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)
Banks nods. “Fuck yeah.”
Goddammit.
Fuck Tony. “I need to talk to Jane.” I send her another text about meeting at the sports bar. “I don’t even know where she is.” Last we checked in, she was taking Ophelia and Licorice to get annual shots, but that was hours ago. Way before I got off-duty.
Banks glances at my radio. “Any intel over comms?”
I drop my voice another octave as more people pack around the wooden bar. Mounted televisions play football, drowning out our conversation. “Other than Eliot and Tom heading to Philly tonight, it’s been quiet on Epsilon’s line.”
It’d be easier if Tony Ramella were an Omega bodyguard. Akara, the Omega lead, would know where he is, and I could just ask him. But there’s a problem with that:
I fucked Akara over, and we’re not speaking. My fucking fault.
I thread my fingers through my brown hair. “There’s no chance SFE will tell me Tony’s AO if I ask.” Epsilon were my men, and very few respect me after I slept with a client.
I’m Farrow 2.0 in their eyes.
Banks touches his waistband for his radio, but it’s not there. He left it back in the car since he’s off-duty.
Once Xander was in for the night, I got off-duty too. Not long ago, I drove Xander home after a boxing session at Studio 9. The kid still wants to fight, even after his dad told him, “Not over my dead decaying body.”
Xander asked Farrow, Banks, and me to convince his parents to let him box again, and we agreed to be his advocates and to keep training him if he made a promise to stick to throwing punches in the ring. Or else, we’re out.
The only reason we’re not siding with his parents is because we all know how much boxing can help Xander feel empowered. Especially in situations where he feels helpless.
My brother leans back, realizing he has no radio on him.
“They wouldn’t have responded to you anyway, Banks.” My eyes sear, hating this part of being an identical twin. I slide a grave look to him. “My sins are your sins.”
He bites harder on the toothpick. “Not everyone is a knucklefuck who treats us like one person.”
“Not everyone is Akara,” I sling back since Akara is still speaking to my brother.
A rock lodges in my throat. I want to unburden Akara after the hole I sunk him in with the other leads, but I’m not in charge. I can’t help him anymore, and not being able to do anything of worth—that fucking suffocates.
I swallow hard.
Banks points to my radio. “Let’s just see. Pretend to be me and ask Epsilon for intel on comms. We practically have the same voice.” They won’t be able to tell the difference.
I nod once, and I click the mic at my collar. “Banks to Epsilon, anyone know Tony’s AO?” I ask for his area of operations.
Static crackles in my ear.
And then the Epsilon lead cuts in, “Not your business, Banks.”
I glare at the wall. Jon Sinclair shouldn’t be dismissing my brother that quickly. Banks protects Maximoff Hale often, and Maximoff is close to Jane. My brother should be able to ask about Jane’s new bodyguard.
“Fucking horseshit,” I mutter under my breath, switching a knob to Omega’s frequency. I tell my brother what happened.
Banks exhales his irritation out, pissed.
“Excuse me?”
Our heads turn as a middle-aged woman leans on a stool and taps the bar counter near me. Skin sags on her face, teeth yellowed. She reminds me of a neighbor we used to have who smoked three packs a day.
The sports bar is crammed with South Philly locals.
She gestures between me and Banks. “Are you two twins?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we say automatically.
Her face lights up. “And you spoke at the same time!” She laughs.
I try to remember this is routine. Before we even stepped through the doors, we were asked the same thing. Twice.
It’s aggravating me since I’m not in a great fucking mood. Banks ignores her completely and orders a beer. Leaving me to handle this interaction, which usually I don’t mind. It’s how we operate.
I lead.
He follows.
“How old are you two?” She places a hand on my forearm. “Do you do the same thing for work?”
Apologize. Move out. I start, “Sorry but we’re—”
“Mom,” a young girl cuts me off and whispers to the woman. We make eye contact, and quickly, she averts her gaze and blushes.
On any day, I’m intimidating, but I bet I’m glaring into every ring of hell right now. I rub my face, then drop my arm to my side.
Where are you, Jane?
I glance at the door that creaks open, an old man filing in and patting his buddies on the shoulders near a dirtied high-top table. I stay alert and keep track of movement in the bar. Habit. There aren’t famous ones here I need to protect.