Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

Paparazzi and fans were yelling at the top of their lungs.

“OSCAR, CHARLIE, WE LOVE YOU! Oslie for life!!”

“DONNELLY, BECKETT—KISS, KISS, KISS!”

“LunaQuinn! LunaQuinn! LunaQuinn!”

“KITSULLI IS OTP!”

Each one is a completely fictional pairing, and thankfully Omega was able to ignore the chants and maintain their duties. Their steadfast nature is a saving grace. I just hope my siblings and cousins can withstand the rumors.

In the rear of the plane, I lower onto a cream, plush double-seat. Giving us enough privacy to speak alone.

Beckett is forced to sink down beside me. “Where’d you buy these?” He touches the handcuff. “A sex shop?”

“Yes,” I answer, unabashed. “The girl working there was very sweet too.” I might’ve also purchased a new vibrator, Thatcher in attendance with me, but I don’t need to mention this. Clearly, Jane.

Beckett leans back with a sigh. “They are softer than tactical ones.”

I smile. “Precisely.”

Charlie wanted to use metal handcuffs. He thought Beckett would enjoy the fuzzy ones too much, but I couldn’t bear to physically hurt him. We’re already puncturing his emotions enough as it is.

Beckett stares ahead in deeper thought, and my lips gradually fall to a line. He takes a tight breath before turning to me. “So you really believe I’ll run down the aisle past your six-foot-seven boyfriend and bum-rush the only exit that has more than three massive bodyguards climbing on board?”

“Yes.”

He gives me the umpteenth what the fuck face, brows scrunched tight. “Jane,” he whisper-hisses and yanks my wrist toward his chest. “I’m not a fucking addict.”

I want to believe him, so terribly. I want to.

“So maybe you wouldn’t bum-rush the exit.” My voice lowers. “Maybe I believe you in that instance. But the only reason you wouldn’t go for the door is because you’d be afraid one of those massive bodyguards could accidentally break your leg or your arm stopping you, and then you’d be out of ballet. Tell me I’m wrong about that.”

He doesn’t deny a thing. He just leans back, staring ahead again, away from me. And so softly, under his breath, he says, “I hate you, you know.”

My stomach sinks. He keeps unsheathing the same sword and plunging it straight in my gut. Knowing those words wreak an agonizing amount of damage on me.

Am I doing the right thing?

Maybe he doesn’t have a problem.

What if I’m keeping him from his career, his life’s goal for no reason at all? Ballet has been his sport, his art, his love and passion for over seventeen years.

He’s right—I don’t know what that’s like, not in the slightest.

I hate you, you know. His words ring hollow in my head. He hates me because I forced him here, handcuffed him to me, and he should, I suppose. I blink back emotion that tries to throttle its way to the surface.

I have to remember what Charlie said, “He’s going to be an asshole. A real dick. Don’t listen to him.”

Beckett and I rarely feud, and so I pictured a Charlie spat. Some flowery insults with added flair and then a cold-hearted bomb.

But I should have known better. Beckett has always been honest and pointed. But he’s still my little brother, even if he’s just two years younger. I have an obligation to protect him, and no matter how many blades I take, I’ll keep going.

I also have to remember—he’s a Cobalt. Beckett is cunning and smart, and he’ll use my emotions and love for him against me. Maybe he doesn’t really hate me. What’s more probable: he’s just trying to manipulate his way out of the handcuff.

Packing on my battle armor, I straighten up and channel a surge of confidence. I am a motherfucking lion. I am my mother’s daughter.

Even if I only have one-tenth of Rose Calloway Cobalt in me, that’s one-tenth of fire and brimstone that I can wield.

“You’ll thank me later,” I say.

“Keep telling yourself that.” He uses his cuffed hand to scratch his jaw, taking my hand with him. I don’t try to resist.

“I’ll uncuff us once the plane starts.” That was always the plan at least.

He looks straight ahead, not at me, while he speaks. “You mean, you’re not afraid I’ll find a parachute and jump out mid-air?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” I banter, trying to lighten the mood.

Beckett doesn’t acknowledge me or my poor attempt at a joke. I suppose a smile from him would be too much to ask.

My attention detours as a towering man strides down the narrow aisle. I skim him far too eagerly. Dog tags lie against his form-fitting white button-down, his brown hair tucked behind both ears, and a closer shave makes him appear a year or two younger.

He still has the commanding gait of a leader.

Still possesses grave sternness in his locked shoulders and tightened eyes.

Still resembles a brooding, handsome Thatcher Moretti. To me at least.

My smile rises, a rush of hope cascading over me. Helping subdue the pit in my stomach. Despite all my hang-ups and personal fears, I’m so very glad he’s here. I want him beside me.

More than anyone.

His stoic eyes stay on mine, which most likely display tangled affections and curiosities. Thatcher does a much better job of acting like I’m his brother’s girlfriend. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Banks,” I greet from my chair.

Beckett slips me a weird look. Most likely for pretending my boyfriend is his twin brother when Tony isn’t even around to fool at the moment.

But I’m practicing.

Practice is important, and Thatcher nearly smiles. I’d say we both enjoy being in cahoots again. It isn’t so bad this time because all the people we love are in on the secret.

“Jane,” Thatcher says strongly. He reaches the rear and holds out a water bottle to me, then another to Beckett.

“Merci.” I take the bottle gratefully and twist open the lid—Beckett shoots to a stance, forcing my hand with him.

Merde—the bottle tips backwards, spilling onto my breasts and soaking my zebra blouse. Thatcher has quick reflexes and rights the bottle before I’m completely doused, and I stand up and glance at Beckett.

A fraction of remorse flits in his eyes.

“That was quite unnecessary,” I tell him.

He frowns. “You’re the one who wants to be cuffed to me.”

“I don’t want to—”

“I have to take a piss.” Beckett interrupts me. His voice has changed, almost panicked. “Can you please…?” He extends his wrist.

Thatcher and I exchange a look, one full of apprehension. Something isn’t right. My brother hasn’t been this hostile since I spoke to him back in the apartment.

And then I notice the change: the door to the airplane. The flight crew has finally boarded, which means we only have about ten minutes before takeoff.

If Beckett were to make a move to leave, it’s now or never. Thatcher must see this too because he narrows a look on me and shakes his head. Silently telling me don’t do it.

I touch my brother’s arm. “We can go together.”

“No we can’t,” Beckett snaps. “I’m not peeing in front of my sister. Just uncuff me. I’ll be in and out in two minutes.” He looks to Thatcher. “Guard the door if that’ll make you both feel better.”

I want to trust him, but not at the cost of ruining all the progress we’ve made just to have him here. We’ve come this far, and I don’t want to lose my leverage in the end.

“Counter offer,” I say. “How about you wait to use the restroom until the plane takes off?”

Beckett stares me dead in the eyes, frustration creasing his forehead. “I have to go now, Jane.” He usually calls me sis. My name sounds like a thousand-pound brick on his tongue, weighted with anger.

“I won’t look. I’ll close my eyes,” I say quickly.

More bodies pile onto th

e plane than before, and since we’re both standing, people start to turn around in their plush leather seats and stare. The attention feels too hot for comfort, and it’s not so smart to draw an audience while Thatcher is supposed to be Banks.

He sticks a toothpick between his lips and surveys the area.

Beckett lets out an annoyed breath. “Just put the handcuff on Charlie. Problem solved.”

“I can’t,” I sigh out.

When we were devising this strategy, Charlie refused to be handcuffed to him. He said he couldn’t do it. That it’d be five minutes before he uncuffed his twin brother. Instead, Charlie looked at me and said, “It has to be you.”

He trusted me with this task, and I worry if I hand this off to Moffy, it’ll just fester some sort of resentment within Charlie. For once, there is another person, another option, another someone who has nerves of steel and who stands so close to my side.

I eye Thatcher.

His strong gaze returns to me.

For some reason, my heart is beating wildly, uncontrollably, and I can’t slow the pace. “Would you mind…” Breathe. I inhale. “…being handcuffed to Beckett for the next ten minutes?”

Thatcher is already nodding. “I’m good to go.”