Kinney rocks on her heels. “Satisfied?”
“No,” I say firmly. “You’re going back to the house.”
Her mouth drops, aghast. “The bouncer let me in, but my own brother won’t let me stay. Do you know how rude that is?”
Charlie looks her up and down. “You were five-seconds from crying before I found you.”
Kinney’s head whips to me. “I was not.”
“You’re a bad liar,” he says pointedly. “Don’t say it so desperately next time.”
“Don’t coach her on how to lie, man.” I have to fix this. She’s my responsibility, and if anything happens to her tonight…
Charlie pinches the cigarette, inches from his lips. “It’s not like anyone listens to me. Have you seen Audrey lately? She’s a mess.”
Kinney glares at him. “You know what we call you.”
“Kinney,” I warn.
Charlie mock smiles at my sister. “Something annoying, I presume.”
“Audrey, Vada, Nona, and me—we all call you The Wretch.”
He curtsies.
I’m about to make a decision on the Kinney situation when Farrow and Oscar finally push through and reach us.
25
FARROW KEENE
Maximoff is laser-focused on his little sister. We’ve trekked over to the lantern-lit back corner with wicker furniture. Temp security has created a manmade perimeter, not allowing any strangers through.
Famous ones and bodyguards only.
Basically, it’s a makeshift VIP area, the best we could do in a dive bar. While Kinney is squished between Xander and Luna on the wicker couch, their older stoic, unbending brother watches like he’s their personal bodyguard.
In actuality, I’m his, so I’m standing right next to Maximoff.
“She’s fourteen,” he says under his breath to me.
My lip rises, and I finish off a cup of lukewarm tap water. “You’ve said that seven times already. One more and it won’t be any less true.”
He lets out an irritated noise.
My smile stretches. I pass the cup to my left hand, and I knead his taut traps with my right. He’s tense as fuck, and honestly, I understand why Maximoff isn’t jumping for joy seeing Kinney tonight.
The media has largely dehumanized the famous ones, and they’re easy targets for late-night sloppy dares and pranks.
None of us on security vetted the hundred-plus strangers sipping piña coladas and throwing back Fireball shots at the bar. This isn’t a private event. And as the time ticks past midnight, these random fuckers are turning into drunk fuckers.
Drunk fuckers do stupid shit.
Some prick already tried to pants Eliot Cobalt on the dance floor. He’s unaware since his bodyguard intervened, and I only heard about the incident on comms. Not from Omega, but from SFE.
We all agreed to switch to the same radio frequency while we’re at the same location. The families interact, so all of us on every Force—Alpha, Epsilon, and Omega—still have to work together. It doesn’t matter that we work for different firms.
I’ve even heard from security gossip that Price Kepler isn’t salty about Akara jumping ship and building his own boat. If the rumors are to be believed, Price is viewing the whole situation with the glass half-full. See, Akara’s new company is filled with “liabilities” as someone on Epsilon so delicately put it. Fuckers who got too close to their clients (me and Thatcher) or fuckers who became slightly famous from a Hot Santa Video (almost all of us). In one swoop, Akara cut out the liabilities from Price’s Triple Shield Services.
Even the parents that have been close with Price for two decades—like Ryke Meadows and Daisy Calloway—are trying to be amicable to Akara and his new company. If you ask me, we’re in the “let’s play nice” stage of everything. Until someone screws up. And then I’m sure the lines will be drawn.
Right now, most of the guys on security (including me) are just looking at it like Omega has a different boss than Alpha/Epsilon, and we abide by marginally different rulebooks.
I much prefer Akara’s rules, even though that manual is still four-hundred pages too long.
Maximoff is unblinking. Something’s bothering him.
“You want Kinney to stay longer?” I wonder.
He swigs a lemonade. “I don’t know.” His eyes dart to me, briefly, then back to his sisters and brother. “I think Kinney is more likely to wander and ditch her bodyguard than Xander, and that’s making me…”
“Paranoid?”
He grimaces. “I was going to say, attentive.”
He’s definitely that, and I’d love to tell him to relax and ease him a bit more—it’s his bachelor party—but I have a strong feeling he’d just tell me to do the same.
I’m more or less back on-duty, unofficially.
What can I say? I crave to protect Maximoff Hale more than I crave tequila shots and a four-hour buzz.
He swallows more lemonade. “I thought the first time I’d take her to a club, she’d be eighteen. It’d be a gay bar. We’d have fun.”
He’s mourning this first.
I skim him in a quick sweep. Shit, I love how much he cares about his family. “You were dreaming, wolf scout. Because that girl was never going to wait until she was eighteen.” Nearly every time we see Kinney, she mentions nightclubs and gay bars.