so fully, and so dramatically.

  Charlie’s voice rips through my head. “Jane, come on.”

  He’s never seen me this way. I don’t want him to. I gather leftover confidence, and air reaches my lungs while I push Thatcher off me.

  “I’m sorry.” We apologize at the same time.

  We’re both hurting.

  “I quit,” I announce. “I won’t take nudes. You go ahead. I’ll cheer for you on the sidelines.” An involuntary tear slips out, and I angrily wipe it away.

  “I’m not playing this game anymore either.”

  “I won’t let you quit because of me. And that’s what you’d be doing, isn’t it?”

  Thatcher nods once. I won’t let him sacrifice the one chance to be accepted in my family. He won’t let me sacrifice my body. It feels as though we both lost here because we’re no longer in this together, and I hate that too.

  32

  THATCHER MORETTI

  4 Days Snowed-In

  Christmas Eve is here, and I wish I could’ve gifted Jane the ability to rejoin me in Cobalt Truth or Dare from Hell. Without her having to send nudes. I even tried to barter with Charlie.

  That kid—sorry, that guy runs on 100% emotions. I’m a practical, logic-based man, and I can’t follow Charlie’s line of thinking or motives if my brain were screwed to the fucking thing. So either he’s emotion-fueled, or his IQ is just beyond me.

  Whatever the case, he shut me down.

  I can’t unfuck this, but I wish I could. Partly so we could continue the game together. Mostly because Jane wouldn’t feel like she failed.

  I focus on something I can do.

  A box of dead radios sits at my ankles, and I work on changing out the batteries. Chatter escalates around me, along with laughter. Flames crack in the fireplace.

  Last night, the heaters broke again, and everyone congregates in the living room so they don’t freeze their asses off. Holiday classics play from Quinn’s phone, but no lights are strung. No eggnog to drink. No tree. No presents.

  The gift that I planned to give Jane, I left at the townhouse.

  Really, we just have each other, and that almost kills the homesickness. Bodyguards and clients play poker with cash, others talk quietly on couches or keep to themselves.

  Like me.

  I sit alone on a long bench near the doorway, where cool air flows in from the kitchen.

  My eyes linger on the other side of the room, near a deep mahogany bookcase. Filled with dusty encyclopedias and almanacs. Jane and Maximoff huddle close together, alone, whispering in a heavy conversation with coffee and hot tea.

  They’ve been like that for the past ten minutes, and every now and then Maximoff will pass Jane a box of shortbread cookies.

  Can’t change the past. My inaction eats every part of me. So I just unclip the back of a radio and ditch out the dead battery.

  Farrow exits the kitchen and stops next to my bench. “Here.” He taps a beer bottle to my shoulder, holding another in his right hand

  I frown. “I thought we were out of beer.”

  “Oscar hid a couple bottles.”

  I’m not about to decline the offer. And a beer sounds good right now. I nod in thanks, untwisting the twist-off cap. “Does he know you’re giving me this?”


  Farrow nods. “Yeah. We all agreed you need a beer more than any fucker here.”

  I take a stiff swig. It’s been less than 24-hours and everyone who knows that I’m Thatcher is aware of the argument Jane and I had.

  Over nudes.

  The level of awkward has reached middle school dance territory. No one on the team has ribbed me, but I can tell they want to but aren’t sure how serious the fallout is. So every time I walk into a room, I’m met with silent stares and cagey glances.

  I lower the bottle. “Me and Jane—we’re good.” I’m not sure Farrow cares to know my relationship status, but I tell him anyway since he’s here. I don’t go in-depth about how Jane and I talked all last night or that we’re on the same page, same understanding again.

  We’re good sums it up.

  Farrow isn’t petty, I realize. If he were, he’d steal my beer back.

  To my surprise, he takes a seat beside me and leans against the paisley green wallpaper. “That’s one of my favorite things about being with someone.” He sips his beer.

  “What is?” I pop in a battery with one hand.

  “Going through shit together. Growing with the person you love.” He smiles into his next swig, his gaze on Maximoff Hale.

  I swallow more beer, eyes latched to Jane Cobalt.

  She sits pin straight, ankles crossed, and brushes cookie crumbs off her sweater.

  My chest rises.

  I’m more used to imploding relationships when shit happens, but with Jane, I never want to give up on us. It’d be a sucker-punch to the gut if she decided we weren’t worth the hard parts. We can come out on top together, and the time we’re taking to pick each other up has only made us stronger.

  I talk to Farrow. “Difference between us, the shit you had to go through wasn’t orchestrated by your boyfriend’s family.” I place the powered radio on a side table. “The Hales gave you water wings.”

  “More like one water wing.” He lifts a foot on the bench, knee bent. “The Cobalts are definitely too much; the second those cards came out, I would’ve trashed them.”

  Farrow might be used to going rouge, but I’m more battle-tested to withstand fucked-up rules. To push through them rather than go around.

  I grab another fucked radio from the box. “That’s why I’m dating a Cobalt and you aren’t.”

  “No shit.” He smiles.

  The corner of my mouth upturns, and we swig beer at the same time. When we look over at Jane and Maximoff, we notice they’re already watching us, their expressions thunderstruck and curious: mouths gaping, eyes cinched, question marks dangling over their heads.

  It’s fucking comical.

  “He’s too precious.” Farrow grins at him.

  Maximoff scowls and flips him off.

  It’s strange that my brother is thousands of miles away, Akara is icing me out, and the bodyguard I’m closest to in Scotland is Farrow Redford Keene.

  That isn’t lost on me.

  But I’m nowhere as shocked as Jane or Maximoff. I almost forget they’re five years younger than us and famous and not trusting of most people. Other friendships outside their families, especially bodyguards and our rifts, are uncharted lands—and it sparks Jane’s curiosity like ten thousand Roman candles.

  She bows forward, knuckles to chin, and eyes shimmering.

  I swig my beer. I could be in South Philly this Christmas, left to wonder what the fuck is happening to my girlfriend. Instead I’m here. Knowing Jane is safe.

  Keeping her safe.

  Sharing in this experience with her.

  Can’t ask for more.

  As the poker game dies down, Oscar and Donnelly come over and test the waters with me.

  Oscar upnods. “If you need pointers, Moretti, we have a professional dick pic photographer on the team.” He squeezes Donnelly’s shoulder.

  “Straight up.” Donnelly slips a ballpoint pen behind his ear. “I can make your five-inch wiener look like a foot-long.”

  I’ve seen every dick on SFO. Just like they have. Comes with quick-changes on-duty. But this, right here, is the first instance they’ve felt comfortable enough to rib me about my nine-inch cock.

  Maybe they realize I won’t reprimand them.

  Oscar grins. “Donnelly, if he’s five-inches, you’re a centimeter.”

  “Give me a tape measure, man.”

  Farrow swallows beer and stands. “I was trying to get away from you fuckers.” He always acts like the three of them aren’t tight, but they spent years at an Ivy League together.

  The Yale boys are about as solid a friendship as lifelong ride-or-dies.

  Donnelly takes his seat next to me, and Farrow ends up staying, his boot on the bench and forearm to his thigh.

  I hand Oscar my beer, giving him the rest, and I dispose the dead battery out of a radio. My voice is low as I say, “Jane already took the dick pics.”

  Oscar chokes on beer. “Jane took them? So you two are…”

  I nod.

  Farrow translates. “They’re good.”

  “You pose for her?” Donnelly banters.

  “Close-ups?” Oscar chimes in.

  “Girls love that anus shot, you get that one?”

  Farrow laughs hard, and fuck it, I laugh too. I wish my brother were here. He’d be rolling over in laughter just knowing my girlfriend is three dick pics richer. And how she tucked the phone to her chest like she was guarding the Hope Diamond.

  I test the radio. “What I do for love and pussy.”

  Amen, Banks would say. Not hearing it just makes me miss him more.

  Quinn Oliveira joins us right after the words leave my mouth, and the air strains. Oscar assesses his little brother, to see if he’s okay. Last I heard, they weren’t talking since Quinn punched him.

  Oscar nods. “I’m cool if you are, bro.”

  Quinn nods back. “Yeah, I’m cool.”

  Tension gone, Oscar picks up the conversation. “I could cheers to that: love, pussy, and add in good dick.”

  Farrow quips, “What’s bad dick feel like, Oliveira?”

  “I don’t know, Redford, you tell me. You’re the one who slept with that redheaded witch.” He brings up Rowin Hart, his ex-boyfriend, who almost assaulted Maximoff in Greece.

  Farrow cringes into a sip of beer. “He’s worse than a witch, but nice try.”

  Quinn interjects, “Why’s Akara hanging out with the Epsilon douche-bros?”

  Our heads turn.

  Akara is in a conversation with O’Malley, more than Tony, but they’re all on the red-green plaid couch, the SFE guards pocketing wads of bills they won.

  I shut off the powered radio. “Recon.”

  Quinn scrunches his face. “What?”

  “Keep your enemies close, Quinnie,” Donnelly says.

  “But not too close,” Farrow advises.

  My jaw hardens as I suddenly zone in on a target. Tony is smiling over at Jane like she’s a chick in a bar he wants to fuck-and-chuck, and my blood is boiling. Muscles flexed, and I barely hear the guys talking about a game of charades tonight. To lighten the mood for Christmas Eve.

  If Tony stands up, I’m Oscar Mike.

  I will shove off and shove him back from her before his eye twitches in a fucking wink.

  He folds his hands behind his head, then looks at me.

  Good.

  Stay the hell away from her. Tony thinks I’m Banks, but my brother would be just as protective of Jane as I would of his girlfriend (if he had one).

  I glare, and the more I stab him between the eyes, the more he grins. He smacks O’Malley’s chest, stealing his attention, and very loudly, he says, “You know that Banks’ brother does butt stuff?” He laughs.

  That affects me about as much as chugging water, but it shoots a bullet through multiple people.

  “Excuse me?” Jane springs to her feet, and Maximoff stands at her side.

  Farrow and Oscar are glaring at Tony.

  I carefully watch Jane as she marches to the cou
ch and confronts him. She can handle her own, but it fucking kills me knowing he won’t respect a word she says.

  “What?” Tony playfully crosses his arms, still seated.

  “I want to know why you laughed like that was an insult,” Jane demands. “Please, share with us.”

  Tony lets out another laugh and raises a patronizing hand. “Hey, Jane, it’s okay if your boyfriend wants you to play with his asshole. It just makes him a little less, you know…manly.”

  You could hear a pin drop.

  I don’t blink. More focused on her anger than anything.

  “Someone educate this motherfucker,” Oscar says under his breath.

  Farrow catches Maximoff’s wrist before he storms Tony, and he brings his fiancé’s shoulders and back into his chest. “He’s not worth it, wolf scout.”

  “First of all—” Jane raises a pointer finger “—men are not less masculine for having anything in their ass—”

  “But it makes them gay,” Tony cuts her off with a smirk.

  Jane steeples her hands. “No, it doesn’t. You see, every man has a prostate gland, and prostate stimulation is not an indication of sexual orientation. It feels immensely good to some, and you can enjoy this very much and prefer any gender.”

  “There we go,” Farrow says quietly.

  Tony leans comfortably back and smiles up at Jane. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

  Jane stews. “I feel sorry for you, that you can’t see how insecure you are and how secure he is. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be.”

  I hit the jackpot with this girl, and holy hell, I’m smiling.

  Until I see a switch in Tony.

  His eyes go dark.

  It kicks my ass to a stance.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jane.” He stands, puffing out his chest. “Go sit down—”

  “Hey,” I cut in, my stride severe. Urgent. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

  Tony uses his height to loom over Jane. To physically intimidate her—and I bolt, fury blasting in my veins, and I draw her behind me in an instant, and I confront him full-force.

  I’m not shoving him back.

  I’m done with that shit.

  I fist his shirt and pull him up, his feet off the ground.