Damaged Like Us (Like Us 1)

“Private from the security team,” Farrow clarifies, maybe lying on the fly. “It’s a girl his parents wouldn’t approve of.”

Thatcher looks to me.

I nod once. Still pissed. I want the whole security team out of my bedroom. Now. Even my fake bedroom with a fake girl that I’m fake-fucking and who’s fake-biting me.

“Maximoff,” Thatcher says, “if she sues you, you’re in for a nightmare. Whoever this girl is, it’s much better to get her to sign an NDA. Your parents are understanding.”

“She won’t sue me. I trust her, and that’s all I have to say.” I’m done. “This conversation is over. If you have something else to ask me, go ahead. If it involves sex, don’t even speak.”

“That was it.” Thatcher stands and then stares down Farrow. “Anything happens to him. It’s on you.”

“Loud and clear,” Farrow says, not breaking their shared glare.

It’s not on Farrow. I’m responsible for my own actions. My own life. If I step into quicksand, I wouldn’t blame anyone but me.

25

FARROW KEENE

I FINISH BANDAGING MY ARMS, and Maximoff goes to check on Jane and make a few family calls upstairs. We can’t speak, not with security everywhere. For a full hour, I rehash tonight’s events to the Tri-Force in numb detail.

Then, they let me go.

Find Maximoff. It’s all I’ve wanted to do. Find Maximoff. Find him.

Be with him.

I head to the staircase. Passing three Alpha bodyguards, they pat my shoulder and tell me, “Good job.” Another says, “Quick hands.”

They congratulate me because the guy I pinned to the cement had a handgun on him. I had to disarm him, and most of SFA believes the two guys could’ve easily made a U-turn to Maximoff and Jane’s townhouse if they weren’t caught.

I ascend the narrow staircase, my head whirling. And not because of booze. Nothing could’ve sobered me faster than tonight’s misadventure.

I reach the second floor, the bathroom door cracked. Maximoff has a hand on the sink, his phone to his ear.

“I love you too…I know, Mom.”

I lean on the doorway while he finishes his call, and his forest-greens melt against mine. His bottom lip is split. His cheekbone starts to bruise, and beneath his eye, a reddish, purple tint forms. Almost like he was punched.

My stomach twists in brutal knots, and a rock wedges in my throat. I separated the bodyguard part of myself for one moment, and it hit me full-force tonight. That I’m seriously falling for someone whose life is threatened daily. Unconscionably. More than an actor. More than most celebrities.

He’s American royalty. Fame from birth.

A type of notoriety that incites hatred and disbelief. Where people shout, why are they famous?! Where people decree, undeserving!

Where pranks leave scars and threats verge on crimes and the cost could be lives.

And I care about him. Shit, I care whether he’s hurt or in pain or if he needs me. Unfavorable opinion time: I wish he would’ve let the cats die.

And then I don’t. Because he wouldn’t be Maximoff Hale if he didn’t run after the little bastards. He wouldn’t be Maximoff Hale if he didn’t care about Jane and his entire family.

He wouldn’t be the guy I can’t stop staring at. Can’t stop thinking about. He’d be someone else. Someone that I would’ve never even thought to kiss.

“I promise,” he says into his phone. “Night.” He hangs up, and I slip into the bathroom. I shut and lock the door behind me.

Our eyes never detach. And our arms immediately wrap around each other. I hug him to my chest as much as he hugs me. I cup the back of his head with my hand, his palm warms my neck, and his pulse pounds against my body.

He inhales, his carriage rising. My eyes burn, but I try to breathe, deep and strong.

Two minutes must pass before we lean back. Only just slightly. I hold his sharp jaw. We kiss gently, and then we pull further back. Studying one another for a brief moment.

His eyes are bloodshot.

I wonder what it must be like to be in his head. Paranoid, I’m guessing. Thoughts moving a mile a minute. Not slowing.

For anything.

“Are you okay?” I ask him finally.

He nods once. “Are you? Because I thought something seriously fucking terrible happened to you. No one could get ahold of you, and I saw Quinn and…” He swallows hard.

“I’m okay.” My brows knot. “You know what I did tonight is just part of my job?”

He licks his lips slowly. “So you don’t want me to care about you—”

“No.” I lower my voice. “You just need to know that I’m going to get banged up and you can’t run and save me, wolf scout. You have to let it happen.”

Maximoff daggers a glare to the ceiling, then the mirror. It finally sinks in for him too. That I’m allowed to protect him, but he can’t protect me. Not in the same exact way.

“We can’t all be heroes,” I say matter-of-factly.

His glare falls to me, but his lips inch bit by bit, our arms still hooked tight around each other. “If I’m not the hero, what am I?” Maximoff is waiting for me to call him a villain. In his comic books, that’s the dichotomy. Heroes versus villains.

He’s very far from one.

I press my lips to his jaw, his neck, and against his ear, I whisper, “You’re a prince who wants to be a knight.”

26

FARROW KEENE

MAXIMOFF SWIMS like a bird cutting through air, graceful and effortless. Made to fly.

In a matter of seconds, he crosses the whole length of the indoor pool.

I lounge on the edge of the diving board, one leg hanging off, my other foot on the board. Water rolls off my chest, black swim shorts wet, and even though we’re alone, I’d still be hooked on Maximoff if the pool were jam-packed.

I have a perfect view when he switches to the butterfly stroke. Returning to my side of the pool, his grace transforms into power. His strong arms extend and then dig deep into the water, pulling half his chest and head above the surface.

Damn. My cock stirs.

Maximoff is known for his great butterfly technique. He started swimming really young, competed at junior levels first, then older with regional and national competitions. Security gossips often about how he could’ve qualified for an Olympic trial. But he didn’t do it.

Didn’t even try.

He chose to throw himself into his career. Into charity work. Every time he swims, I’m just reminded of how big his heart is.

Maximoff reaches my end, and instead of swimming another lap, he grabs onto the side of the diving board and does a pull-up with one arm. He yanks off his goggles and his cap, brown hair sticking up every which way.

It’s cute as fuck.

“You ready for a round five?” he asks, his chest rising and falling heavily like he ran a marathon. We’ve already raced four times. Yeah, I lost all four. No, my ego doesn’t bruise that easily.

My mouth stretches. “How about you catch your breath first?”

“Afraid of losing.” He smiles like he bested me.

“No,” I say. “I’m afraid I’m a bad influence. Hubris isn’t a good look on you.” I also add, “And I’m still taller. Right now and ev

ery day.”

“By one damn inch.” He tries to hoist himself up higher—just to make a point, but I push his chest. Hard enough that he falls back into the water.

I can’t stop laughing when he breaches the surface with two middle fingers. Then he captures my dangling ankle and yanks me into the pool. Shit.

I dunk below, the water glowing blue in the darkly lit room. I breach the surface with a growing smile. Maximoff treads water, facing me. His wet hair is darker, almost closer to his natural color.

We don’t touch yet.

My gaze pings to the security cameras. We’re at the Hale Co. high-rise, the offices closed for the night. He’s the son of the CEO, so he has his share of perks. Like getting access to the indoor pool after-hours. It helps that H.M.C. Philanthropies’ main offices are in this building.

Maximoff rarely pulls strings for himself, but whenever I see the look on his face when he dives into the water, it makes complete sense why he chooses to open the pool.

I swim to the corner of the ten-foot deep-end. The only blind-spot. I’ve been in Hale Co.’s security room and looked at the cam footage. I’m 100% positive.

Maximoff follows.

The second we reach the corner, we explode—his mouth crushes against my mouth, rough and strong like he saved energy for this sweltering moment. Submerged in the pool, water droplets bead and drip down our temples and jaws. Wet but hot—so fucking hot.

His rock-hard body screams closer and more. Bucking against me—damn.

Damn. This guy could fuck me all day. I grip the tiled edge and use my build to pin Maximoff to the corner. His head tilts back, arousal trying to turn his eyes. He groans with a sharp breath, “Fuck.”

I whisper rough in his ear, “Did you like that?” He responds with a hard kiss, his skilled tongue parting my lips. I massage his cock above his red knee-length Speedo, his erection growing beneath my palm.

Fuck, I’m throbbing. Beneath the water, lit by a soft blue pool light, he clasps my muscular waist—and he flips us. Pinning my shoulders to the corner.

His chiseled build pushes up against mine, and my hand roams the carved ridges of his abs.