Page 182 of Sinful Like Us
Which makes seven. But we all know Maximoff will volunteer to stay behind.
“You only want six people to go on the ten-hour hike?” Oscar asks for clarification.
Akara nods. “Just six.”
Quinn frowns. “Why not send bodyguards as escorts? We can go with the clients, drop them off, then hike back here.”
“We can’t risk it,” Akara explains. “If the weather changes, you won’t be able to return to Mackintosh House, and we have to respect the fact that they’re letting six stay. It needs to be a group of two bodyguards and four clients.”
Tension stretches in the brief pause.
Akara peels off his gloves. “Most of them are nearing breaking points. It’s not a secret.”
Chairs creak as men lean back or shift.
I cross my arms, my jaw hardened. Bodyguards—we’re used to the grind. Being snowed-in for almost three-weeks with little communication back home is more or less a cakewalk, but it’s not as easy for these families.
Being useless to the people we protect, especially as they unravel—that’s a hundred times harder than splitting a bowl of oatmeal eight ways.
Which we did this morning.
“We have to priority-rank them,” Akara says. “High is critical, medium is urgent, and low is fine to stay. I want an evaluation of your client and a rank. We’ll go around the table, and if anyone has information about the client being discussed, you need to share.”
Going counter-clockwise, we start with O’Malley. Beckett’s bodyguard.
“His hands are raw,” O’Malley tells us. “He’s been washing them too many times a day. He needs to go back to PA more than anything.”
“It’s not an option,” Akara reminds him. “How would you rank him?”
“Critical.”
Everyone is nodding.
Quinn scoots forward, elbows on the table. He brushes a knuckle over the scar under his eye. “Okay, so Luna has been pretty emotional…” He stops himself short. “I’d say she’s critical.” He’s being tight-lipped on his client’s behalf.
He picked this shit up fromFarrow.Who gives half-answers and vague responses during debriefings. The bare minimum.
Flat-out, it’s annoying.
Akara gives him a look. “How does that make her critical?”
“She’s been crying.” Quinn tries to clarify.
Oscar pulls on a Yale sweatshirt. “Is she homesick?”
“No, that’s not really it.”
My eyes narrow on Quinn. I understand it’s uncomfortable to unleash private information about the clients we’re closest to—but Akara needs this intel in order to make a call.
I glance at the Omega lead. “She’s the one who ran out of birth control.” This might be affecting her hormones on some level.
Quinn shoots me a glare. “What if Luna didn’t want everyone to know?”
“We’re fucking past that, Quinn,” I say seriously.
Akara nods. “We could be here for anotherthree months, guys. This isn’t the time to censor any shit. You know something,say it.”
Donnelly smacks a pack of cigarettes on his palm. “She’s been having bad cramps too.”
