Page 108 of Sinful Like Us
I heard that from Jane. She said the season is airing later than expected because they needed more time to edit the footage, and they were given a new air date.
April.
“Have all our clients signed off on the footage already?” Quinn asks.
Affirmative.
He’s been in security for over a year, not fresh blood anymore, but he hasn’t been a bodyguard while the docuseries is airing. It’s good that he asks questions. I’ve led men who try to act cool, pretending they know shit when they know nothing.
Jack explains, “Everyone shown on-screen has okayed the footage in the trailer. For the actual episodes, we still have to go through the rough edit with some family members.”
Jane pinches her eyes closed.She’s dizzy.
I brush a strand of hair off her cheek. “Need the bathroom?”
“Mmmhhmm.” She shakes her head but slumps more against me.
I need to take her back to Mackintosh House.
Gradually, we all start exiting the pub into the frostbitten cold. I ditch Tony with a longer, stricter stride. I’m so far ahead of that shitbag, he’d have to run to catch me.
Breath smokes the frozen night, and I wrap my jacket over Jane’s shoulders while she burrows her body against my warm chest.
Bodyguards crack caked ice off the windshields, turn ignitions, and I slide the door open to a compact black van.
“Banks.” Tony bombards me, a furious beat from fisting the back of my shirt—and I can’t let him touch me while I’m holdingher.
“Don’t,” I warn and face his blood-boiling anger. My veins sear just as blistering hot right now.
Jane stirs, probably sensing my tension, and she cranes her neck over her shoulder.
Drama is shooting off in multiple directions.
“Were we not just having a good time?” Oscar asks in genuine concern. He opposes his little brother on the stoop of the pub, a twinkling holiday wreath hung on the shut door.
Quinn glares. “Bro, just drop it. We’re on-duty.” He tries to walk off, but Oscar grabs his arm, and Quinn rotates andswings.
“Quinn!” Joana clutches his waist and drags him back, but his knuckles already met Oscar’s jaw.
That’s Fight 1 at my twelve o’clock.
I can’t watch long because of Fight 2 on my three.
“Youforcedme here,” Beckett sneers at his twin brother. “You want the truth? I expected this from Moffy and Jane, but not fromyou.”
“Are you done?” Charlie glares.
Beckett laughs with hurt, breath visible in the cold. “Get me out of here, Charlie.”
“No.”
Fight 3 is on my ten. Behind the gurgling exhaust pipes of a blue car, O’Malley confronts Donnelly.
“Hey, I heard your dad is being let of prison this week.”
I’ve seen this happen before. With Farrow not in earshot or view, O’Malley is less afraid to go for Donnelly’s jugular. Fight 3 is about to be a knockout bloodbath.
Alarm triggers my instincts, and I reach for my mic to alert Akara, but I realize that the cord is yanked from the radio.
