Page 139 of Sinful Like Us

“Yes,” he says honestly. “Look, I don’t have an understudy.” He stiffens more. “I have a douchebag, asshole who’s vying for my spot. If I’m not there, he’ll replace me, and I’m out of work for an entireseason.” He inhales a sharper breath, and then he rotates to the staircase. “CHARLIE!”

Jo storms through the foyer with a blistering stride and cracks the door open. She rocks back. “Holy shit.”

Cold sweeps inside like a mad, furious rage, and I block the slapping wind with a hand to my face. Until Thatcher steps in front of me and shields me from the freeze.

My pulse skips.

I’ve already peered outside. Where the view is an endless sea of glaring white.

“What do you want?” Charlie climbs down the stairs in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs. He rubs at his eyes, sandy-brown hair matted from sleep.

Beckett looks over his shoulder. “Can a helicopter fly through that?” He nods his chin towards the door that Oscar begins to shut.

Charlie barely glances at it. “Not unless you want to die.”

“No one leaves the house,” Akara declares, speaking to his men and to my family. “I don’t care where you have to be. Or how important the shit is that you’re missing. No one goes anywhere until the storm ends.” He stomps off, leaving uncomfortable silence in his wake.

28

JANE COBALT

2 Days Snowed-In

Only 2 daysaway from Christmas Eve, an anxious urgency permeates through Mackintosh House like an inescapable toxin. The need to be home for the holidays is a ticking clock we all hear and feel.

I speak quietly. “Charlie said he’s sick of everyone. Beckett won’t look at me, but Sullivan and Luna seem to be faring well. For now at least.” I sit on the washer/dryer combo, a plaid tartan blanket snug around my shoulders. And I have a rare high-up view of Thatcher as he’s seated on the cold tile.

Since early this morning, I’ve taken inventory of food, firewood, and other necessities like medicine. Thatcher and I split up most of the day to lessen Tony’s suspicions about the twin swap.

I’ve only been in the laundry room for a couple minutes, and already, Thatcher is looking up at me with heady, concerned eyes.

“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice so very deep.

His question blooms inside me, a budding rose through the thick impenetrable ice.

I must’ve forgottenmyselfin the equation.

“I’m about as well as Moffy.” My ribcage feels like a painful corset cinching my lungs. “Possibly better considering I’m sleeping more than he is. I love him dearly, but he’s going to drive himself over an edge.” My throat tightens. “It’s easier knowing he has Farrow now.” He’s the only person who can help Moffy relax.

Thatcher assesses me. “You feel responsible for your family’s well-being too.” It’s not a question, yet I feel the need to explain.

I shrug, tensed. “In a lot of ways, yes. But Maximoff feels more responsible since he invited everyone to Scotland, and they all believe he’ll fix this more than they think I will.”

His frown is a dark scowl. “You help out just as much as him.”

“He’s the leader. I’m just the second-in-command, and really, I’m lucky. I don’t envy his position, and I definitely don’twantthat pressure.” I quickly add, “How’s SFO doing?” I don’t know why I’m so uncomfortable talking about myself right now.

He skims me, the scrutiny scalding me in the chilly laundry room. It’s the second coldest place in the house, the first being the cellar. “Most of the team hasn’t racked out in over 24-hours either.”

Our bodyguards bear a great responsibility for my family’s welfare too. And there’s strange comfort in knowing it isn’t just Moffy and me holding down the fort.

Two men who we desperately love and trust are helping us. Plus, the rest of Omega.

I try to take a breath.

Skin pleats between his focused eyes. “You look scared.”

I attempt to swallowfear, but it fists me. And I realize he captured the emotion that has me deflecting. How smart he is—this man of mine.