Page 82 of Sinful Like Us

Paparazzi and fans were yelling at the top of their lungs.

“OSCAR, CHARLIE, WE LOVE YOU! Oslie for life!!”

“DONNELLY, BECKETT—KISS, KISS, KISS!”

“LunaQuinn! LunaQuinn! LunaQuinn!”

“KITSULLI IS OTP!”

Each one is a completely fictional pairing, and thankfully Omega was able to ignore the chants and maintain their duties. Their steadfast nature is a saving grace. I just hope my siblings and cousins can withstand the rumors.

In the rear of the plane, I lower onto a cream, plush double-seat. Giving us enough privacy to speak alone.

Beckett is forced to sink down beside me. “Where’d you buy these?” He touches the handcuff. “A sex shop?”

“Yes,” I answer, unabashed. “The girl working there was very sweet too.” I might’ve also purchased a new vibrator, Thatcher in attendance with me, but I don’t need to mention this.Clearly, Jane.

Beckett leans back with a sigh. “They are softer than tactical ones.”

I smile. “Precisely.”

Charlie wanted to use metal handcuffs. He thought Beckett would enjoy the fuzzy ones too much, but I couldn’t bear to physically hurt him. We’re already puncturing his emotions enough as it is.

Beckett stares ahead in deeper thought, and my lips gradually fall to a line. He takes a tight breath before turning to me. “So you really believe I’ll run down the aisle past your six-foot-seven boyfriend and bum-rush the only exit that has more than three massive bodyguards climbing on board?”

“Yes.”

He gives me the umpteenthwhat the fuckface, brows scrunched tight. “Jane,” he whisper-hisses and yanks my wrist toward his chest. “I’m not a fucking addict.”

I want to believe him, so terribly. I want to.

“So maybe you wouldn’t bum-rush the exit.” My voice lowers. “Maybe I believe you in that instance. But the only reason you wouldn’t go for the door is because you’d be afraid one of thosemassivebodyguards could accidentally break your leg or your arm stopping you, and then you’d be out of ballet. Tell me I’m wrong about that.”

He doesn’t deny a thing. He just leans back, staring ahead again, away from me. And so softly, under his breath, he says, “I hate you, you know.”

My stomach sinks. He keeps unsheathing the same sword and plunging it straight in my gut. Knowing those words wreak an agonizing amount of damage on me.

Am I doing the right thing?

Maybe he doesn’t have a problem.

What if I’m keeping him from his career, his life’s goal for no reason at all? Ballet has been his sport, his art, his love and passion for over seventeen years.

He’s right—I don’t know what that’s like, not in the slightest.

I hate you, you know. His words ring hollow in my head. He hates me because I forced him here, handcuffed him to me, and he should, I suppose. I blink back emotion that tries to throttle its way to the surface.

I have to remember what Charlie said,“He’s going to be an asshole. A real dick. Don’t listen to him.”

Beckett and I rarely feud, and so I pictured a Charlie spat. Some flowery insults with added flair and then a cold-hearted bomb.

But I should have known better. Beckett has always been honest and pointed. But he’s still my little brother, even if he’s just two years younger. I have an obligation to protect him, and no matter how many blades I take, I’ll keep going.

I also have to remember—he’s a Cobalt. Beckett is cunning and smart, and he’ll use my emotions and love for him against me. Maybe he doesn’treallyhate me. What’s more probable: he’s just trying to manipulate his way out of the handcuff.

Packing on my battle armor, I straighten up and channel a surge of confidence.I am a motherfucking lion. I am my mother’s daughter.

Even if I only have one-tenth of Rose Calloway Cobalt in me, that’s one-tenth of fire and brimstone that I can wield.