“Why would that come up?” I ask him. “You were in a grade below me. I barely knew you.” We had different social circles. I was a football player who worked church functions to get tuition.
He was well-off and voted student body president.
“I don’t know, Thatcher,” O’Malley snaps. “Maybe I thought my lead cared about other things than finding roundabout ways to fuck Jane.”
Hearing her name causes my muscles to tense. Like my body is triggered into defense-mode.
SFO starts launching insults at him, either on my behalf or Jane’s—I can’t tell.
“Let him talk,” I say loudly, silencing Omega, and then I nod O’Malley onward. “You have shit on your chest. Get it off.”
He cranes his neck more to look up at me. “Admit what you did was wrong.”
“I can’t do that.” Flat-out.
I can’t.
Being with Jane is the most right thing I’ve ever done.
“Great.” He’d be in my face if he could reach it. “So you’re saying that if I find myself in a room alone with Luna Hale, and she comes onto me, I’m in the clear to fuck her. Right there. Down and dirty on the floor.”
I almost snap.
I almost yell, she’s nineteen!
But Jane is only twenty-three. SFO rustles behind me, fuming. I take a short glance backwards. Oscar looks murderous.
Farrow straightens up more than usual. He places a hand on Donnelly’s chest. “Ignore the fucker.”
“He’s been asking for a fight.” Donnelly boils. “He’s gonna get hit—”
“Come here then,” O’Malley goads, but his attention veers to Luna’s bodyguard.
“You can’t talk about my client like that,” Quinn growls.
He raises his hands. “I’m just using the precedent Omega has set. If they’re of age and willing, then it’s fair game, right?”
“No,” I say harshly. Deescalate this shit. I try to take a breath. “You were Luna’s bodyguard when she was sixteen,” I remind O’Malley. “Jane was twenty-two, an adult, when I was on her detail. Maximoff was twenty-two when Farrow went to his. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s fucking different.”
His jaw drops, like he can’t believe I’m rationalizing this. “Who the fuck are you?”
“The same person who spoke to you your first day.”
“No, that guy is dead. You chose pussy over your own integrity,” he sneers. “Hope it tastes worth it.”
I see red.
It’s a switch, but all I want is distance. I want him out of my perimeter. I want him to stop bumping against my fucking chest.
Like a reflex, I uncross my arms and shove him back. He careens into a punching bag. It sways, but he barely loses balance on his feet. He charges at me.
I see the fist coming.
I can’t move. My feet are forced to the fucking mat. Cemented by guilt and blame, and his knuckles smash into my lip.
Bitter iron of blood floods my mouth. People yell around me.
“Heyheyhey!” I hear my brother.
My head spins, the surrounding chaos and my bottled emotion igniting boxes in my head. Boxes that I’ve stapled shut for years. Senses tweaked, my eyes are narrowed, unable to close.
I hear rounds firing in violent succession. My pulse ratchets up. I turn my head, but I have tunnel vision. This—this hasn’t happened before. Not while I’m awake.
Fuck me.
“Back up!”
“Let go, O’Malley!”
I blink into focus and realize O’Malley is fisting my damp black tee. Banks tries to shove between me and him, and I react like I’ve pressed play on a paused movie.
I block my brother and let O’Malley crush another fist into my body. Pounding into my shoulder. Fuck.
Banks tears him off me.
My adrenaline accelerates, chest rising and falling.
Farrow and Oscar drag me from the fight. My brain is screaming to protect my brother, who’s standing on the firing line.
“Banks!” I call out.
Banks.
O’Malley shoves my twin brother, and Banks pushes him angrily back.
“What in the fuck is going on?” That harsh-edged voice comes from the doorway, Sinclair and the other leads entering the gym.
Hands drop to sides. We all go still.
Akara looks from O’Malley to me, his eyes descending to my fat lip. He shakes his head in disbelief, like he, too, doesn’t even know who I am anymore.
My nose flares.
O’Malley is just one person I hurt. But he’s one of many. Everyone on Epsilon feels like I betrayed their trust, their respect, but the person I betrayed the most is standing right there. And the look Akara gives me now—it cuts me open and spills out my insides.
It hurts the absolute worst.
Price, the Alpha lead, glares at everyone. “Who punched Moretti?” He’s asking who should be fined three-grand.
Bodyguards can’t hit other bodyguards without punishment.
No one speaks.
No one points fingers.
With an inhale, I announce, “I started the fight.” I touch my lip. It’s already swelling. “You can fine me.”
Banks gives me a hard look like you idiot.
O’Malley frowns.
Akara wears even more disappointment.
Price nods. “Will do.”
Sinclair nears and weaves between boxing bags. “You ladies done having a tea party, we need to get down to this Scotland business.”
My mouth is full of blood, and I’m not about to spit it out on the mats. Quietly, I excuse myself to use the gym bathrooms.
Showers and toilet stalls are empty. I immediately spit a wad of blood in the sink basin. My pulse is racing.
I swivel the faucet and splash water at my face. Come on. I squeeze the edge of the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. Droplets trickle down my temples and slip off my jaw.
My eyes are bloodshot.
I can barely blink, and I can almost feel her curious hands sliding across my waist. I can almost see her rising smile peek around my body, and her chin perched on my side. Her eyes glimmering up at me with uncommon strength.
I want to turn around and lift her in my arms. To press my forehead to her forehead and stare into the bluest depths of her gaze.
But she’s not here. She’s back at the townhouse.
The sound of a leaking shower bleeds into the quiet.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It drives me insane. I scrape a palm down my wet face. My hand is shaking. Christ, I just want to hear her voice. I should compartmentalize my feelings and shove off.
But I pull my phone out of my pocket.
Without much thought, I’m calling Jane. Like this is an ingrained reaction.
Jane picks up on the second ring. “Thatcher? Is the meeting already over?”
I can’t move. I stare at the faucet.
“Thatcher?” Her voice pitches in worry.
“It hasn’t started yet.” I grip the sink with one hand and swallow a rock. And then I rehash everything that happened with the team.
I promised myself I’d never hit another bodyguard, and even if I was provoked, I shouldn’t have pushed O’Malley.
With every word I say out loud, I’m sure that I’m painting myself as the biggest villain. “It’s good that he got a punch in,” I continue. “I just don’t want my brother in the middle of it.”