Tangled Like Us (Like Us 4)

“I’m so sorry,” Jane says quickly, her face torn in a wince while she unzips her purse and grabs her phone. “I want to say this will only take a minute, but if it’s my family, we’ll need to leave.”

I think she’s forgetting I’m her bodyguard and that I’ve been around her for almost a year, a part of her daily routine. Nine times out of ten, her phone calls lead her in a new direction.

Always family.

Her big blue eyes lift up to me.

“I want you to take as long as you need,” I tell her, not breaking our gazes. “I’ll still be here beside you at the end of everything.”

She breathes deeper and nods repeatedly, then reads the Caller ID. “It’s Charlie.”

Her twenty-one-year-old brother is hard to pin down. Literally and everything else in between. Hell, I spent months on a tour bus with the kid, and I can’t say I fully understand him. I just assume he prefers being at arm’s length.

Which makes protecting him a clusterfucking shit show. He’s gone through the most 24/7 bodyguards of any client. It used to be a running issue on the team. Who can last on Charlie Cobalt’s detail for more than two weeks?

Almost no one. We had brand new hires quit after being paired with Charlie, and then finally, we found his perfect match. Oscar Oliveira is the only bodyguard able to keep up with him.

Jane puts the call on speaker. “Charlie?”

“How far from New York are you?” His voice is smooth, but I hear some frustration.

“I’m a couple hours without traffic.” She lifts the speaker to her lips. “What do you need?”

He speaks in French, and then hangs up.

Jane growls a little at the phone. “Charlie.”

Oscar isn’t speaking on comms. I switch frequencies to Epsilon. But no one is talking about Charlie or any of Jane’s brothers in Hell’s Kitchen. “How serious is it?” I ask Jane.

“I’ve no idea.” She slips her phone in her purse, quickly plucking a deep, red lacy dress off the rack. A sticker on the fabric reads: Gothic Queen of Hearts.

By her urgency alone, I can tell we’re moving out. I touch my mic, about to radio in the location change, but I home in on Jane, checking to see if she’s okay.

She speaks faster. “Charlie has never been forthcoming with me, even before his feud with Moffy. He’s always been closest to Beckett, which I respect entirely.”

I nod. Beckett is Charlie’s fraternal twin, and Jane can empathize with that close relationship better than most people. I think because she has a strong bond with Maximoff—a bond that always reminds me of what I have with Banks.

They’ve even dealt with the “incest” horseshit that we used to get all the fucking time in high school. Guys we barely knew would joke about us jerking each other off or me giving my brother a blowjob.

I’m not sensitive. You can earn the right to rib me like that and I won’t bat an eye. Infantrymen did, bodyguards still do. But if I don’t know you and you tell me to go suck off my brother, then you’re just an asshole trying to piss me off.

And don’t be surprised if I deck you.

Before I agreed to the fake dating op, I asked Banks if he’d be okay with “incest” shit exploding on a larger public scale.

Everything I do reflects on my brother. I’m never just thinking about myself. I’m constantly thinking about how my actions will affect him.

We’re identical. People see one person. An entity. The twins. Growing up like that, we lose out on a lot. I wasn’t an I. I was a we from birth, and I know who I am. I can differentiate myself from my brother.

The fight is having other people see me. And not just us .

To be treated more like a singular human being in the eyes of my peers, all I had to do was not be around my twin brother.

Seems easy.

Except that’s the one person who I loved most growing up—so it’s not that easy after all. A kid shouldn’t have to make that fucking choice. To have people see you as a person or to be friends with your twin.

Letting go of what people think—it made us stronger. We have thick skin, and we can handle every kind of fucked situation. We’re bred for days that are like ten-pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.

Still, I needed to confirm with Banks about the fake dating op.

He smacked my chest with the back of his hand. “Semper Gumby, man. I’m ready for it all.”

In the costume shop, I stare down at Jane, my hand still on my mic. “Charlie didn’t tell you anything then?”

“Just that he wants me to come over to his apartment—and he said there’s an issue, but he wouldn’t tell me what.” She adjusts her purse. “He always says I’m smarter than most and can solve mysteries with less. But he’s also aware that I really do prefer knowing who’s in trouble. Charlie withholding this is…” She sighs. “…not very pleasant.”

“We’ll figure it out without him.” I trust that my men are keeping their eyes peeled. I click my mic. “Thatcher to security, is there any word on issues in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Jane is looking at me breathlessly, like I just fucked her for three hours straight. We’ve done that. I’ve been sneaking in and out of her room every night like we’re in college and she’s in a dorm with a 3 a.m. curfew.

Blood wants to pump through veins in my dick, but I stay ice-cold. Frosty. When I’m working, I’m thinking about protecting Jane.

When I’m not working, I’m thinking about having sex with Jane.

I listen to comms in my ear, bodyguards responding, and Jane and I already start heading to the checkout. I wrap an arm around her waist and hold the Queen of Hearts costume for her. She’s busy texting and walking.

I click my mic. “Copy that. Jane is Oscar Mike in ten. We’ll be at your AO in a couple hours.” I glance down at Jane. “It’s probably Eliot. His bodyguard said he’s been day drinking and then bought a handle of bourbon. He’s safe back at the apartment. But he was stumbling in.”

She exhales, about to speak, but our heads swerve to Farrow and Maximoff who move to the checkout with matched urgency.

We all meet at the wooden counter. Where a college-aged girl with bright pink hair smacks gum and taps the keyboard to a computer. She’s already signed an NDA. So Jane and Maximoff talk freely, catching up one another.

Farrow and I hang back, eyeing the gathering paparazzi outside. But I notice how Farrow puts in his earpiece and switches on his radio. He raises his brows at me. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

Yeah, we’re still feeling things out. “You turned on your radio.”

He tucks his black V-neck into the waistband of his black pants. “Don’t get excited. I didn’t do it for you.”

I skip over that. “Did med call you?”

“No.”

I nod. Good. It means no one is hurt.

“I can’t go with you, Janie,” Maximoff says, his body rigid and on guard. “I just got a call from Kinney. She was trying not to cry.”

My chest tightens. I ca

re about everyone in these families. Deeply. Kinney Hale is a girl I saw grow up for years, and now she’s thirteen. I was with the Hale family day-in, day-out. Along with Farrow, who was protecting their mom.

As weird as that fucking sounds, we worked together. He may’ve been on Alpha while I was on Epsilon back then, but we still went on all the same Hale family trips.

“Oh no,” Jane whispers. “What happened?”

I splay the costume over the counter. Farrow grabs the ones that Maximoff is buying while we check out for them.

I listen in.

Maximoff pockets his phone. “Her new girlfriend Holly is apparently moving to Nebraska next week, and she just found out.”

Jane presses her knuckles to her lips. “Not again.”

Maximoff nods tensely. We all know about Kinney’s first girlfriend Viv, who moved to LA to be on some tween show so they broke-up.

“Go be with your sister,” Jane says. “I’ll take care of the debacle with my brothers.”

I catch comms chatter in my ear while we pay for the costumes. “Thatcher, Farrow—we’ve got a problem outside.” Temp guards are speaking. “Someone slashed the tires of the Beetle and Audi.”

They should’ve been watching our clients’ vehicles. But I’m not ripping into them. That’s for the leads to do.

I make the next decision fast, and I speak into my mic. “Call a tow truck. Your job now is to babysit their cars at the repair shop. We’re going to take security’s Range Rovers.”

“Roger.”

Maximoff and Jane heard my end of the line.

“Some fucker slashed tires on both cars,” Farrow informs them.

Maximoff crosses his arms. “Typical.”

Jane nods. “Will we manage without extra security to block paparazzi? Or will we need to wait for more?”

“We should be fine,” I tell her. “I’ll drive to New York.” I know she prefers not to drive security’s vehicles.

Farrow turns to his fiancé. “You going to let me behind the wheel, wolf scout?”

“Maybe,” Maximoff says firmly.