Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

As I look between them, it’s easy for me to say that Thatcher is my best friend. I’ve always been closer to him. We’ve been leads at the same time. Dealt with shit that Banks never had to, but when I think of Banks, I inhale a stronger breath and I can’t help but picture what we’ve been through recently.

Not just the intimate parts. The cougar attack. The way he’s been there. He’s always there. How much I’ve relied on him. And needed him.

I’ve known that I can’t live without Sulli.

But it’s starting to feel clearer and clearer how much I can’t live without Banks, and I hate the scenario where our friendship gets decimated.

It’s the most plausible outcome.

The most likely thing.

Because if she chooses Banks, I can’t stick around and watch him be with her. No more than I know he could stomach watching me with her.

Too painful.

Even thinking it draws down my face, and so I try to regroup.

Farrow has Ripley on his lap. Baby needs a bodyguard. I swallow those words. If I had more time, I’d definitely fling that issue into today’s meeting, but it’s not important right now. And I want this to be quick because we’ve all been drinking and it’s still Thatcher’s bachelor party.

“So here’s the deal,” I tell them, “as of now, you’ve probably heard about the incident at the Hales with Donnelly accidentally causing Ben to fall into the pool.” I’m guessing this is why Loren Hale wants to talk.

Donnelly hangs his head, his hands cupped together. Oscar squeezes his friend’s shoulder.

“We all need to be more careful around the minors,” I tell them. “Epsilon protects them, and the only client on our list that’s under-eighteen is Xander. So they feel a sense of entitlement to their well-being, and they’re going to feel threatened if we overstep or make any kind of mistake, even one with no potential harm.”

They listen closely, and I know they don’t like hearing me talk about playing nice with Epsilon. Trust me, I’d love to play dirty, but for the sake of the money I’m putting into Michael Moretti and training my temps, I have no wiggle room to go into legal battles with Price’s Triple Shield.

My men don’t need to be punching Epsilon. Let them take the first swing.

I add, “We win this by doing our jobs better than Epsilon. That’s how it’s going to be.” I focus on Donnelly. “You can’t get between family members. Do it in private, I don’t care. But don’t do it where anyone on Triple Shield can snitch on you.”

He sits up straighter. “Got it, boss.”

I nod and address everyone, “They’re going to try to make your lives harder with the parents. Don’t give them reason to.”

Oscar nods strongly.

Farrow nods.

Quinn, Banks, and Thatcher all nod.

“Papa!” Ripley says up to Farrow, which causes the men to reroute focus onto the baby.

Oscar grins. “Look at him, using his words.”

Ripley is wiggling out of Farrow’s hands, and then the group of men all let out groans.

Oscar plugs his nose. “The kid had an explosion.”

“No shit,” Farrow says, then playfully gasps at Ripley. “You need a changing, little man?” Ripley wears a silly smile and touches Farrow’s cheeks.

Farrow combs a hand through his bleach-white hair, before standing up and hoisting Ripley on his waist. He catches my gaze and motions to the door.

I nod to him, letting him dip out early.

I’m seconds from letting the others go back to the party when my phone rings. Loren Hale. I was just about to call him, but I tell everyone, “Meeting’s not over. Hold on.” I put the phone to my ear. “Akara Kitsuwon speaking.”

“Akara,” Loren says, his voice sounds like razor-knives. “I just found out something about one of your bodyguards that’s disturbed me.”

I freeze, looking up as my men watch Farrow leave through the doors. “Which bodyguard?”

“The one who’s already written on my shit list—and if my son didn’t like him so goddamn much, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

Donnelly. I glare at him on the steps.

He sinks down on the stair like I’ve just put him in time out.

“What’d he do?”

“He tattooed my daughter’s ass. When did this happen and where were they?”

Shit.

I know about the galaxy tattoo, but I don’t have all the details Lo’s asking for. I narrow my gaze even more and bring my phone down, muting the speaker so Lo can’t hear. “Donnelly, when and where did you tattoo Luna’s ass?”

Every head jerks in his direction.

“This summer.” Donnelly slips a cigarette behind his ear. “I did most of it in her bedroom.”

“What?” Thatcher glares.

“Bro,” Oscar groans more, “her bedroom?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Donnelly defends.

Banks slides me a furtive look. Yeah, I know that look—the one that says, who are we to judge? We’ve been dating Sulli. And her dad finding out she’s been with two bodyguards, not just one, could be catastrophic.