Page 210 of Sinful Like Us

I’d have preferred driving my fiancée to her childhood home. But I’m not her bodyguard, and I’m still dealing with the fact that Tony is on her detail. He has one month left.One month.

After that shit, he’ll be transferred to Charlie’s detail—which puts Oscar in a bind.

And on top of that shit, he’ll be promoted to Omega lead.

All I see is shit.

I remember Akara’s words.Don’t worry about it, he said.

I am worrying about it, but I trust him. When we were leads—when it was me and him—he’d explain more of what’s happening. Now I’m just left to follow.

And that’s the easier part. I’d follow Akara into darkness time and time again.

Banishing the aggravation and pure dislike I have for Tony is more difficult. It’d have been simpler, if I could’ve accompanied Jane to the Cobalt Estate.

But she said that she wanted to talk to her siblings before I arrive. To make sure they won’t slaughter me tonight.

I feel like I need swords, axes, and a fucking trebuchet to attend this dinner.

Making it out alive without causing a Cobalt Civil War is my main goal.

To make matters more fucked, all the cars in the garage are gone. Which means I have to take one of the security SUVs on the curb.

When I step out onto the sidewalk, I’m met with a succession of flashes. Glaring in the night.

Paparazzi—their voices topple on top of each other, fighting to be heard. I raise a hand to my eyes, trying not to be completely fucking blinded on the way to my car.

“Thatcher! Thatcher!” a stocky guy with a Canon yells, short enough that his head stops well beneath my shoulders.

“Move.” I’m one second from shoving.Don’t touch him.I don’t want to risk getting arrested on my way to this dinner, and if he falls on his ass and claims assault, I’m going to be met with a lawsuit.

Follow protocol.

Security rules still exist—they don’t suddenly disappear because I’m off-duty or engaged to a client.

He doesn’t listen and just as I come up to the black Escalade, he stops movingrightin front of the door. Blocking me.

I glower.

He holds up his camera. “How many years have you been with Jane Cobalt?!”

His question is like a cannon blast in my ears, opening up my focus to the others that have been yelled around me for the past minute.

“When is the wedding?!”

“How did you ask her?!”

“Is she pregnant?!”

I scowl harder at that one and focus on the shitbag blocking me. “I’m not going to ask you a second time.Move.”

The stout guy clicks five more times and sears my corneas. White light stabs my vision and before I can grab him, he darts out of the way.

I’m quick. Inside the Escalade and shutting the door. It takes me a good twenty minutes to lose the trail of paparazzi. I glance at the clock.On time.I planned for traffic, but I wish I were earlier. I don’t have much wiggle room in case something—

You’ve got to be fucking with me.

My eyes are narrowed on the fuel gauge.This can’t be happening.Someone on SFO left this SUV with a nearly empty tank. I slam a hand against the steering wheel and reroute to the nearest gas station. “Buncha fucking idiots.”