The second leak slams me backwards. “Thatcher what?” I dig for my phone in my jacket. My pulse is racing. I need to call Jane and see if she’s okay. Fuck the bit about me.
Yeah, I ate a chocolate donut right before we left the penthouse. Akara and Banks saw me on the scale this morning and how much weight I’ve dropped in one week.
Being such a picky eater, I haven’t been eating enough. All the vegan alternatives to my favorite foods hardly compare to what I’m used to.
My boyfriends’ concern overpowered the sisterly happiness I feel whenever Winona illuminates at me being vegan. So I scarfed down something I knew I’d enjoy, and I ate the donut with guilt. Now my sister will know before I even have the chance to tell her. Which I hate.
But the bigger news, the bigger what the fuck, is the second leak.
Banks shakes his head roughly. “No, he couldn’t have. My brother wouldn’t. Jane is the world to him. And he’s been cheated on in the past—he knows what that’s like.”
“Call him,” Akara says, but as soon as we start dialing Jane and Thatcher, they text us.
Thatcher didn’t cheat. We made up a fake fight in the library to bait the mole. We both claimed to be cheating on each other, but the mole only ran with half the lie. The library must be bugged. All is fine. – Jane
“All is not fucking fine!” I shout at my phone. “Jane.” I groan out, wishing she didn’t do this. Their relationship is going to implode online.
Maybe they think they’re strong enough to handle the fallout.
Stronger than me.
I think you’re too weak for it. Charlie’s opinion from last month is haunting me. Like he’s my Ghost of One Month’s Past.
“My brother is a fuckin’…” Banks swears into a growl under his breath, typing a message to Thatcher fast.
Akara is on the phone with a surveillance team. The library is now off-limits until the all-clear. Everyone is leaving for the lake house tomorrow anyway, so I’m guessing there’ll be another big sweep of the whole penthouse.
Tightness hangs on my chest, and I lean over and grab the bottle of wine from the basket.
Jane will be fine.
She’s strong.
I’ll be fine.
I can be strong too.
I repeat the mantra as I untwist the cap and drink from the bottle.
43
BANKS MORETTI
“Mother of dragons,” I curse. My big toe throbs from the edge of a picnic table. A lot of obstacles lie from the graveled driveway to the lake house. Icy paths, tree stumps covered in snow, this fuckin’ picnic table, and a bunch of other bodies weaving in and out carrying luggage and groceries.
Two duffel bags hang from my shoulders, and I cradle the most precious thing in my hands. A custom birthday cake in the shape of Bilbo’s home in the Shire. Xander’s birthday might be five days away, but there aren’t any bakeries close to the lake house. Especially not ones that’d master this Lord of the Rings setting.
Don’t drop the cake.
It’s my one job.
The front door is too heavily trafficked, so I take the steps up the back deck slowly. I have the best view of the frozen lake, and off in the distance, smoke plumes from the chimney of security’s cabin. One that Triple Shield shares with Kitsuwon Securities.
I stop for a second, letting this moment settle in.
Being here with Sulli’s family for the holidays is new. It’s different. Don’t know if I need someone to pinch me to make it feel more real. But I’m not sure it feels wrong. Anywhere Sulli goes, feels right to be alongside her. Not just because I’m her bodyguard.
Ingesting a deep breath of fresh air, I land at the backdoor, and I slide it open with my elbow. Carefully balancing the cake, I slip inside and shift some groceries on the counter. Finding room to place Bilbo’s home.
“Oh hey,” Sulli says, dumping a case of water in front of the fridge. “You made it?” She sees the cake in one piece.
“Just barely. I almost broke a sweat.”
She gathers her hair in a messy bun. “Now I know your weakness. Carrying cake.”
I scratch the back of my head, then stuff my hands in my pockets. “I have plenty of weaknesses.” My mouth curves up seeing Sulli drift closer to me.
I near her.
“Like cigarettes?” she asks.
I smile a little more. “Yeah. Plus, a medium-rare ribeye, a good porter—”
“Friday Night Fight,” she interjects with an elbow nudge to my waist. “You always watch wrestling. I bet that one’s your favorite.”
“Yeah, it is.” My smile keeps spreading. “I’m also weak for late-night card games.”
“Gin rummy.”
I’ve been teaching her how to play.
I nod, “Gin rummy.”
And she steps forward. Like that correct answer earns a foot closer to me. She’s one competitive beauty.
I watch as Sulli places her soles on the outside of my feet. With no more room to go forward, her body knocks against my chest, and I press a hand to her lower back. Stabilizing Sulli, I keep her up against my muscular build.