Sinful Like Us (Like Us, #5)

by Krista Ritchie

I add, “You can act like we’re in some candy-coated twin movie and suddenly swap, but this is real.” He puts a hand on my stiff shoulder. “But it’s not like you’re falling in love with someone pretending to be me, and I’m not kissing Jane pretending to be you. Should we really feel that guilty fooling Tony? That prick treats us like dogs, man, and I’m tired of Epsilon acting like he’s God’s greatest creation.”

I’m about to shake my head, but my phone rings. Banks watches me slip it out, and I breathe in when I see her name on the screen. Cell to my ear, I say, “Jane?” “Thatcher. I just pulled up to the sports bar.” Her voice is higher pitched. Strained. “Can you meet me in the car?” I’m already walking out the door.

“Move,” I order again. I’m not playing around. “Or else I’ll radio your lead and let him know you’re disobeying a direct command.” His mouth forms a line. “You’re not my superior, Moretti.” “No, but I’m the boyfriend to your client.” I glare through sheets of rain. “And I’m allowed direct access to my girlfriend, so I’m telling you one last time. Move.”

“Just talk to me, honey.” His deep voice practically cradles me and pushes me to a metaphorical stance. As I raise my eyes, I linger on the stretched leather seat we share. “I was born right where you’re sitting,” I realize aloud, and my cheeks heat. He looks at the seat, very briefly, then back to me. He’s so stoic; I can’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking.

lol

I clear a ball in my throat. “Now you’re probably thinking about my limo birth.” He takes the earpiece out of his ear. “No, I’m thinking you might regret that I moved in with you.” My eyes widen. “No,” I say quickly. “No, not at all. That’s not what I feel.” I set my binder aside. “I’m glad that we’re living together.” Panic creeps into my bones. “Do you have regrets about it?” “No.” He never pauses,

“I’ve never been good at diffusing two sides of conflict—I never could with Moffy and Charlie, and I shouldn’t be surprised that I can’t now.” I speak in a rush. “This past week, I’ve just kept awful things Tony has said to myself, and I thought it’d make your job easier. I wanted to give that to you. I wanted to give you something. But I feel like I’m hoarding secrets from a ride-or-die, and it’s made me quiet around you, and I think you can tell.”

“And whatever I tell you now could cause friction between you and Tony. It feels selfish to share. But maybe you don’t even want to know; and in that case, we can ignore this conversation and just go about our days—” “No,” Thatcher cuts me off, which is rare. “Whatever Tony said or did, I need to know. You’re not dealing with that fucking tool alone.” His South Philly lilt fights through. “I hate that you already have been.” He clips his mic to his collar, like he’s seconds from reporting Tony to a lead.

“Okay.” I try to take a readying breath. You can do this, Jane. Nervous heat builds, and I slip off my leopard coat. Thatcher stares so hard at my movements, I think he’s going to pop a blood vessel in his eye. My heart races. “What is it?” I ask. His gaze darkens on my coat. “Tony shouldn’t have been anywhere under your fucking clothes.” He grips his radio, about to kick into action. I hold up a pointer finger. “I’m removing a coat. A single article of clothing that is nowhere near a shirt or a bra and has absolutely nothing to do with Tony other than I’m sweating… a lot.”

He raises his hands to show me he’s not nearing. “Can you answer me something?” “Anything.” “Are you afraid of me?” I shake my head fiercely, a lump in my throat. “God, no.”

“What are you thinking?” He looks me over. “You keep me on my toes.” He lets out a laugh. “And it’s driving me nuts, and it’s un-fucking-real how much I want you.” “You have me,” I remind him.

“When I was your bodyguard and we were fucking, you’d let me help you no hesitation, and now that I’m your boyfriend, you’re frozen.” My eyes flit down. Thatcher shifts uneasily. “You’re confusing the hell out of me, and I want to walk with you through this, honey. But I don’t know where you’re going.” “I want you to hold me so badly,” I admit.

I breathe in. “What if I pull you at a million different speeds? What if I slow and speed and stop and speed and slow? Are you prepared to grow exhausted of me?” My eyes burn. Thatcher doesn’t recoil. “I’m prepared to be with you at every speed, and there’s no way you’ll exhaust me.” I arch my brows. “How can you be so sure?” He is all confidence and man. “Because I don’t tire that easily.”

“What else?” I rehash the past week to my boyfriend. All the little biting comments. Tony restrained a heckler from approaching me, and afterward, he said, “Bet Thatcher would’ve struggled with that. Probably would’ve broken a sweat.” I snapped back, “He never has.”

I tell Thatcher, “If there’d been a ‘shut up’ button on Tony, I would’ve risked touching him and pressed it a thousand times by now.” “I would’ve decked him,” Thatcher says plainly.

Thatcher keeps us on track. “You heard Tony talk on the phone?” “Oui.” I straighten up and tuck a flyaway hair behind my ear. “He mentioned you and your brother.” Lines crease his forehead. “Which brother?” “Skylar.” I shake my head hotly and cringe. “He said, Thatcher never even visits his dead brother’s grave, and he wants everyone to be sympathetic about that shit.”

I whisper, “Thatcher.” His forehead nearly presses to mine. My eyes scald. “I can’t believe I’m going on a trip without you.” It’ll be strange. He was my bodyguard for almost a year. With me every day, and now… I drop my gaze. His hand encases my cheek. “Fuck it.” He’s a breath from my lips. “We’re switching places.” “What?” I shake my head, utterly confused. “Me and my brother. I’ll explain everything.”

ahh thatcher!!!!

7 JANE COBALT “You can’t be serious,” I whisper to the Moretti brothers, and I can’t believe I even ask. Both are very serious men, Thatcher more so than Banks. They’re definitely not playing a practical joke on me. My bugged eyes dart between my boyfriend and his twin brother in the noisy South Philly sports bar. So crowded here that only one barstool was unoccupied. Thatcher has taken the stool. And while I clutch a pint of beer, I sit across his lap, his strong arm around my waist—and I’ve been really, really taken with our seating arrangement. Especially the nearness of his chest, his body heat flushing me all over, and how my arm brushes against his abs.

It’s just one week,” Banks says with a slight smile, one teeming with confidence that Thatcher matches in a shared glance. “This is nothing for me, even less for Thatcher.” He cocks his head to his brother. “Pack me up and ship me out, I’m ready.” I begin to smile, sensing their energy. “You’re both excited about this, aren’t you?” Thatcher enjoys his job, and it’s often a high-octane, high-risk one, and I suppose this will jolt them with more adrenaline. “To spend more time with you,” Thatcher says, looking down at me. “Hell yeah.”

Thatcher kisses the nape of my neck before whispering, “Okay?” “Yes.” Oh my God, yes. If I blink three times, I feel like this raw, sexual, warrior of a man will disappear in a poof, and I’m wide-eyed and too eager. Banks… is staring right at me. He nearly laughs. Am I panting? Am I childishly head-over-heels? My face is on fire. “I like your brother,” I state outright. “Right on.” He smiles and swigs his beer.

I glance back at Thatcher, just as he tells me, “Banks and I need an objective eye when it comes to our similarities and differences.” “That’s where I come in?” I ask. Banks nods. “My four,” he suddenly says to Thatcher. “I see them,” Thatcher replies, but he never shifts his gaze or hand off me. I just now notice a few men ogling me from afar. Not nicely either. I’d say snidely is more like it. I lean more of my weight against Thatcher. He pulls me closer to his chest, and I feel his heavy heartbeat that thumps in a calming rhythm. Thatcher and Banks are off-duty. Yet, they’re still watching. Still surveying our surroundings.

Your tattoo,” I whisper to Thatcher. “It’s on his ass,” Banks says. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that’s right—my boyfriend has a tattoo on his ass. SFO, namely Paul Donnelly, inked script on Thatcher recently, and I wasn’t present. It happened under the cloak of Omega Brotherhood and I just saw the result. They didn’t write “hypocrite” on his butt like I thought they would. Like Thatcher said they could. Instead, SFO decided on something that “better fit” Thatcher. And so they tattooed the word, Cinderella.

lmao

Tension pulls uncomfortably, and I look between them, something unsaid gripping them and the air. “You want me to tell her?” Banks asks. I freeze. Thatcher is dead-set on Banks. “She already knows.” “Yeah? She knows that everyone in our family blames each other for his death, but no one thought to point a finger at him?”

“It could be worse.” I offer my beer to Banks. He takes the glass, his brows knitting. “How?” “You could’ve tattooed it on your ass.” Thatcher laughs first, the sudden noise deep but light. Banks smiles into laughter too,

I blow out a breath, my heart beating wildly. He presses a kiss to the top of my head. I’m in love. Don’t be frightened, Jane.

What else should we worry about?” He means the twin swap. “Piercings?” “None,” they say in unison. Thatcher let out a frustrated breath. “That question was for me,” Banks says to him. “She already knows you have no piercings.” He scowls. “Statazitt’.” “You shut up,” Banks rebuts.

They’re all very close to Price Kepler. He’s been Aunt Daisy’s bodyguard for over twenty years.

woah after her other one retired? or died? I forgot

Just as they agree, the bar quiets to murmurs, and I follow gazes as the door clatters shut. Snow and cold air blown inside, Maximoff lowers the hood of his Eagles sweatshirt, and Farrow combs back his bleach-white hair. Hand in hand, they weave their way between nosy looks and side-eyes to reach our spot. I instantly smile.

“It’s just you and me, old chap.” I smile more. “And my boyfriend, your fiancé, and my boyfriend’s brother.” My cheeks hurt at this declaration,

Moffy whispers, “did you talk to Thatcher about He Who Must Not Be Named?” Tony has reached Lord Voldemort levels of evil for Maximoff ever since he overheard my bodyguard crack a “joke” about Thatcher and Banks sleeping with me.

“I told him everything,” I whisper and breathe out a lighter breath. Maximoff smiles, able to see that I’m at a better place. “So Janie Dark Ages is diverted?” “Sufficiently.” “Forever.”

His fiancé and my boyfriend speak under their breaths to one another, seeming very civil, and that is profoundly new. Maximoff squints. “Are we in the same universe?” “This feels unfamiliar.” “If they hug, we took a wrong damn turn somewhere.”

“God didn’t make gloves,” I whisper. “But they’ve been around since the Romans, and it’s not gloves you’re drooling over.” “You’re right,” he says with an exhale, “I’m drooling over the floor.” I laugh.

lol so cute

“Free advertising?” Farrow tucks his gloves in his back pocket. “See, this is a wedding, not a charity party.” “Sorry, man. I totally forgot you’ve thrown a hundred weddings before ours.” His sarcasm is thick. “How were all those divorces?” Farrow rolls his eyes into a widening smile. “You mean the ones that don’t exist, smartass.”

Thatcher threads his arms. “Have you two picked a date yet?” Last I heard, they were still up in the air. Maximoff rotates his stiff shoulder. “Farrow has always wanted a winter wedding, so we’re thinking a couple years from now. It gives us time for this.” He gestures to the binder. I tell him, “I can simplify for you.” “He’ll need that,” Farrow teases.

Maximoff sends me a confused look. “I thought you were sad about leaving him during the trip.” I crane my neck up at the Moretti brothers. “Do you want to tell them or shall I?” “You,” they say. Banks curses under his breath as they speak at the same time again.

By the end, Farrow is grinning so wide that his smile reaches cheek-to-cheek. “Just say it,” Thatcher cuts in. “You like breaking the rules for her,” Farrow tells him matter-of-factly. Thatcher looks only at me, and my heart swells.

ahhh

Banks is suddenly facing me and back-to-back with Thatcher. My boyfriend’s brother is guarding me.

Once I look up at my best friend, I pale. His red-hot fixated glare is all too familiar. He’s hyper-focused on three young guys in green Eagles merch. They berate Farrow, who’s as cool as can be. He couldn’t care less, only a hand outstretched to keep them from shoving. But he shoots Moffy a warning look to stay back. And then they spit on Farrow. “Moffy, no.” He launches forward. I drop my coat and clasp his waist.

No. I yell it again. Tony cages me to his chest. I squirm against his stronghold, and my panicked eyes land on Thatcher. He’s already coming towards me. He heard me scream. Moffy sees me struggling. “Let her go!” he shouts at Tony. I flail my feet, and my heel makes contact with my bodyguard’s crotch. Tony grunts, “Fuck.” He sets me down and doubles over.

omg what is happening??

“Jane!” Thatcher cuts off my path and shields me. “Jane!” I lose sight of Moffy. “I can’t leave him!” I put my hands on his chest to push him backwards. But my strength doesn’t outmatch his, so I use all my weight and jump on my boyfriend. He catches me in a front piggyback. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist—his hands cup the backs of my thighs.

He breathes hard. I breathe harder. “Thatcher.” I can’t leave my best friend. I can’t leave him, and I’m not ready to be dragged out of this bar like I always am when Maximoff fights. “You’re my eyes,” Thatcher says strongly. “Watch Banks. He’s helping Farrow and Maximoff. Copy?” “Yes.” I inhale. “I’ll be your eyes.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Maximoff almost charges at the guy. Farrow puts Moffy in an arm-lock and whispers rapidly in his ear. Banks is pushing other men back from us.

And Thatcher—he could spark infernal damnation in a single glare. “She has nothing to prove to you.” He projects his voice without yelling. I touch a slow-growing smile on my face. I can’t believe I’m smiling. I perch my hands on my wide hips, chin raised, and then—

“It can’t be Charlie,” Maximoff concludes. “Jesus, does he even know we’re here?” “He does,” Thatcher says, coming closer to the bar with Farrow. I rotate on the stool. “What do you mean?” I rush to obtain whatever knowledge they’ve acquired. “Charlie texted me earlier.” Thatcher squats and collects my trampled fur coat off the floor. Dirtied. He splays the filthy thing on a vacant stool. “Your brother asked where I was. So I told him.” I’m wary. “That was all he wanted?” Thatcher nods.

Maximoff turns to Farrow. “Ask Oscar if Charlie is coming here.” Oscar Oliveira is Charlie’s 24/7 bodyguard, and so he’d know more than just where Charlie is. He should be with him. Beside him. Protecting him. Farrow blows a bubblegum bubble and pops it in his mouth. “You’re five steps behind me, wolf scout.” Maximoff growls in frustration. “Farrow—” “I already tried. Oscar is off comms. Most likely because Charlie asked his bodyguard not to share with the whole class.”

lol slow poke moffy

“Jane.” Thatcher draws my gaze upward. “I can handle whatever they throw at me.” Even if this were true, I have to help him. “Ensemble,” I say deeply, a word meant for my family, and I want that to include him. Together. His chest rises, and he nods.

“What in the ever-loving fuck…? Where’s everyone going?” I look up. Sullivan Meadows, my twenty-year-old cousin, suddenly arrives. Her bodyguard Akara Kitsuwon safely leads her against the grain, and they enter the bar while masses barge outside. Sulli unzips her puffy teal jacket. “Are we supposed to be here?” “It seems that way,” I tell her. “Someone’s bought out the bar for us.”

“Oh hey, you don’t have to get up for me.” Sulli knots her long brunette hair in a messy top bun. “Really, I can just fucking stand or take another stool.” Banks has already risen. “It’s not like you’ll block my view or anything.” He’s six-seven to her six-foot. “Go ahead.” He’s offering her the seat beside me.

ahhh i need to read about them now

She catches a look that Banks and Akara give each other. “What? You don’t think I’ll invite Will? That I’m chicken shit scared?” Akara grimaces. “No. That’s not it, Sul.” Banks tilts his beer to his mouth. “Why would you even want to invite the Rooster?” “The Rooster?” Sulli and I say in unison.

“It’s for comms?” Sulli stands and slugs his shoulder. “He’s not a cock!” Banks laughs. Sulli lands a fist in his arm too, and he hardly sways and just grins into a sip of beer. Akara smiles more and places his hands on her broad shoulders. “You’re not the butt of a joke.” “Yeah but Will is, and he’s not a fucking cock, Kits.” Banks tips his head. “We’re just callin’ it like we see it, mermaid.” She huffs. “Yeah? And his cock is probably ten fucking times bigger than both of yours.” Akara and Banks try not to laugh, and then Banks says, “No way in hell.”

lmao omg i see them, i can see it im in love