Page 63 of Sinful Like Us
“Nah, say it again,” Donnelly snaps, tossing his blue gloves on the mat.
Everyone is dripping sweat in workout gear. But this call time isn’t social hour. We’re here to discuss security protocols for Scotland. Which won’t happen until the Tri-Force arrive.
O’Malley stews, a twenty-pound dumbbell in his fist.
I narrow my gaze on him with intense warning. If he repeats what he just said, we’re going to have a fistfight before this meeting even begins.
Tension splits the air. Silence taut and uneasy.
Banks glances at me, cautious. We stand between the physical divide inside the team. On my nine, two Epsilon bodyguards hover near the boxing ring and free weights.
Tony and O’Malley.
The only ones who aren’t in on the twin switch.
On my three, red boxing bags hang from the rafters, and Oscar, Farrow, Donnelly, and Quinn just finished sparring.
Epsilon vs. Omega.
I feel the fracture between the two Forces more heavily because I’m the one who cracked a cavern between them.
Hurt flares in O’Malley’s eyes as he reroutes his lasered anger onto me. “Back the fuck down?” He repeats my earlier words and throws his dumbbell on the mat. “You’re tellingmewhat to do.” He jabs a finger at his own chest.
I deserve his rage. I deserve a lot of bad shit coming at me, but my insides broil. Without breaking his gaze, I tighten my loose black handwraps. Biting my tongue.
“You’re not my lead anymore,Thatcher.You have about as much room to bark orders as a Doberman Pinscher.”
My face hardens. Guilt hammering down on me.
“Relax, O’Malley,” Banks says. “Thatcher’s just trying to avoid a blood bath.”
O’Malley clenches his jaw and mutters under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear. “And if he were better at his job, he would’ve thought about that before sleeping with his client.”
All month.
These comments have been chucked at me allfuckingmonth. November into December, Epsilon bodyguards are now just the “shit on Thatcher” brigade.
I don’t care.
They can call me names.
They can curse me out.
I don’t fucking care. I did break a rule, and if this is one of the many consequences, I plan to bear the onslaught for as long I need to. But if someone wrenches Jane into this, I will end them.
That’s my line.
Clear in the motherfucking sand.
It hurts even knowing that months ago Farrow was in this exact position. And I was the asshole on the other side, berating him. Karma—it’s got its hands wrapped around my windpipe.
I want it to choke me.
Tony squints at O’Malley. “It’s not that big of a deal. Thatcher slept with a client. Who cares? Get over it.”
Bile rises to my throat. Tony defending me right now feels about as good as being run over by a cement truck. On any other topic, maybe it would be a bridge to rebuild our relationship, but him being calm and nonchalant about bodyguards sleeping with clients—it tweaks my nerves.
And I can’t even call him out on it without sounding like a raging hypocrite.
