Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

Farrow stands off the car. “The others wanted to come too.”

“Her brothers?”

“No. They just wanted Maximoff to go.”

That’s how much the families trust him as their leader. Charlie probably didn’t see a purpose in going if Maximoff was there.

“I meant Oscar, Donnelly, Quinn…Akara,” Farrow tells me. “Omega.”

I freeze, hand on my mic cord, then surprise leaves me in a breeze. “For Jane,” I realize.

Farrow nods. “And you.”

It slams me back. Almost hard to believe. Hard to accept. “You’re bullshitting me.”

He laughs. “Fuck, I’d come up with better bullshit.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stick of gum. “Sulli was dying to go to, and the only reason they’re all not here is Tony.” He pops the gum in his mouth. “That dipshit was determined to rescue Jane. And most of us were concerned he’d walk into this.”

This.

He’s referring to me and Jane sleeping together. The twin switch could’ve been blown, and the consequences are heavy if Tony finds out and tells the Alpha lead. Banks could lose his job.

I could lose my job.

Tomorrow is December 20th and we’re flying back to Philly. I barely have a day left pretending to be Banks. I can’t fuck this up, especially this close to the end.

“So Akara told everyone to stay back and Tony listened?”

“Basically.” Farrow chews gum. “Tony was fine with Maximoff and me going.” He doesn’t add why Tony would be okay with just them, but I already know the reason.

Farrow is essential. A doctor. And Maximoff is resilient enough that most of the team believes he could protect himself and then some.

As the weather worsens, we wrap this up and get what we need. They brought two extra packs, and we stuff some groceries in them. It should be a six-hour hike back, but that’s not even what’s bearing on our minds.

We all look up at the angry sky.

“Do we think this’ll let up by tomorrow?” Maximoff asks.

Jane inhales, normally in preparation for a battle but none of us expected to face Mother Nature over and over again. “God, I hope so.”

27

JANE COBALT

“What do you mean we can’t leave?” Beckett stops at the bottom step of the wooden staircase. Luggage is piled near the door of Mackintosh House, overloaded with backpacks, suitcases, and duffels. Our flight leaves tonight, but we’re supposed to make the long car ride to the airport this afternoon.

Delayed is a kind word for what’s happening here.

And unfortunately, Beckett—of all people—has risen early enough that he’s stepped into an informal meeting about the situation.

My palms warm around a mug of steaming coffee, and I stand uneasily in the foyer where wet jackets hang on a coat rack and frost resembles spider-web cracks on the door’s windowpanes. I’m the only female at this tense gathering, and Maximoff is the only family member of mine. Until Beckett arrives.

The other six men here are Security Force Omega: Thatcher, Akara, Farrow, Oscar, Donnelly, and Quinn.

And I wish I had better news for Beckett. He already has on a blue snow coat, Ray Bans on his head, and a duffel bag strapped across his chest.

Beckett gestures to the door, his arm gliding with more poise than hostility—even his voice is even-tempered. “The exit is right there.”

I step forward. He’s my brother after all, and I put him in this mess. “We’re snowbound, Beckett.” I explain how temperatures have fallen to the negatives, and snow and ice dominate the remote village with no reprieve just yet.

His face contorts like he can’t believe what I’m saying.

Seeing my naturally calm brother look so pained drives a wedge in my ribs.

“Wait, wait.” He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them. “But we can leave in a few hours?” His chest rises and falls harder.

I open my mouth, but I struggle to say the truth that we both know exists.

Thankfully, the Omega lead steps in. “You can physically leave,” Akara explains, “but you won’t make it far. Every car is packed beneath snow.”

“We can shovel them out,” Beckett says like this is just another thick snowfall in Philly. He looks to Moffy. “You’ve shoveled out two-feet of snow before. This is easy for you, and I’ll help.”

SFO goes more rigid.

Maximoff cracks a knuckle. “It’s not just the cars, Beck.”

“Roads aren’t plowed,” I tell my brother.

Akara nods. “We have no way to reach the airport, and even if we do, the planes are probably grounded.”

“Probably.” Beckett blinks a terrible ton. “So no one knows for sure?”

I step closer, only a couple feet from him. “The phone lines are down. No one has service, not even to check the internet. But before we lost cable, Akara saw local news. They’re calling this a big freeze, and they suggest residents and winter visitors wait out the cold front and ration provisions.”

As soon as I say the word “ration,” his entire face falls. Beckett steeples his fingers on the bridge of his nose and the corners of his tightened eyes.

I wince just seeing him wince. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe softly. “But we’ll make the best out of this…” I trail off as he shakes his head once.

Silently and kindly telling me to shut up.

I do.

Akara pushes his hair back, and the black strands fall back forward. “Look, I don’t want to be the bad guy here, but no one can leave the house until the roads clear. It’s just too dangerous.”

Beckett drops his fingers and his pain is on me. “You told me one week.”

I take a tight breath, the heat of eight pairs of eyes bearing down on me. Most of them are consoling, the only ones that pierce and shred are my brother’s.

Suddenly, Thatcher comes up to my side, and I stare up at him like my archangel has swooped in to defend me. “Respectfully, Jane didn’t know we would be snowed-in.”

Beckett pinches his eyes, as though that’ll change our fate. “She knew there could be a chance.”

“A slim possibility,” I say quietly. “If we could foresee the future, we wouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Bullshit,” Beckett says smoothly and takes his duffel off his shoulder. “I’d still be here, sis. I have a hard time believing you wouldn’t love a week to turn into two weeks, three weeks—however long you think it’ll take for me to kick a problem that I don’t have.”

Thatcher almost touches me. His fingers lightly brush against mine, and I ache for his comfort. A hand in my hand.

He can’t.

Not while he’s pretending to be Banks. Tony or O’Malley could walk in, and the thought of the twin switch extending beyond the one-week plan…is harrowing.

My body ices over. I want to tell my brother, I wouldn’t love a week to be longer, but possibly, he’s right. Of course I’m glad he won’t touch cocaine for another day.

&n

bsp; “Janie isn’t the only one that dragged you here,” Maximoff says as he comes closer. “Don’t just blame her for that.”

Beckett rubs a hand down his face. “Trust me, I’m not feeling that kind towards you either. She’s just in my line of sight.” He shakes his head, upset. Frustrated. Rightfully angry. “I’m leaving in three hours.”

I wince. “Beckett, you can’t. We’ve just discussed this. The roads—”

“I don’t care.” He massages his tensed hands. “I’m leaving.”

“Don’t freak. We’ll figure this out, man,” Donnelly says consolingly while seated on a hard-shell suitcase.

Beckett glances at his ex-bodyguard, then cuts his yellow-green eyes to the scuffed floorboards. Their exchange only seems to flood more grief into my brother. He straps his duffel back to his chest. “Three hours, and I’m gone.”

“How do you plan on going home?” Oscar wonders. “This isn’t Oz. You can’t click your heels.”

“Helicopter,” Beckett says tightly.

I gape. “That is outlandish.” I’d expect that more from Charlie, but Beckett’s desperation starts to cling to the air like fog.

His joints lock up. “You don’t understand. None of you understand. Your jobs are here right now while mine is in another country. I can’t miss any more performances.” He blinks rapidly, on the verge of tears, and he keeps smearing a hand over his face. “My career is going to go to shit.”

I inhale an agonizing breath, practically sucking in glass shards. I did this. I fucked up his life. “I’m sorry.”

Maximoff gestures to my brother. “When we go home, we’ll do what we can so you won’t lose out on anything.”

I nod. “We’ll make this right.”

“I don’t want you two to pull strings.” He takes his Ray Bans off his wavy brown hair. “I earned my spot in the company, and the only way for me to keep it is if I’m there. So I’m leaving.” He glances at the grandfather clock near the staircase. “Three hours from now.”

Dear God. He’s still stuck to that. “Did you just pick an arbitrary time frame?” I ask. “Why not seven or eight hours from now?”

“Because I think it’ll take about three hours for a helicopter to arrive.”