Alphas Like Us (Like Us 3)

Not giving a fuck.

Typical. But his indifference doesn’t grate on me right now. Because I’m majorly confused.

“Who won me?” I ask Charlie, and I keep my arm around Farrow’s waist while his arm hangs over my shoulder.

Charlie steps closer so we’re in a huddle, no one overhearing, and he loosens his already loose bowtie. “Ace Steel.”

My brows knit. “Who?” I look to Farrow.

He stares hard at Charlie. “Never heard of him.”

Charlie runs his hand through his hair and pulls at the strands. Not anxiously. He does it when he’s bored, too, and it always makes his hair stick up in odd places—and Jesus, I don’t know why I’m fixating on this.

Yeah I do. Because I’ve been sold for two-million dollars. Because Ernest has invaded my wheelhouse, steering my ship towards someone with maybe-possibly-fucked-up intentions.

Charlie takes a pair of black sunglasses out of his pocket. Prolonging the answer, and he slips them on. It’s nighttime. We’re indoors. Cameras aren’t even flashing at us. There’s no sense in most of what he does, and sometimes I think that’s why he does it.

I let out an agitated breath. “Charlie—”

“Ace Steel is a porn star.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

My brows scrunch more. “You’re fucking with us,” I state.

Charlie shakes his head once. “Not this time. And I know what pornography companies do to our families, so I warned your boyfriend. He failed at winning you, and that’s not on me.”

Farrow rolls his eyes, but I’m super-glued to the fact that Farrow tried to win me and rescue me off that stage. I’d say I don’t need rescuing, but I’d be willing to let Farrow rescue me.

I just wouldn’t outright tell him that.

My chest rises in a deeper breath. I have no idea how he would’ve paid for me, but I guess it doesn’t matter since he lost me.

Metaphorically.

And a porn star literally won me. Awesome.

“You sure it’s a porn star?” I ask Charlie.

He gives me a look like I’m being senseless. “Of course I know. You can Google him if you don’t believe me.”

I get why I don’t recognize the name Ace Steel. I don’t watch porn, but Farrow does…or did—or maybe he still does. Stop thinking.

“Straight porn,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. That’s why the name didn’t ring a bell for him. Farrow only watches gay porn.

A straight porn actor just purchased me.

I tilt my head backwards and stare upwards.

Dear World, is this a joke? Sincerely, a wide-eyed, severely bewildered human.

I crack my stiff neck. “Let me conceptualize this,” I say to Charlie and motion to my head. “Ace Steel is a guy who only does straight porn with girls?”

Charlie overturns his champagne flute, the lip of the glass to the armrest. “Correct.”

This makes no sense.

Farrow is eyeing the center section of seats. I can’t tell what he thinks or how he feels about this.

I rake a hand through my thick hair. “Why would he want to buy me?”

Charlie arches a mocking brow. “He could want to do a scene with you.”

Huh? “A what?” I have no clue what scene means in this context.

Farrow peels his gaze off the audience, just to glance at me, the corners of his mouth rising.

My neck almost heats, his amused expression practically broadcasts that I’m now six years younger, six years less experienced, and he’s older, wiser.

Stronger.

I am younger, but he’s definitely not that much wiser. At least not in everything.

Farrow lifts his hand to hold the back of my head as he says, “A scene is just the term used for pornography shoots. Actors are paid per scene filmed, et cetera, and there could be multiple actors in one scene.” He barely pauses before asking Charlie, “Is that him?” Farrow points someone out in the center section, on the row nearest us.

“That’s him,” Charlie confirms.

I don’t stare long, my focus on Farrow. “I’m not interested in whatever this porn star has to offer. So if that’s why he bought me, he can save his money.” My tone is firm like this could be just an ordinary business deal.

You know, normal.

Weirdly, it kind of is.

Porn producers used to call me all the time, especially when I hit eighteen. And I get it. I’m the son of a sex addict. People are curious, and curiosity sells as much as sex. But I always had zero desire to upload me fucking anyone for you to see.

Now that I have a boyfriend, my desire has plummeted to negative-infinity, and my stomach is in fucking knots.

Farrow rubs a thumb against the back of my neck. “Loud and clear,” he tells me. “We’ll let him know.” He gestures for Ace Steel to come over, and the man who stands up looks like a Spartan warrior with gunmetal eyes, a quarterback build, and stubble along a hard jaw. He’s older than me, probably around Farrow’s age.

And he wears a tux like he has millions of dollars to spare.

My phone starts ringing.

Farrow looks at me, and I dig my hand in the pocket of my green jeans.

I clutch my phone and check the caller ID: Winona Meadows.

Sulli’s little sister.

“It’s Winona,” I tell Farrow, since Charlie has disappeared into an empty row ahead, slouching on top of a seat, sunglasses still on.

It’s family. I don’t want to ignore her, but there’s a porn star currently squeezing his way out of a row to meet me. And…I don’t want to leave him with Farrow. My boyfriend sees my confliction, and says, “Go,” he nods towards the door. “I can deal with this guy.”

I hesitate.

“Maximoff,” he urges. “Go.” Farrow sends me a single look that says, I’ll catch up with you later, wolf scout.

“I’ll be back,” I tell him and quickly put my phone to my ear. Walking up the aisle, I glance backward just to see Ace approach Farrow and extend a hand.

Farrow doesn’t shake it and instead starts talking, lips moving rapidly but casually. Always at ease during tornadic activity.

My lips lift, settled with this decision. But then Winona’s voice fills my ear in a mad rush, and I stop in the middle of the aisle. My smile falls, and I start mentally gathering battalions.

“Moffy, it’ll be past my curfew soon, so hey, let’s skip the whole you shouldn’t be here, Nona bit and tackle the important parts,” she says in one breath.

Before I can reply, she’s going on, “We need to talk to you. I think it might be bad, really bad. You don’t need to say anything yet. I’m about to text you all the details.” She hangs up.

So you know Winona Briar Meadows as the fourteen-year-old fearless animal lover with a spirit as wild as the Meadows family. You follow her Instagram account that’s littered with nature photography and rock climbing excursions. If she’s not advocating for animal rights with Ben Cobalt, then she’s hanging with her girl squad and keeping to herself. You beg her to post more selfies, and you criticize her when she doesn’t.

I know her as Nona, my cousin who could practically be my little sister. Who I used to carry on my shoulders through the Costa Rican forest while she snapped photos of every damn thing: the leaves, the dirt, the ants and the trees. She would bloody her hands, run off a cliff, and split open her heart for any living thing, and it’s terrifying.

Fair Warning: I will decapitate you with a rusted blade if you fuck with this one, and she’ll probably try to stop me.

My head is spinning on Nona’s words we shouldn’t be here and bad and the “we” in we need to talk to you. Who’s with her? Where are they? And what the fuck happened?

Near the double door entrance, I spot Jane.

She’s stuck chatting with the old woman who bought her. I flag down Janie, and she pries herself away from our grandmother’s friend. Strutting down the aisle, her banana purse

thwacks her hip.

I haven’t talked to my best friend all night, and she’s one of the people I’d want on my side during a shit storm.

I catch Jane’s hand. “Bonsoir, ma moitié,” I say, kissing her cheeks.

“It’s just you and me, old chap,” she replies. “And the older crew, security, and about two-thousand dreadfully stuffy socialites.”

Cameras flash as we greet one another, and her blue eyes dart to the left, but not for long. She pushes her wavy hair off her shoulder. “Now that you’re public with Farrow, one would think they’d care less about analyzing our friendship.”

“That’s too predictable, huh? I guess our friendship is just that good.”

She smiles brightly, but her lips downturn as my phone vibrates in my fist. “I know that look. Who’s in trouble?”

“Winona. We may need to leave early.” I slip next to Jane so she can skim the text with me. The message has a ton of random nature and animal emojis.

Ben drove us to the Philly Orchestra Hall. We ditched paparazzi, and we’re parked in this dead-end alley thing on the side. We’re waiting here for you. Please come to talk. It’s very very important. – Winona

“Their personal bodyguards are here for the event, aren’t they?” I ask Jane.

She ties her hair back, cheeks flushed hot. “They were given temp bodyguards tonight. It’s likely Ben and Nona ditched them, and it’s even more possible they’re here to protest the auction.”