Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

I’m head-deep, un-fucking-believably in love with this girl, and I would do anything for her. What’s been gutting me is that I can sense her nerves. Jane is confident as all hell, but in the past week, sometimes she’ll drop her gaze from me. I can’t tell if it’s what her parents said about moving in together too fast or if her brothers have questioned her decisions and she’s doubting everything.

This kind of commitment isn’t easy for Jane. I know that, at least. She’s used to keeping men at arm’s length, emotionally. I think it’s partly why she’s only had friends-with-benefits.

Just sex.

No potential to fall in love, but she’s fallen in love with me.

I want to calm whatever fears she has about us. I want to be emotionally available to Jane in a way that I’ve never been before in a relationship.

But I just don’t know how.

There is no protocol for love. No orders passed down to me, and I’m walking through this blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back.

I stare hard at Banks. “I’m worried she feels like we moved in together too fast.”

“You were basically there every night when you were fake-dating,” he whispers. “It’s not that different now.”

I’m about to reply, but in the short beat, I zero in on the toothpick he chews. “How do you feel?”

He seesaws his hand. “Menzamenz.” Half and half. “I could use a cigarette like a prostitute could use a stiff dick.” He bites on the toothpick with a half-smile. “But you’re not gonna help me out.”

I nod strongly. He’s not wrong about that.

I’m not fueling my brother’s vice.

I tell him, “I never understood how you crave nicotine but I don’t.” In the military, we smoked about the same, but I quit easily coming home and I recreationally smoke a hell of a lot easier than him. He has one cigarette and he’s hungering for the entire fucking pack.

“Probably because you’re used to denying yourself life’s greatest pleasures.” He rests an elbow on the bar. “To make Dad happy, someone had to take most of the shit in our family, and you were good at it.” He winces in a thought. “He made you clean his Chrysler with a toothbrush, and all you said was, yes, sir.”

I must’ve been ten. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Banks cracks a quarter of a smile. “I’m pretty sure you liked living in hell and have no clue what heaven looks like.”

I instantly picture Jane at the mention of heaven. I’m trying to get there. I cross my arms. “Where do you think you’ll end up? Heaven or hell?”

He raises a shoulder in a stiff shrug. “I just know I want to be wherever you are.” He smacks my chest again. “And you’ll be chain-smoking in the afterlife with me.”

“Hell no.”

We smile, but it fades fast. My phone buzzes, and I take it out, expecting a text from Jane. Instead, I find a message from her brother.

Where are you? – Charlie

I reread the text with tightened eyes. Any text from Charlie to me is a thousand meters out of the ordinary.

Something’s not right. Carefully, I show the phone screen to Banks.

His brows furrow. “Haven’t the Cobalt brothers been icing you out?”

“Like a fucking arctic wind.” I text Charlie Cobalt my location, slip my phone in my back pocket, and tinker with my radio for better reception. Once her five brothers learned that I’m their sister’s real boyfriend, I thought they’d all have something to say to me.

Cobalts aren’t known to holster their opinions.

Instead, I got tumbleweeds.

Somehow that was worse.

My worry for Jane escalates, and the bar grows noisy as more people walk inside. Banks tries to flag down the busy bartender, and then he turns to me and asks, “What if your bad feeling about Jane is actually about Tony?”

Tony. His name rakes hot coals against my eardrums. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe Jane isn’t telling you how much of a douchebag he is during the day, which is why she hasn’t called you back. She’s trying not to cause conflict between you and him on the team.” He turns more to me. “She’s protecting your job.”

My deltoids pull taut, shoulders constricted. Jane isn’t really a peacemaker and terminator of conflict. She’s the co-pilot, the second-in-command, and she unites side by side with whoever the hell needs another pistol in the fight.

But I hesitate to say no to my brother because… “That’s something a wing-woman would do?”

Banks nods. “Fuck yeah.”

Goddammit.

Fuck Tony. “I need to talk to Jane.” I send her another text about meeting at the sports bar. “I don’t even know where she is.” Last we checked in, she was taking Ophelia and Licorice to get annual shots, but that was hours ago. Way before I got off-duty.

Banks glances at my radio. “Any intel over comms?”

I drop my voice another octave as more people pack around the wooden bar. Mounted televisions play football, drowning out our conversation. “Other than Eliot and Tom heading to Philly tonight, it’s been quiet on Epsilon’s line.”

It’d be easier if Tony Ramella were an Omega bodyguard. Akara, the Omega lead, would know where he is, and I could just ask him. But there’s a problem with that:

I fucked Akara over, and we’re not speaking. My fucking fault.

I thread my fingers through my brown hair. “There’s no chance SFE will tell me Tony’s AO if I ask.” Epsilon were my men, and very few respect me after I slept with a client.

I’m Farrow 2.0 in their eyes.

Banks touches his waistband for his radio, but it’s not there. He left it back in the car since he’s off-duty.

Once Xander was in for the night, I got off-duty too. Not long ago, I drove Xander home after a boxing session at Studio 9. The kid still wants to fight, even after his dad told him, “Not over my dead decaying body.”

Xander asked Farrow, Banks, and me to convince his parents to let him box again, and we agreed to be his advocates and to keep training him if he made a promise to stick to throwing punches in the ring. Or else, we’re out.

The only reason we’re not siding with his parents is because we all know how much boxing can help Xander feel empowered. Especially in situations where he feels helpless.

My brother leans back, realizing he has no radio on him.

“They wouldn’t have responded to you anyway, Banks.” My eyes sear, hating this part of being an identical twin. I slide a grave look to him. “My sins are your sins.”

He bites harder on the toothpick. “Not everyone is a knucklefuck who treats us like one person.”

“Not everyone is Akara,” I sling back since Akara is still speaking to my brother.

A rock lodges in my throat. I want to unburden Akara after the hole I sunk him in with the other leads, but I’m not in charge. I can’t help him anymore, and not being able to do anything of worth—that fucking suffocates.

I swallow hard.

Banks points to my radio. “Let’s just see. Pretend to be me and ask Epsilon for intel on comms. We practically have the same voice.” They won’t be able to tell the difference.

I nod once, and I click the mic at my collar. “Banks to Epsilon, anyone know Tony’s AO?” I ask for his area of operations.

Static crackles in my ear.

And then the Epsilon lead cuts in, “Not your business, Banks.”

I glare at the wall. Jon Sinclair shouldn’t be dismissing my brother that quickly. Banks protects Maximoff Hale often, and Maximoff is close to Jane. My brother should be able to ask about Jane’s new bodyguard.

“Fucking horseshit,” I mutter under my breath, switching a knob to Omega’s frequency. I tell my brother what happened.

Banks exhales his irritation out, pissed.

“Excuse me?”

Our heads turn as a middle-aged woman leans on a stool and taps the bar counter near me. Skin sags on her face, teeth yellowed. She reminds me of a n

eighbor we used to have who smoked three packs a day.

The sports bar is crammed with South Philly locals.

She gestures between me and Banks. “Are you two twins?”

“Yes, ma’am,” we say automatically.

Her face lights up. “And you spoke at the same time!” She laughs.

I try to remember this is routine. Before we even stepped through the doors, we were asked the same thing. Twice.

It’s aggravating me since I’m not in a great fucking mood. Banks ignores her completely and orders a beer. Leaving me to handle this interaction, which usually I don’t mind. It’s how we operate.

I lead.

He follows.

“How old are you two?” She places a hand on my forearm. “Do you do the same thing for work?”

Apologize. Move out. I start, “Sorry but we’re—”

“Mom,” a young girl cuts me off and whispers to the woman. We make eye contact, and quickly, she averts her gaze and blushes.

On any day, I’m intimidating, but I bet I’m glaring into every ring of hell right now. I rub my face, then drop my arm to my side.

Where are you, Jane?

I glance at the door that creaks open, an old man filing in and patting his buddies on the shoulders near a dirtied high-top table. I stay alert and keep track of movement in the bar. Habit. There aren’t famous ones here I need to protect.

Not yet.