He’s vigilant, always a skilled set of hands, and constantly on guard, even if he’s cracking jokes, smiling, or lounging on furniture like the world isn’t on fire when it’s actually up in fucking flames.
Walrus tries to paw his nose, and Farrow jerks back with a smile. “Not today, you little bastard.” He lets Walrus go, and the cat scampers into the kitchen.
I adjust my earpiece, and we’re suddenly facing one another. I nod to the empty milk jug on the mantel. What Walrus was interested in.
Farrow grabs the milk jug and then flicks a switch on his radio. “You haven’t railed on me for comms in a while.” He raises his brows. “Bored?”
He has no clue.
He wouldn’t.
Since I used to be the Epsilon lead, I know how the security team functions to the exact center. All the ins-and-outs. Every decision, every reasoning. I’m not in the dark.
The whole team is aware that Farrow selectively uses comms, so his lack of response is expected and not an issue among the leads.
Akara is only waiting for Quinn to reply.
Have I hated his lack of comms use in the past? Yeah. Things would’ve been easier if he just followed the fucking rules, but I accepted a long time ago that he was gonna do shit his own way.
Farrow gets away with it because he’s never made a real mistake.
Because he picks up slack. Without needing to be asked.
Because he’s so calm and reliable under fire, and that …just can’t be taught. When lives are at stake, not just these families but the safety of the team, we want the best bodyguards here.
And by we , I mean Akara Kitsuwon, me, and anyone else who’s been in charge.
I can’t say every new hire on the team sees the depth of Farrow’s value. Not when they’re slapped on the wrist or fired for the same moves he pulls.
I can’t say that my men on Epsilon have felt anything more than bitter fucking hostility. To the point where I had one man taking personal shots at Donnelly just to piss off Farrow.
Being a lead means making hard calls.
Years back during breakfast, Akara, Banks, and I had a talk about how to prevent in-fighting. Mainly, my guys antagonizing Farrow. Their jealousy was escalating. Something bad was going to happen.
I could see it.
I could hear it.
SFE and Farrow don’t get along to this day.
Over frying bacon, Akara told me, “You’ll need to dig into Farrow harder, so none of the guys think he’s getting special treatment.”
Akara knew that I’d already been trying to grill him.
I nodded. “You stay easy on Farrow. I’ve been a pain in his ass this long. You don’t need to lose his respect.”
Akara would’ve been willing to be the bad guy, but he’s better at balancing the friend and boss role than I am.
I still remember what my brother said that morning. With a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, Banks told us, “You two doing the good-cop, bad-cop routine, and it’s starting to make me look like the fucking cowboy.”
Epsilon cooled off once I chewed out Farrow for every minor infraction. Things that I wouldn’t even rag them about. I was on his case all the fucking time, and I even had to dock his pay during the FanCon whenever he broke the rules.
Akara and I were dealing with soured feelings in SFE because we voted to keep Farrow on the team.
After he had sex with a client.
Multiple times.
It’s ironic that I spent so long trying to control the situation, and I ended up being the one to lose my temper and punch him.
There’s no excuse for it.
I take full responsibility for my mistakes.
After that, I promised myself that I’d back off Farrow for good.
Now he’s facing me in a cluttered living room that smells like fresh flowers and spring—like Jane —and he’s wondering why I’m not hounding him for comms.
My gaze is as soft as it can be. “I don’t care how you do your job,” I say truthfully. “Just that you do it.”
He tips his head, running his tongue over his molars, and he skims me up and down, gauging my sincerity. “Honestly, at this point I couldn’t care less why you’ve been a raging asshole towards me as long as you’re not one anymore.”
I nod once. I wish I could put the past behind me as well as Farrow can. Maybe then my life wouldn’t consist of me pulling the pins off so many fucking grenades.
Farrow drops his voice to a low, rough whisper. “Just don’t coddle me. Don’t kiss my ass as penance. Don’t fuck with my fiancé or Jane, and we won’t have a problem.”
Easy. I nod again, and comms sound off in my ear.
“Quinn, do you need something from the grocery?” Akara repeats.
Oscar chimes in, “Speak up, little bro.”
The line hangs, waiting for a response. Farrow chucks the milk jug to Maximoff, who appears in the archway.
He catches it easily.
“Trash,” Farrow tells him.
Maximoff is giving us a weird look. It’s rare that we stand this fucking close while we’re off-duty.
Akara speaks in my ear. “Thatcher, is Quinn still asleep?”
I crossed paths with Quinn Oliveira in the kitchen. We were both eating breakfast, and I’m not someone who will cover his ass for the Omega lead. Akara needs to know.
I click my mic. “No.”
Akara enters the line with two curt words. “Not good.”
It means Quinn is silencing his radio. Ever since the twenty-one-year-old joined security, Akara has been concerned that Quinn is copying Farrow’s maverick style of guarding.
I am too.
He’s a lot younger than Farrow, and realistically, he’s more hotheaded.
I move back to the corkboard. Crossing my arms. Instinct says this is a Wall of Suitors. But that’d mean Jane is interested in her grandmother’s ploy.
And I’m positive she’s not.
“What is this?” I glance back at Farrow.
He rests an elbow casually on the mantel. “The worst idea of the month.”
“Counter argument,” Jane says.
Our heads turn as she appears and blows on a steaming mug.
She continues without missing a beat. “This month’s worst idea goes to my grandmother who pimped me out in an ad.”
My brows draw together, concerned about Jane. But also, I’m narrowing a glare into the fucking corkboard.
Farrow refutes, “Except sex was never mentioned in the ad.”
“Romantic pimping,” Jane clarifies, placing her hot mug on a cat-shaped coaster, and I watch her sidle
right…next to me.
I uncross my arms.
I don’t know why. Can’t touch her.
My nose flares, and I end up kneading my deltoid.
She places her hands on her hips and stares up at the photos. Like she’s mapped out her whole future and she’s reviewing the layout.
And then she sucks in a measured breath.
She’s stressed.
“What’s going on, Jane?” I ask for the details.
She’s quick to explain everything. I listen, breathing out coarser breaths further and further through. When she’s done talking, she tears a photo of an athlete off the wall. I recognize him as a fullback for the Eagles.
I was right.
I don’t fucking like this.
Maximoff stands nearby, cracking his knuckles. He seems on edge about the whole scenario, but the guy is always on edge.
Farrow leaves his spot on the loveseat to be beside his fiancé.
Jane passes me the photo and cranes her neck to meet my gaze. “He seems like the best so far.”
I haven’t even looked at the photo.
My steel gaze is on her. Don’t do this, Jane.
She searches my eyes and puts a few fingers to her cheek. “So…” She clears her throat and shakes her head, more to herself. “What do you think?”
This feels like that one time where I told Jane I’d help her find another guy to provide her “oral assistance”—when I was right there and she would’ve been willing. That was like running a 99-yard touchdown for the wrong team. Knowing I had to score for someone else.
Wanting to turn around every inch gained on the field.
Pretty much hell.
I swallow a jagged rock and drop my eyes to the photo. “I’ll need to vet him,” I remind her.
She nods. “I know.” Her voice is tighter than usual.
I’ve never had to vet a guy that she could potentially date or fuck or both. For the majority of my time on her detail, she’s been shut off to every intimate thing with men.
Fuck Nate, that fucking bastard.
Imagining Jane falling in love with other men punctures something hot in me and I need to think of brighter things before I pop a blood vessel.
Puppies.
Rainbows.