Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
The Tri-Force knew I would. But I think they just wanted to ensure I wouldn’t follow my friend. That I would do as told.
And I did.
Everyone else had it harder than me. Novak still complains about how he had to walk a maze-like route in Center City for eight hours.
“No pancake breakfast this time. Got it,” I nod. “What do you want from me?” I look to each of them. I’ve given so much of myself to security. I’ve got nothing left to prove to myself, but they might see me as a liability still—‘cause I’m tied to the people who hurt the Hales.
I always will be by blood.
By name.
They probably think it’d just be easier for everyone if I quit—but I’m not quitting. And they’re going to struggle getting me to a place where I would.
“Take your clothes off,” Ian orders.
I see the doorway of the row house. My cousins standing inside. I blink. Then I shrug off my jacket. Brought one this time and now I’m tossing it to Ian. I’m that frosty Disney princess though. The cold never bothered me anyway. I smile a little to myself, and SFE starts arguing back and forth.
“It’s below-forty now,” Greer says. “Let him keep his shirt and pants.”
“This isn’t supposed to be easy,” Novak refutes.
“Dude, he won’t die without a shirt,” McKenna pipes in. My eyes ping back and forth as each guy speaks. Senses heightened and humming. I barely move a muscle.
Ian motions to me. “Keep the rest on, Donnelly.” Feels odd how nice he’s being. Not sure if I like it.
“How the hell is this pushing his limits, Ian?” Novak retorts.
“Stop listening to fucking Greer,” O’Malley adds.
While they all bicker amongst themselves, I just grip the back of my long-sleeve shirt and pull it over my head. I’m stripping my belt. I unholster my gun. I pry the earpiece out of my ear and unhook my radio, and they go quiet when I step out of my pants.
“You want my underwear too?” I wonder.
“No,” Ian snaps like I’m insane for even voluntarily stripping this far.
It’s freezing, and I tuck my arms close to my body but I don’t complain. I’m clenching my teeth so they won’t rattle.
“Didn’t his family make him strip?” Vance whispers to someone. Don’t see who.
“Put your clothes back on,” Ian orders.
“Nah, I’m good.” I can see Novak, O’Malley, and the rookies won’t be satisfied unless this is difficult, so let’s make it difficult.
Ian curses under his breath. I read his lips though. He said, Fucking Donnelly.
“He passed his psych eval, right?” Not sure who muttered that.
I tense.
“Yeah, he did.”
I’m focused on them. “What now?”
“We’re leaving you here,” Ian says with a heavy sigh. His brother collects my clothes, boots, gun, and radio off the ground. I’m left in socks and boxer-briefs. “Find your way back home.”
Figured.
“Your phone.” Greer comes forward to take the only thing I’m holding.
This is where I hesitate. Luna. That’s my lifeline to Luna. It also contains personal texts. Photos. Of her and me. “I’d rather not.”
Ian pulls away from the other bodyguards too. Closer, he whispers to me, “Personal bullshit aside, you need to trust us like we’re trusting you.”
Trust them.
I could ask, how can I trust you when you lied tonight? But if this is my initiation into Epsilon again, then the point is to blindly follow. To not ask too many questions. To listen to your lead. It’s basic Intro to Bodyguard shit that they don’t think I’ve passed.
“We won’t fuck with your phone,” Ian assures.
“Maybe you won’t. I don’t know the rookies. And you think O’Malley trusts me? You think he won’t go through my messages with my girlfriend?”
Greer and Ian exchange a glance. Then after a quiet deliberation that I’m excluded from, I expect them to relent and let me keep my phone.
They don’t.
Instead, Ian says the worst thing he could say, “O’Malley. You’re staying behind too.”
“What?” O’Malley snaps, his breath frosting the air.
“No,” I tell Ian. “I’m fine doing this on my own.”
“You’re doing this shit together,” Ian decrees and holds out a hand. But not to me this time. “Your phone, O’Malley. And your clothes.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” O’Malley says to Ian.
“Hey,” Greer glares. “He’s not your best buddy right now. He’s your lead. You wanna talk to him like that, go join Omega.”
Can’t even defend my SFO brethren. I’m too pissed off about being stranded outside Philly with someone I wanna rip to shreds. I’d call him the spawn of Satan but I figure the devil’s sperm is prettier and more fun to be around.
Angrily, O’Malley strips to his boxer-briefs like me, and we both hand our phones to Ian. I make sure to lock mine. Password isn’t so easy to crack, unless they know the year my Lord and Savior Jon Bon Jovi released the album Slippery When Wet.