“Sul and I have never flirted.”
They’ve flirted.
Hell, I’ve flirted with the girl. She’s funny, competitive, a fucking smokeshow, and also very, very virginal but I wouldn’t call her naïve. I’m just not sure she understands when men are hitting on her versus when they’re just being friendly.
Akara’s denial has probably confused the shit out of her.
“You’re really gonna keep telling me you’re not attracted to Sulli?”
He curses me out. “She’s like my…sister.”
“Your dick gets hard for your sister?”
He laughs lightly, the line cracking. “Always with the one-liners.”
“You’re the one freezing your nuts off for sister-fucking jokes.”
“Yeah, my bad.” Akara sounds less stressed. “Hey, at least she’s not fucking the Rooster.” He pauses. “If that’s who she loses her virginity to…”
“I’d lose my shit.”
“Not before me.”
“Amen.” I finish off my eighth beer, and then stretch my legs back out. “Are you—” I cut myself off at the sound of shattering glass.
Distant.
Coming from the famous one’s townhouse.
“What was that?” Akara asks.
He could hear it over the fucking phone. “I don’t know.” The noise alerts my dulled senses. No security alarm is triggered, but I stay deathly still and pick up the squeak of floorboards.
I whisper, “An intruder.” I grip my cell, shoot to my feet, and smack my toe into the coffee table. I catch a falling beer bottle before it crashes to the ground and causes more commotion.
Jesus fucking—I swear under my breath. What I hate, more than anything, is that I’ve been drinking. If my brother were here, he’d be dead sober.
For this reason.
To catch this fucking intruder.
God-fucking-damn. With that final curse, I leave my frustration behind. Already moving into action.
I skulk more soundlessly into the kitchen and grab my gun from a drawer. I pull the slide back to load a round in the chamber.
“Someone’s in their townhouse,” I whisper more clearly to Akara.
“Mute the phone, put it in your pocket.”
I do as told, cell in my back pocket, and I attach my radio as fast and quietly as I can. Adrenaline sobers me more, my blood super-charged.
The thought of some piece of shit in their house. In their space. It makes me want to pop a bullet between eyes.
Jane’s cats.
4 out of 6 cats are at the Cobalt Estate. Audrey is watching them, thank the fucking Lord. But there are still two left in the other townhouse.
The squirrelly little ones that dart every place—they were too hyper to corral in a cat carrier, so I told Audrey I’d take care of them while I’m here.
She wanted me to spit on her hand to promise. What the hell—I did it.
I switch comms frequencies. I can’t let anything happen to those cats. “Thatcher to Price,” I whisper to the Alpha lead. “I have movement and noise in the townhouse. Is anyone supposed to be there?”
“Not that I’m aware. Check it out and report back.”
“Roger copy,” I mutter in the mic, then gently—ever so gently—I push into the townhouse through the adjoining door.
I step on a cat toy, and the foil crinkles beneath the weight of my foot.
My pulse pounds.
Eyes narrowed.
I grip my gun with two hands, and I assess the first floor, the pink loveseat empty. Rocking chair is completely still. Pictures are upright on the mantel, and what little visual I have into the kitchen—it looks and sounds empty.
I peek into the kitchen archway. Glass litters the sink, window busted out. Enough space for a man to crawl through. How the hell did they cut the security alarm?
I shelve that.
First floor clear. I move forward to the staircase.
The ceiling creaks.
These stairs are the only entrance and exit, and so I run. Bolting up the second floor, skipping steps with my lengthy stride, and I’m fast.
Quick.
I’m on the landing, and I swing open Jane’s door first.
Thoughts eject.
I’m on automatic, all action as I see a middle-aged white man with his dick out. He stands at the foot of the bed and strokes his erection, thrusting towards her mattress.
Two calico cats—Walrus and Carpenter—skirt around his ankles, biting his sneaker laces.
Right when he sees me enter the room, my gun raised, he freezes with big wide, bug eyes.
I recognize the target.
Greasy hair, thin lips. We called him Sneakers. Back in October, we caught him masturbating in his car outside this house.
He tries to lift up his blue jeans, dick dangling. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” He deserts the struggle with his jeans and charges for the window against the bed.
I’m faster.
Closing the distance, I seize his shoulder before his knee touches the mattress. I wrench him backwards, and I slam the butt of the gun against his head. Light force. The harder hit is my knee in his dick. And he crumples like a rag doll with a guttural noise.
Walrus and Carpenter dart under the bed.
He groans, still conscious but too disoriented to do much of anything. I squat down and roll him on his stomach.
Sick fuck. I fight back the heat that brews in my body and do my damn job. I should touch my mic and call this into the Alpha lead. Price is the one who’ll send backup.
But first instinct takes hold, and I pull out my phone. Unmuting my best friend, I tell him the target, and Akara asks, “Is he responsive?”
“Barely.” I sift through his pockets. Wallet, keys…condom. I go cold.
Thank God my brother didn’t see this. He would have committed murder.
Thank God Jane wasn’t here. She would have been scarred for fucking life.
I’ll carry this.
“Are you good?” Akara asks.
“Yeah. He’s down.” I explain everything else that happened and then end with, “Don’t tell my brother there was a break-in. Let me do it when he’s back.”
“That means I’ll have to keep it from Jane, Maximoff…everyone.”
“Please,” I breathe. My hand shakes a little, and I close my fingers into a fist, then open them to touch my mic. I think Farrow might have some cigarettes in his bedroom…
“I’ll let you do it,” Akara agrees. “Radio Price. I’m hanging up.”
“Stay frosty.” I pin Sneakers down with my knee and speak on comms. I’m hawk-eyed, eyes never leaving the target.
He had a restraining order and broke the thing like it was nothing. This shouldn’t be the price of fame, and now my brother—my family is under that spotlight.
Fuck anyone who thinks they can hurt the people I love.
Fuck them all.
39
THATCHER MORETTI
34 Days Snowed-In
We haven’t taken the ten-hour hike to the inn. But weather calms at dawn, and we thought this morning, again, we’d gear up for the trek.
Turns out, we don’t have to.
Roads are being plowed and salted. Which means after over a month in this house, we’re all finally leaving Scotland. Together. No chance in hell any of us are staying a second longer. We were supposed to be home December 20th.