“Keep the bat,” I tell Banks. “Don’t let your boss make you do something you don’t want to fucking do.”
Banks has a shadow of a grin.
Akara almost smiles. He ends up laughing. “I can’t believe this is fudging happening right now.”
Banks states plainly, “I’m not hopping into your fight, so you two work out that shit.” He casually braces the bat on his shoulder.
“Just stop for a second,” Akara holds up his hands, and before I barrel into him, I slow to a halt. Banks beside me. A mansion looms beside us, but the three-story white brick and column structure doesn’t belong to the Rochesters. “Just maybe, Sul, we don’t go in guns blazing like three cowboys.”
Banks says, “There’s no better way.”
“I agree with Banks. Cowboy-up, Kits.”
With two fingers threading through his black hair in exasperation, Akara exhales a knotted breath. “Fuck.”
I slug his shoulder.
He knew it was coming and barely reacts. After one second, he nods tightly. “Fine. Okay. I’m always going to have your backs. But let it be known that this is a bad call, and I’m only making it because I love you two way too much, apparently.”
“It’s known,” I nod. “Crystal fucking clear. If this turns to shit, you can blame me.”
Banks shakes his head. “That’s not how it goes, mermaid.”
Akara tells me, “I’m in charge. Screw ups are on me.”
I scrunch my face. “No, it’s not. We’re all equal in our triad.”
“This is a security issue. We’re not equals.” He demonstrates with his hands. “I am here.” He mimes a rung ladder, raising his hand high. “Banks is here.” He puts him in the middle. “You are here.” He puts me at the fucking bottom.
I’d be more insulted if this were a swimming issue and he ranked me last. They’re highly trained and skilled in security work. I’m not, and I can’t pretend that I’m the boss of a field that I know nothing about. That is insulting to them.
I’m going to feel like utter fucking shit if this plan goes haywire. But I’m not ready to say goodbye and cower. I know this is what’ll make me feel better in the end.
I nod in understanding. “Justice needs to be served.”
“Okay, Bat Girl,” Akara teases.
“I gave my bat to Banks, thank you very fucking much.”
“Actually, you gave it to me—”
Banks interjects, “Let’s go before you two give me a migraine.”
Even though he’s joking, that kicks us into action and ends our bickering. No way do I want Banks to encounter a migraine. He hasn’t had a severe one since the daith piercing and his doctor’s visit.
Walking forward, Akara returns to my side. I’m surprised when he slinks a muscular arm over my shoulder. He feels like armor.
Building me up for battle. Containing my smile through my anger proves impossible. I have two boyfriends ready to stoke the fire that blazes under my soles.
And I even appreciate Akara’s concern and caution. He cares enough to voice doubt. And loves us enough to stick with us.
We keep our stride.
Cold in February, I should be shivering under my fleece-lined jean jacket, but anger and adrenaline heat me inside-out. Akara already joked that I look straight out of Stranger Things with my jacket, striped tee, and bell-bottoms, and that I’m not the character Eleven. I can’t hurt Will with my mind.
I fucking wish.
It’d save us a lot of time.
Passing two more houses, we finally reach a stone mansion. Sun shines on skeletal cherry blossom trees that landscape the massive home. The lawn rolls forever, and a long and twisty driveway leads to the curb and an ornate stone mailbox.
My pace slows considerably.
What in the ever-loving…fuck? A black Escalade is parked next to the mailbox.
No, no, no. My pulse beats oddly. Frantically. The SUV is the same model and make as some vehicles in security firms.
“Did the Rochesters hire security?” I ask.
A worse thought: they hired Triple Shield.
My stomach sours. Why would Price Kepler, my mom’s bodyguard since her early twenties, do something as heinous as working for the clear enemy?
I don’t believe he would.
Price might be a stick-in-the-mud, but he’s protected my family for most of his life. He wouldn’t betray us.
Banks chews down on a toothpick. “I don’t know.” He lowers the bat and strengthens his grip on the handle.
Akara is drilling a hole into the Escalade, and then the SUV doors swing open.
I hold my breath.
I recognize the driver. Slicked-back golden hair, short dark-blond beard, and a broad, brawny build. Aunt Lily and Aunt Willow used to have hot takes on Wylie being a forty-something Thor lookalike or a Viking on the History Channel.
It ended with Uncle Lo calling him Walmart Thor. Wylie Jones is my dad’s 24/7 bodyguard. He’s protected him for what feels like forever.
And maybe my aunts are right. Wylie has always appeared as threatening and commanding as a lightning wielding god.