Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
“I fucking forgot my lucky bracelet.” From Team Trials to now, she kissed a braided turquoise bracelet before swimming. “I think I left it with my dad. He didn’t answer my text.” She frowns more. “It’s fine. I don’t need it.”
“I can go get it,” I offer.
“No, fuck, don’t worry about it. There’s no time.”
“I can try.” The smart thing to do would be to radio Ryke’s bodyguard. But Lord knows I’m not looking to chat with Wylie. He might even be a shitbag and ignore me over something like my girlfriend’s bracelet.
“Radio Wylie,” Akara tells me.
Fuck.
Begrudgingly, I follow orders. “Banks to Wylie, Sulli is missing her lucky bracelet. Is it with her dad?”
Silence.
I try again.
More silence.
Akara mutters, “Petty pricks.”
“I’d lump Greer in the Petty Pricks Pack.”
“Price as President.”
Sulli rocks on her feet, nervous. She’s not even listening to our banter.
“I’m going,” I tell him.
“Okay, be quick.”
“Stay frosty.” I adjust my earpiece. Truth: I know the chances of retrieving the bracelet before her first heat is low, but leaving now means I’m giving Akara some alone-time with our girlfriend.
He deserves that, too.
16
BANKS MORETTI
Chlorine, the familiar scent is more powerful among the domed stadium. The air stickier, more humid, and I have my back turned to the Olympic pool, the center spectacle, as I’m stuck on the bottom stairs. Mission: Acquire Sulli’s bracelet. Status: Waiting behind a line of people as they try to take their seats in the stands.
I need to go up.
The famous ones are gathered in a middle section that I’m trying to reach. Alpha, Omega, and Epsilon are seated in the rows behind their clients, and they seem quiet, observant. The Yale boys aren’t even cracking jokes. Donnelly, Oscar, and Farrow are all surveying the packed audience.
Our temp guards are stationed at the bottom and top of the stands along with event security. And by event security, I’m talking military.
The United States has spent millions on Olympic security for the Summer Games. I’ve seen Army National Guard manning screening devices and flashing mirrors under parked cars, checking for IEDs. Special Forces have been tasked as bodyguards for dignitaries and athletes and work quietly among private security like us. And there are tons of private security here. Being in L.A., other high-profile celebrities fill the stands and have brought along their own personal bodyguards.
Before the Olympics, Kitsuwon Securities and Triple Shield went through two-weeks of drills to physically prepare for worst case scenarios.
Like kidnappings.
At least she wasn’t raped. At least she wasn’t kidnapped, Banks.
I grind my teeth. My dad’s words haunt my ass, and I want them out of my fucking head like a gravedigger wants a fucking shovel. I’d dig them out if I could.
I look around.
I see security posted everywhere.
“All good things, Banks,” I mutter to myself.
Still, my pulse pitches. Eyes dart at the tiniest finger twitch of a teenage girl ahead of me. She’s fiddling with her purse, tugging at the zipper.
Thatcher—I just sense my brother watching me. Sure enough, he’s eagle-eyeing my hypervigilant stance, and I want to tell him what he always tells me: Watch your AO. I’m not the objective.
His concern is a lot.
Too much.
I shift my gaze.
In front of him, Janie is passing turquoise pompoms down the row to her siblings and cousins. Ripley, on Maximoff’s lap, reaches for a pompom tassel. Sulli’s sixteen-year-old sister Winona proudly hoists the letter S. The rest of the girl squad, plus Ben Cobalt and Xander Hale, hold the other letters that spell out Sulli!
Xander has the exclamation mark.
In front of them, camera operators for We Are Calloway film some of the famous ones for the docuseries. Eighteen-year-old Jesse Highland directs his lens at Jane and my brother. From what Jack said, his little brother Jesse was hired to help film the Olympics for We Are Calloway. After this summer, he’s attending the University of Pennsylvania and following in Jack’s footsteps.
And Jack—I don’t see him.
Akara said something about Jack being stationed with press near the pool. He must want footage of Sulli in the water, but he won’t be following Sulli around day-in, day-out. She rejected the idea of “a day in the life” footage so she could concentrate on competing.
God has some kind of sense of humor, seeing as how We Are Calloway has to be a nothing burger of a distraction to Sulli compared to the pregnancy whopper.
I wait to ascend the stairs. A small thump starts beating against my temple. The beginnings of a thunder-fucking migraine, I’m sure. I’m not cured, but at least they’re infrequent. At least it’s not going to put my ass on the floor anymore.
I climb a stair.
Then I come to a halt. Mother of fuckin’ God. I knew this would take a hot second, but I didn’t think it’d be a hot half hour.
Closer to where I stand, around the first few rows, I feel more eyes on me.