Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

One chest X-ray later, results normal, and I’m now on observation for damage the smoke might’ve caused my lungs. Farrow said, “It’s extra precaution in case of delayed lung injury. I might order a second chest X-ray.”

I have to stay overnight.

You put her through hell, Thatcher.

I cross the room, IV wheels screeching as they roll. Patient drawstring pants ride low on my waist.

“You look distraught,” Jane says softly, an empty Styrofoam cup in hand. Banks just left to go buy more coffees from a machine down the hall. She’s the only one with me, and she’s still wearing my black crewneck that hangs past her thighs.

Reminding me that the fire incinerated her closet. And all of her belongings.

Gone.

I walk back towards her.

Jane stands poised in the middle of the room, like she didn’t just experience one of the worst nights of her life.

My fault.

My fucking fault.

I stop in front of her.

“Do you need more pain meds?” she asks.

My throat is scratched raw, hoarse from hacking up, and my shoulder stings—but that pain is pushed so far back in my mind. Boxed and packaged away.

I shake my head. “No.” I keep shaking my head, upset at what I’ve done. “You always say that you’re being unfair to me somehow, but tonight, I feel like…” I swallow a rock, my bloodshot eyes on fire and filling. “I feel like I threw you to the fucking wolves, and you deserved better.” I blink and tears track down my face, slipping off my jaw.

Jane quickly sets the cup on a tray table, and I watch her walk to the corner of the room. She drags over a stepstool and climbs up. A foot taller, she reaches my exact height.

I breathe stronger.

We’re eye for eye, and her small hands brush the wet lines off my face, before staying still on my jaw. “I’ve fallen madly in love with you.” Her powerful blue eyes flood with tears, and I hold her wet cheek while she says, “And the you that I know is all unwavering strength and resilience and South Philly grit—and every day, you risk your life for me and for other people who need your strength and resilience and grit.”

I almost shake my head again because I still feel like I let her down.

Gently, I place my hand on the top of her beating heart, and I stare deep into her tearful gaze. “You’re my duty. My heart, and you come first.”

“You think you put me second or third tonight?” She frowns. “You didn’t, Thatcher. I was safe.” She clutches my jaw stronger. “Your entire life is built on service to others. I don’t want different. I don’t need different. I need you exactly as you are, just as you’ve loved me as exactly as I am.”

It crashes against me. There are no words.

I wipe her face; she wipes mine.

And in this moment, I let go of the seven-ton guilt I was ready to bear. Our breaths come heavy, and then I just bring her lips to mine. Her fingers coil around my hair while I deepen the kiss. Sensual and slow, eking out emotion that strings me to her and her to me.

We break apart when SFO spills into my hospital room. They all ask how I’m doing, and I tell them, “I’m good.” Coffees are passed around.

Toothpick between his teeth, Banks comes closer, and we share a look that says, you’re my brother. I love you. It’s simple and silent.

We’ve never needed to say much for the other to understand.

Heaviness leaves, and as Banks passes, he yanks down my pants and spanks my bare ass. “Looking good, Cinderella.”

A shadow of a smile plays at my mouth.

Half the room laughs. Flush creeps on Jane’s neck, trying not to look at my dick, and after I raise my pants loosely on my waist, she smooths her lips together and braves a glance at my crotch.

Standing next to her, I whisper, “It’s yours.”

She heats. “Forever?”

“Forever,” I confirm.

Jane sips her coffee, smiling. “I like it up here.” She’s still on the stepstool, surveying SFO bodyguards and Maximoff as they gather around. “You and Banks have a nice view.”

My lip wants to lift.

Mood is light, but tense as the room quiets and everyone glances to each other.

We’ve experienced a lot of shit as a team and with our clients, but a fire that took down a whole house—that’s new terrain we just crossed together.

Akara steps into the middle. He snaps his fingers to his palm. “We have a lot to cover.” He’s including Jane and Maximoff in this impromptu security meeting. “First, I’m opening the floor for questions.”

I have one. “Any word on the cause of the fire?”

“Electrical?” Donnelly leans on the bathroom door.

“It’s an old house,” Oscar agrees, eating a mini-can of Pringles. “Kitchen appliance could’ve blown a fuse.”

Quinn slouches forward on a chair. “Why didn’t the fire alarm go off?”

Maximoff is rigid and stares hard at the ground, and everyone goes quiet. That question hit a nerve. I should’ve rechecked the alarm too.

We all lived there with people we love and take care of—but we can’t go back. Pushing forward is all we have. And I’m snapped to.

Farrow has an arm around his fiancé’s waist. “The batteries were fairly new.”

“Fire alarms malfunction sometimes,” Banks says with the lift of a shoulder. “It’s not that uncommon.”

“Oui.” Jane nods resolutely.

I narrow my eyes on Akara.

His brows are scrunched, looking concerned. “Police are opening an investigation, guys. They’re not ruling out arson.”

It tanks the room like dumbbells hitting the bottom of an ocean.

I scrape my hand over my unshaven jaw, tugging my fucking IV cords. I untangle them. “Any security footage?”

“Damaged.”

Jane frowns. “But it still could potentially be electrical?”

“Yeah,” Akara says. “That’s likely, but we won’t know for sure until the police report.” He looks around. “Any other questions?”

Oscar raises a hand. “Our favorite doctor over here”—he gestures to Farrow, who rolls his eyes—“told me Tony wants back on-duty tomorrow. Is that happening?”

I swallow a rough cough in the back of my throat. Truth is, I ran into Tony earlier. We were waiting for chest X-rays together.

I was quiet.

He was quiet, until he said, “Thanks.” Curt. To the fucking point, and I nodded in reply.

I didn’t need more. Could’ve been fine with less.

Before the fire, he only had three days left as Jane’s bodyguard. Did I know he wanted back tomorrow so he could finish out her detail?

Hell no.

I would’ve said something to him. Like fuck you.

My hand is clamped on my mouth. I’m motionless. Waiting for the gavel to drop.

“I talked to Alpha and Epsilon,” Akara says, voice tight. “And to put this lightly, the leads admire that Tony was willing to risk his life for a client’s pet.”

Half the room restrains groans, the other half are eye-rolling around the world.

I’m glaring.

“It’s not ideal,” Akara agrees.

Oscar swigs coffee. “We’re not wishing the guy seven months in the ICU. We just want to know if he’s coming back tomorrow.”

“If the doctors clear Tony, he’s allowed on-duty.”

Donnelly spins to Farrow. “You clearing him or what?”

His jaw muscle twitches. “If he’s medically fine to work, I have to, and to be honest, that’s probably happening tomorrow.”

Silence entombs the room. We’re breathing dead air.

It’s not just about me. Jane and I can survive three days with Tony. This is about the team, our careers and future. We’re meeting the end of a golden era in security.

We’re losing Akara as a lead.

We have zero power in the Tri-Force. Akara was all we had, and with Tony as a decision-m

aker, he can transfer us. He can fine us. Suspend us and fire us for minor infractions.

Akara cuts his gaze to everyone. “You have to obey Tony. You have to respect him. He’s your lead.”

No one says a word.

I shift my glare to the wall.

Following incompetent officers into combat, ones who make a platoon two klicks off and six hours late—I’ve been that infantryman grinding his teeth and shutting the fuck up. Then getting chewed out because that officer just got reamed by the Battalion Commander.

Done it.

And I’ll shut the fuck up again, but there are officers you meet who are good. Just flat-out fucking good—and the respect comes easy. No gnawing or clenched jaw or grumbled curses.

Akara was always a better leader than me.

He still is, and to lose him is to lose the best authority the team has ever seen.

Akara runs a hand through his black hair a few times, more nervous, and we watch him grab a motorcycle backpack he threw on a chair. He unzips and pulls out folded papers. Turning back to us, he says, “You do have a choice—and I’m telling you upfront, the grass isn’t greener.”

I’m confused.

Jane smiles into another sip of coffee.

She knows.