Page 184 of Lovers Like Us

Thatcher lets out a heavy breath at me. He hates that I loveit.

“Third and last thing,” Akarastarts.

“Hey, pretty boy!” a drunk heckler yells at Donnelly. “Why don’t you take that thing out of your nose and shove it up yourass?!”

That insult doesn’t incite any ofus.

Akara grabs his beer. “Tri-Force agreed that we can all keep our jobs and be famous, but it’s coming with acost.”

“What?” almost all of ussay.

Akara sighs. “We can’t handle major security events. Sometimes even minor ones. Not without Alpha and Epsilon or temp bodyguards. They have to join us at concerts, galas, and any charity functions. Maybe even smaller locations. We need the extra bodies, guys. We can’t do that stuff alone anymore. It’s just the way itis.”

Wequiet.

I grit down and rub my jaw. I don’t want to call in reinforcements for a job we’re hired to do, but I’m not about to put my pride above Maximoff’ssafety.

After a minute, we all nod.Agreeing.

We’re in the same restless ocean, a boat of six, and luckily, we’re equipped to handle the roughestweather.

Even the bearded dipshit that comes at me with a cue stick. Right now. “If you’re not gonna leave our bar, we’re gonna makeyou.”

Akara glares. “Really,man?”

He barrels forward in a drunken rage. There’s no reasoning withthat.

I stand, Omega stands, and we step out of the booth about the same time his friends swarmus.

“Getoutta—”

Thatcher sucker-punches a hefty guy, and the bar erupts into a brawl. Fists fly, chairs clatter. Quinn jabs his knuckles at a guy’s nose, and Donnelly left-hooks a three-hundred pound man who breaks abottle.

The bearded dipshit swings the stick at my head—I duck. Then I slam my boot on his kneecap, a direct hit. He curses in pain and staggers,falling.

Next to me, Akara kicks another brawny heckler in the chest. He crashes into a pubtable.

Oscar is chatting with the blondebartender.

“Out!” the manager yells at us. “OUT!” Six or seven employees crawl out of the woodwork and start ushering us through the rearexit.

Quinn raises his hand. “I’m cool,bro.”

“We’re going, we’re going,” Akara tells them, and down a flight of stairs, we reach the roadtogether.

Leaving the hecklers behind, we joke and meander down the Philly street like nothing is out of the ordinary. Laughing about the freebeer.

But our short-lived time at The Independent isn’t a regular night. That abrupt ending is usually meant for the people weprotect.

Not forus.

Slowly, we each grow quiet, hands in pockets and trekking along. Our fame collectively sinks in, adjusting like we’ve been given a new uniform towear.

43

MAXIMOFF HALE

Cats dartunder the pink Victorian loveseat, rocking chair, and up the narrowed staircase of my old townhouse. I’m backhome.