Charming Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 7)

by Krista Ritchie

  “Jack,” I shake him a little. “Jack, come on.”

  He doesn’t stir.

  My throat swells. “Highland!” I yell, tears brimming. “Wake the fuck up!”

  I should’ve protected him better.

  I should’ve hit those guys harder to reach him faster.

  “Oscar?” That groggy voice comes from the back of the tent. I glance over my shoulder, and see Charlie struggling to sit up.

  “Charlie, stay there. Don’t move. Are you alright?”

  “Yeah…yeah. I think.” He lets out a pained breath and favors an arm around his ribs. His eyes meet mine and then flit to Jack. He blinks back something. “Is he…?”

  “He’s fine.”

  He’s fine. Fine. F.I.N.E. Spelling it in my head is not calming me down. I don’t want to leave Jack at all, but he dropped his camera bag around here. He might have a water bottle stashed inside.

  Just as I start climbing to my feet, his eyes begin to flutter.

  I crouch back down. “Jack,” I whisper, panicked desperation coating my voice. I kneel next to him, sliding a hand over his head.

  He blinks awake slowly. “Os?” He tries to sit up, palm bracing his weight on the floor.

  “Relax,” I say. “You hit your head pretty bad there, Arizona. Do you know what day it is?”

  “September 17th.” He leans back against the bumper car, and his eyes sink into mine. Concern envelop them. “Your face.”

  I barely feel the pain in my cheekbone. One guy landed a single punch that my dad would have laughed at, but knuckles are knuckles and I’m sure there’s a welt.

  A fist connected with Jack’s jaw too, but I’m more concerned about the blunt force against the pole.

  Does he even remember we were in a fight? Maybe he’s concussed. “Do you remember what happened?”

  He gathers his bearings. “Yeah, of course, I just didn’t see you get hit.” He glances over at my client who’s lifting up his button-down to inspect the deep bruises forming along his ribs. “Charlie, you okay?”

  He nods once.

  I reach for my radio to call the med team, then I remember it’s mangled.

  Good job, Oliveira. Look what my anger got me.

  Jack eases forward. “I’m alright.” His lips, kid you not, curve into a smile. “Who would have thought my first fight would end with me knocked out by a pole?”

  “Not me,” I say honestly. “You vs. Pole. I’m putting all my money on you.”

  He smiles a little wider. “Here’s the thing, Os, you’d put all your money on me no matter what.” He stretches out his legs. “You’re the president of my fan club.”

  “True,” I say and eye that smile. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

  He nods strongly. “Yeah.” He rubs the back of his head.

  I climb to my feet and hold out my palm. Helping Jack to a stance, I keep a hand on his shoulder, and I wait for a couple seconds. He’s steady. Alert, even. But still, I ask, “Alright?”

  “Yeah.” His hand falls into mine and he squeezes before dropping it completely. His attention veers to his broken camera equipment on the ground, and my focus realigns to my client.

  I squat next to Charlie. “Can you stand?”

  “Maybe.”

  I help him up too, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, he careens into the nearest bumper car. Fuck. I support him around the waist before he falls.

  I thought his ribs were the worst, but he might have actually fucked his leg again. “Hold on,” he groans as he sits on the hood of a bumper car. “Let me take a breath.” He winces as he inhales.

  “What happened?” I ask the question I’ve been avoiding. I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer.

  “They said they had weed.” Charlie cringes. “They didn’t. They robbed me.” He nods a chin at a wallet on the ground. The wallet that I made that fucker give me before I let him go.

  No. I bend down and pick it up. Immediately, I recognize the leather. Maybe I was too panicked before to comprehend the familiarity. But I flip it open and see Charlie’s license. Fucking shit, I can’t believe I made this mistake.

  No ID of the threats.

  They all escaped.

  I’m going to get hell for this one. I pocket Charlie’s wallet.

  Jack scoops up his broken camera. “Charlie, why would you follow them without a bodyguard?”

  “Yeah, Charlie, why would you do that?” I say mockingly, already knowing the answer.

  He rolls his eyes. “I took the risk.”

  Because he doesn’t give a shit if he gets hurt. Pain, right? It’s greater than the frustration he feels on a daily basis. I don’t know how to help him other than making sure he keeps talking to his dad.

  All I can do is try to protect him, even if he doesn’t want it.

  I bend down to the graveyard of camera pieces, helping Jack pick up what’s left. “Can it be fixed?” I ask him.

  Charlie says, “I’ll pay for it.”

  “It’s not about the money,” Jack sighs. “I lost whatever Jesse recorded earlier. But he still has a second cam on him right now, so whatever other footage he’s grabbing at the carnival should still be usable.”

  Charlie pushes off the hood of the car and stumbles close before I can reach him. I see he’s trying to help pick up a lens off the ground.

  “I’ve got it,” I tell him, but he’s already on his knees, curling his fingers around the lens. He passes it to Jack.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie breathes. It’s one of the few times I’ve heard him verbalize an apology.

  “Alright, you’re concussed, Charlie,” I say, flat-out. I help my client back to his feet and then wrap an arm underneath his, supporting his weight. “I’m getting you both to Farrow.”

  Jack zips up his camera bag, but I grab the strap before he can and hook it over my free shoulder. The three of us slowly walk down the aluminum stairs. Out of the bumper car tent.

  Heading back to the main carnival, lights still glow and music thumps loudly.

  Jack touches the bump on his head in a wince. “So this is what a fight feels like?” His glittering gaze slides to me. “Have to say, Oscar, I can’t believe you used to do this for a living.”

  “Tell that to my baby sister who’s still doing it for a living.”

  He lets out a soft sound with the shake of his head.

  Gabe catches up to us, and I take his radio. Sorry, Gabe. Seniority and all. I fit in the earpiece and switch frequencies about the same time a familiar serious-ass voice sounds in my ear. “Thatcher to SFO, has anyone had eyes on Akara, Banks, or Sulli in the past twenty?”

  What in the ever-loving hell?

  My mind can’t wrap around those three. For one, I thought Akara was in denial about his feelings for Sulli. So when she got her first boyfriend, I expected full-on Jealous Akara to gush his feelings once and for all. I grabbed my popcorn. Didn’t happen.

  Not even after Sulli broke up with her boyfriend.

  What did happen? I overheard Banks say that Sulli is a “total stunner”. Akara was there and just nodded. Couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or if he short-circuited.

  Putting that history aside, Sulli could be stuck challenging them to a basketball toss or squirt gun game right now. She’s competitive, and Akara assigned Banks to her detail tonight too. Double-security. But Akara would respond on comms.

  Unless another little bastard tried to rip his radio off him.

  A chorus of Negatives and No’s ring out in my ear. No one has seen them.

  I manage to click my mic to get in a no. It takes one more minute before Donnelly says, “I saw them enter the funhouse a half hour ago.”

  Those three might be lost with no comms signal, but chances are someone from the med team will be over there in case something happened. And Charlie and Jack need a medical assessment.

  At least now we have a destination, looking at the bright side.

  We reach the funhouse the same time Thatche
r and Jane run up to the entrance where bulbs spell out American Circus Funhouse. They roll to a stop when they see Charlie in pain and welts on our faces.

  “Merde,” Jane curses in French. “What happened?” She changes course and reaches us with Thatcher jogging ahead. Her worry mounts as I unhook my arm from Charlie and ease her younger brother down to the grass.

  “Life,” Charlie says, eyes closed, pain cinching his face. “Stupid people, the aftereffects of my choices…walking backwards.”

  Stupid people, the aftereffects of my choices. Feeling that tonight like a motherfucker. I’ve made some mistakes that ended with me having a broken radio and caused Jack to head-butt a pole.

  “Stay very still,” Jane instructs, a hand on her brother’s shoulder. If anyone asks, I’d say Jane Cobalt is a saint for her patience and kindness towards Charlie. She tries to take care of him, even when he actively pulls away from the family.

  He’s told me that he doesn’t deserve his sister’s love, but there are many times where he proves his own belief wrong. From joining the FanCon tour for her, to threatening her ex-friends-with-benefits so caustically that Nate never made a peep again.

  And no one knows he did that but me.

  I extend an arm around Jack as he sways slightly, too light-headed. My stomach clenches. “Take a seat, Highland.”

  Jack lowers to the grass and rests his forearms on his knees. Like he’s taking a breather after high school PE.

  He’s okay, Oliveira.

  But my eyes are on him like he’s my job. I don’t even care that he’s my sole focus right now. Charlie has his family at this event.

  Jack has me.

  That’s my husband.

  He looks up at me with this weak smile that tries to strengthen. “You’re staring at me like I’m your subject, Os.”

  “Who said you weren’t?”

  I watch a soft breath leave him and his smile grow. Help him. Don’t be distracted by his charm. The thought kicks me into further action.

  I adjust my earpiece and ask Thatcher, “Where’s Redford?” And then I see a concierge doctor sprinting over to us, trauma bag thwacking his hip.

  He’s older. Ponytail at the base of his neck. That’s Dr. Edward Keene, Farrow’s father.

  He squats down to Charlie and begins assessing. I’m not surprised he’s on-call considering only the Keenes make-up the med team.

  Thatcher answers me, “Farrow left the carnival early with Maximoff. Ripley didn’t feel well. Teething issue.” His gaze narrows onto the funhouse entrance.

  I survey the onlookers, on alert.

  Teens and adults loiter around the funhouse and take out their phones. Snapping photos. Filming. A good number of temps are thankfully keeping them at bay. Anyone who tries to approach is being told to stay back.

  I’m about to ask Dr. Keene to check out Highland too, but Charlie is the one who says, “Can you look at Jack? He hit his head badly earlier.”

  “On what?” Dr. Keene immediately shifts to Jack.

  “A metal bumper car pole,” Jack answers. At least he remembers that. Puts me less on edge.

  Dr. Keene shines a tiny light in Jack’s eyes.

  “What happened, really?” Jane asks Charlie again.

  He stretches out his leg. “I was robbed.”

  “Robbed?” Shock widens her blue eyes. Thatcher has a comforting hand on her head, but his anger bears down on me.

  Since Akara’s not here, I knew I’d receive the wrath of the SFO lead.

  He glares. “Where were you?”

  “I had a temp on him because I went off-duty to talk to my brother, but Gabe lost sight of Charlie.”

  “Why didn’t Gabe radio earlier that he was missing?”

  I grimace, knowing what happened. “I told him that if I was ever in the vicinity, he didn’t have to.” I laugh but it’s an odd sounding one, this night catching up to me. “You know what, I didn’t realize that he thought being at the same carnival was considered in the vicinity. I should’ve been more specific.”

  My fucking bad.

  “Where was your radio?”

  I swallow an acidic taste. I’ve fumbled so royally hard tonight. “It’s broken. I’m using Gabe’s now.”

  Thatcher’s shaking his head. His tightened eyes nail into the funhouse. I’d bet a hundred bucks he’s worried about Akara and Banks.

  I’m not used to being on the receiving end of disappointed, irate stares from Thatcher, and it lingers with me.

  Even if Gabe is an idiot, it’s my fault for not training him properly. But really, it’s hard to put my brain in the brain of someone leagues below my intelligence. I obviously didn’t factor in how he’d interpret some of my instructions.

  “Both need to go to the hospital,” Dr. Keene says. “Charlie for X-rays, and Jack for a CT scan.” We start helping them up off the grass. I support Jack with an arm around the waist, and he hangs his bicep over my shoulder.

  Thatcher keeps Charlie upright.

  And then everyone’s attention suddenly veers to a girl sprinting like her life depends on it…out of the funhouse.

  “Sulli!” Jane screams and waves both her hands. Sulli redirects her target zone to our group, and as soon as she lands here, she grabs onto Jane’s arm.

  Where are her bodyguards?

  I go still, on edge…should I be alarmed or do I need to go buy some kettle corn?

  “Let’s fucking get out of here. Right fucking now,” Sulli says under her breath, her green eyes pinging to the camera phones. To the eager public eating this shit up. Can’t fault them too hard.

  I’m standing here thinking, give me the tea. What’s the drama?

  But also, protect these ones.

  Thatcher and I motion for the temps to keep hold as the zealous audience tries to push closer.

  “Why?” Jane’s blue eyes grow wider. Their voices are hushed.

  Sulli turns bright red. “I opened my big fucking mouth. That’s why. I told Kits and Banks they’re really fucking hot and they make me feel safe and comfortable, and that if I never have another boyfriend in my entire life, then it’d be cool to lose my virginity to one of them.” She nods vigorously. “Yep, and I thought they’d take it like pals, you know like buddies. But they were fucking silent!” She waves a hand around. “So I ran, but then I ended up in the mirrors and I got lost and they were looking for me…and oh my fuck.” Her gaze beelines to the funhouse exit where Akara and Banks are jogging out.

  Oh yeah, this is a five-bucket kettle corn moment. I’d be grinning at the drama right now if people weren’t hurt tonight.

  “We’re going,” Jane tells her. “Right now. Let’s go. Charlie?”

  “I’ll leave with Jack and Oscar. You go ahead.”

  “Are you positive?” she worries.

  “Yes,” Charlie says, standing on his own.

  She hugs her brother. “We’ll meet you at the hospital.” She turns. “Thatcher?”

  “Right in front of you, honey,” Thatcher says, leading Jane and Sulli towards the parking lot.

  I use comms and direct more temps onto them, and then Akara and Banks slow their jog as they reach us. My boss sees my client’s injuries. “What happened?”

  Comms chatter ignites. “Price to Akara, I’ve got word that Charlie’s been robbed. Can you confirm?”

  Akara glares, making me feel two-inches tall.

  “He wasn’t on my detail,” Charlie defends me. “It was my fault. No one else’s.”

  That’s not how security works, but I appreciate Charlie trying to keep my ass off a hot seat.

  I nod to Akara with confirmation. Yes, my client was robbed.

  He clicks his mic and relays that back. SFO is never going to live this down.

  Kitsuwon Securities 1 – Triple Shield 2.

  The only reason we’re really losing is because of me, and I feel like a bigger jackass. Bruising the reputation of SFO hurts all of our massive egos, but it’ll hurt Akara the most. His name is on it. “
Kitsuwon, I’m sorry,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, genuine. “It’s been…a long night.”

  Now I really need the full story of what happened in that funhouse, but he’s turning to Banks and they’re already walking off together.

  We start to head out too. But as we reach the Ferris wheel, Jesse approaches.

  Pit stop #2.

  “Where’ve you been?” Jack asks with the worry of a big brother.

  “Where’ve you been?” Jesse motions to his brother’s face, the welt, and me supporting him around the waist. “You look like you got in a fight, Kuya.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  I upnod to Jesse. “Tell you at the hospital.”

  Jesse notices Charlie leaning awkwardly, and he instantly scoops an arm around my client. “You okay, dude?”

  I manage to take Jesse’s camera bag from him so he can brace Charlie. We continue our trek to the parking lot again.

  “I’d be better if you overheard someone talking shit about Maximoff tonight,” Charlie replies.

  His wise-ass is coming out to play.

  He’s lucky Jane isn’t here to snap at him.

  “Uh…yeah, I have heard someone railing on him tonight.” Jesse makes a confused face. “Why would you want to hear that? Did you guys get in a fight…I thought you two were cool now?”

  Charlie suddenly looks too interested. His eyes laser-focus on Jesse. “What exactly have you heard?” Seriousness crosses my face, especially as he adds, “Have you caught any on film?”

  Charlie.

  Keating.

  Motherfucking.

  Cobalt.

  Pieces of the overarching big-picture puzzle abruptly line up and connect too perfectly. My head spins. “Charlie…”

  No one hears my whisper.

  “Yeah, I shoot everything,” Jesse says. “I can show you tonight’s footage.”

  Jack exchanges a look with me.

  This is it.

  This is why Charlie wanted to do the docuseries. Besides set me up with Highland, this is the answer we’ve been waiting for all along.

  “Is it an older man?” Charlie asks. “He’d only be at charity events like this one. And he’d have a proclivity for hating my cousin.”