Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
For once I’m not trekking twenty klicks in the wrong fucking direction.
Is she pale?
“No,” I answer him.
Her cheeks are somewhat ashen, but she’s breathing normal and the longer she realizes I have her, the more she smiles and smooths her lips together.
Blushing.
I’ve been around harder, more shit-faced partying and seen a fellow infantryman wake up buck-ass naked in his own piss and vomit. She’s nowhere near that level of fucked, but if you saw her best friend, you’d think she’s a foot in the grave.
“She’s not dying, wolf scout,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. “She just needs fluids.”
Maximoff nods, then slides off her feather purse that slips down her arm. I nod to him in thanks, and he tells us, “She doesn’t usually go down this hard, this fast.”
I try to catch her drifting gaze. “She probably didn’t eat enough today. Food should sober her up.”
Maximoff is already moving out. “I’ll go find some at the bar.” He leaves while Farrow stays to help me.
“Jane,” I say, seizing her gaze. “Water.”
“Mmm.” She smiles up at me.
My lip almost rises. “Drink this.”
She bats her lashes dazedly.
“Copy?”
“Mmhmm.” She nods firmly. “Yes.”
I put the glass to her mouth and tilt. Her big blue eyes planted on mine, she takes small, slurping sips like a fucking kitten. Even hammered, she’s an adorable drunk.
While she contemplates taking another sip, I assess the perimeter on instinct. Christmas lights blink in the darkened pub, and ear-splitting chatter and music meld together.
Omega tends to integrate with the older famous ones like friends—especially after the FanCon tour—but we’re all on.
Alert.
Always.
No bodyguards are posted at the entrance or exits, so we’ve all been scouting the pub at various intervals. We’re in a town with a population of 50. I hate to think it, let alone believe it, but the bigger threat to Jane is another bodyguard.
In my peripheral I see Tony scrutinizing me. He stews behind the sofa and sports an insulted expression. Like him and I are white-collared-wearing, cubicle-sitting employees and I stole his coveted office project.
My jaw hardens, and I lock eyes with Farrow.
He exchanges a strong look with me. One that we used to never share, but it comes naturally tonight and says, we’re on the same side and I’ve got you. There’s a chance that Tony will insert himself in this situation.
And I need someone to have my six so I can have hers.
I’m not as territorial as Farrow, but when it comes to my girlfriend being scared or panicked, my spine would have to be obliterated in a hundred places before I let another man carry her to safety. Especially Tony.
“Done?” I ask Jane after she takes another sip.
She nods. “You’re…” She hiccups.
I almost smile, and I hand the glass to Farrow.
Oscar uses comms, his voice in my ear. “I’m taking a piss. Don’t let Beckett hang around my baby sister.” He stands off the sofa where Quinn and Joana laugh at something. The Oliveira family has been together most of the night, and we’ve all been intersecting Beckett’s path to Jo.
I don’t know if he’s bored or if he has a fucking death wish.
Farrow clicks his mic. “Can’t hold your bladder, Oliveira?”
“I’m trying to save all the adult diapers for Donnelly,” Oscar quips.
Donnelly laughs on comms. “Appreciation and all that.”
I tune them out as Jane perches two hands on my shoulders. She tries to straighten up and compose herself, drawing out one blink. “I’m…”
“I have you,” I say strongly. “You don’t need to do anything tonight.” She can be a drunk mess.
She hiccups into a smile. “You’re…”
“Moretti!” Tony calls, approaching us. “She’s not your responsibility. Take your hands off my client.”
Like hell.
I grit my teeth.
Stay professional. I need to stay fucking professional on-duty. In Tony’s mind, I’m Banks, and my brother doesn’t deserve a tarnished reputation because of my bad calls.
Don’t punch him.
She’s in your arms.
Don’t punch him.
I repeat all the reasons why I shouldn’t launch verbal grenades or fists.
Farrow pops a piece of gum in his mouth. Casual as all hell, and as soon as Tony is in distance, Farrow puts a hand to his chest, stopping him in place. “Man, just let Banks take care of her. She’s comfortable with him.”
Tony sizes him up. “So you’d rather I switch details with Banks then?” He jabs a thumb to the bar. “I can go look after Maximoff for you.”
Farrow glares.
“Yeah, didn’t think so.”
He rolls his eyes. “You talk like you’re twenty-feet tall, but you look microscopic. Just back up and leave Banks alone. Jane is safe.”
Tony is about to speak, but Jane brushes her nose against mine, romantically. I try to shift my gaze and shove down any visible affection. I’m Banks.
I’m my brother.
…and she’s gorgeous.
I keep a platonic hand on her head. “She’s comfortable here,” I tell Tony.
“She’d be more comfortable with me.” He starts to fucking smile.