Alphas Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 3) Page 6

  Not giving a fuck.

  Typical. But his indifference doesn’t grate on me right now. Because I’m majorly confused.

  “Who won me?” I ask Charlie, and I keep my arm around Farrow’s waist while his arm hangs over my shoulder.

  Charlie steps closer so we’re in a huddle, no one overhearing, and he loosens his already loose bowtie. “Ace Steel.”

  My brows knit. “Who?” I look to Farrow.

  He stares hard at Charlie. “Never heard of him.”

  Charlie runs his hand through his hair and pulls at the strands. Not anxiously. He does it when he’s bored, too, and it always makes his hair stick up in odd places—and Jesus, I don’t know why I’m fixating on this.

  Yeah I do. Because I’ve been sold for two-million dollars. Because Ernest has invaded my wheelhouse, steering my ship towards someone with maybe-possibly-fucked-up intentions.

  Charlie takes a pair of black sunglasses out of his pocket. Prolonging the answer, and he slips them on. It’s nighttime. We’re indoors. Cameras aren’t even flashing at us. There’s no sense in most of what he does, and sometimes I think that’s why he does it.

  I let out an agitated breath. “Charlie—”

  “Ace Steel is a porn star.”

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  My brows scrunch more. “You’re fucking with us,” I state.

  Charlie shakes his head once. “Not this time. And I know what pornography companies do to our families, so I warned your boyfriend. He failed at winning you, and that’s not on me.”

  Farrow rolls his eyes, but I’m super-glued to the fact that Farrow tried to win me and rescue me off that stage. I’d say I don’t need rescuing, but I’d be willing to let Farrow rescue me.

  I just wouldn’t outright tell him that.

  My chest rises in a deeper breath. I have no idea how he would’ve paid for me, but I guess it doesn’t matter since he lost me.

  Metaphorically.

  And a porn star literally won me. Awesome.

  “You sure it’s a porn star?” I ask Charlie.

  He gives me a look like I’m being senseless. “Of course I know. You can Google him if you don’t believe me.”

  I get why I don’t recognize the name Ace Steel. I don’t watch porn, but Farrow does…or did—or maybe he still does. Stop thinking.

  “Straight porn,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. That’s why the name didn’t ring a bell for him. Farrow only watches gay porn.

  A straight porn actor just purchased me.

  I tilt my head backwards and stare upwards.

  Dear World, is this a joke? Sincerely, a wide-eyed, severely bewildered human.

  I crack my stiff neck. “Let me conceptualize this,” I say to Charlie and motion to my head. “Ace Steel is a guy who only does straight porn with girls?”

  Charlie overturns his champagne flute, the lip of the glass to the armrest. “Correct.”

  This makes no sense.

  Farrow is eyeing the center section of seats. I can’t tell what he thinks or how he feels about this.

  I rake a hand through my thick hair. “Why would he want to buy me?”

  Charlie arches a mocking brow. “He could want to do a scene with you.”

  Huh? “A what?” I have no clue what scene means in this context.

  Farrow peels his gaze off the audience, just to glance at me, the corners of his mouth rising.

  My neck almost heats, his amused expression practically broadcasts that I’m now six years younger, six years less experienced, and he’s older, wiser.

  Stronger.

  I am younger, but he’s definitely not that much wiser. At least not in everything.

  Farrow lifts his hand to hold the back of my head as he says, “A scene is just the term used for pornography shoots. Actors are paid per scene filmed, et cetera, and there could be multiple actors in one scene.” He barely pauses before asking Charlie, “Is that him?” Farrow points someone out in the center section, on the row nearest us.

  “That’s him,” Charlie confirms.

  I don’t stare long, my focus on Farrow. “I’m not interested in whatever this porn star has to offer. So if that’s why he bought me, he can save his money.” My tone is firm like this could be just an ordinary business deal.

  You know, normal.

  Weirdly, it kind of is.

  Porn producers used to call me all the time, especially when I hit eighteen. And I get it. I’m the son of a sex addict. People are curious, and curiosity sells as much as sex. But I always had zero desire to upload me fucking anyone for you to see.

  Now that I have a boyfriend, my desire has plummeted to negative-infinity, and my stomach is in fucking knots.

  Farrow rubs a thumb against the back of my neck. “Loud and clear,” he tells me. “We’ll let him know.” He gestures for Ace Steel to come over, and the man who stands up looks like a Spartan warrior with gunmetal eyes, a quarterback build, and stubble along a hard jaw. He’s older than me, probably around Farrow’s age.

  And he wears a tux like he has millions of dollars to spare.

  My phone starts ringing.

  Farrow looks at me, and I dig my hand in the pocket of my green jeans.

  I clutch my phone and check the caller ID: Winona Meadows.

  Sulli’s little sister.

  “It’s Winona,” I tell Farrow, since Charlie has disappeared into an empty row ahead, slouching on top of a seat, sunglasses still on.

  It’s family. I don’t want to ignore her, but there’s a porn star currently squeezing his way out of a row to meet me. And…I don’t want to leave him with Farrow. My boyfriend sees my confliction, and says, “Go,” he nods towards the door. “I can deal with this guy.”

  I hesitate.

  “Maximoff,” he urges. “Go.” Farrow sends me a single look that says, I’ll catch up with you later, wolf scout.

  “I’ll be back,” I tell him and quickly put my phone to my ear. Walking up the aisle, I glance backward just to see Ace approach Farrow and extend a hand.

  Farrow doesn’t shake it and instead starts talking, lips moving rapidly but casually. Always at ease during tornadic activity.

  My lips lift, settled with this decision. But then Winona’s voice fills my ear in a mad rush, and I stop in the middle of the aisle. My smile falls, and I start mentally gathering battalions.

  “Moffy, it’ll be past my curfew soon, so hey, let’s skip the whole you shouldn’t be here, Nona bit and tackle the important parts,” she says in one breath.

  Before I can reply, she’s going on, “We need to talk to you. I think it might be bad, really bad. You don’t need to say anything yet. I’m about to text you all the details.” She hangs up.

  So you know Winona Briar Meadows as the fourteen-year-old fearless animal lover with a spirit as wild as the Meadows family. You follow her Instagram account that’s littered with nature photography and rock climbing excursions. If she’s not advocating for animal rights with Ben Cobalt, then she’s hanging with her girl squad and keeping to herself. You beg her to post more selfies, and you criticize her when she doesn’t.

  I know her as Nona, my cousin who could practically be my little sister. Who I used to carry on my shoulders through the Costa Rican forest while she snapped photos of every damn thing: the leaves, the dirt, the ants and the trees. She would bloody her hands, run off a cliff, and split open her heart for any living thing, and it’s terrifying.

  Fair Warning: I will decapitate you with a rusted blade if you fuck with this one, and she’ll probably try to stop me.

  My head is spinning on Nona’s words we shouldn’t be here and bad and the “we” in we need to talk to you. Who’s with her? Where are they? And what the fuck happened?

  Near the double door entrance, I spot Jane.

  She’s stuck chatting with the old woman who bought her. I flag down Janie, and she pries herself away from our grandmother’s friend. Strutting down the aisle, her banana purse
thwacks her hip.

  I haven’t talked to my best friend all night, and she’s one of the people I’d want on my side during a shit storm.

  I catch Jane’s hand. “Bonsoir, ma moitié,” I say, kissing her cheeks.

  “It’s just you and me, old chap,” she replies. “And the older crew, security, and about two-thousand dreadfully stuffy socialites.”

  Cameras flash as we greet one another, and her blue eyes dart to the left, but not for long. She pushes her wavy hair off her shoulder. “Now that you’re public with Farrow, one would think they’d care less about analyzing our friendship.”

  “That’s too predictable, huh? I guess our friendship is just that good.”

  She smiles brightly, but her lips downturn as my phone vibrates in my fist. “I know that look. Who’s in trouble?”

  “Winona. We may need to leave early.” I slip next to Jane so she can skim the text with me. The message has a ton of random nature and animal emojis.

  Ben drove us to the Philly Orchestra Hall. We ditched paparazzi, and we’re parked in this dead-end alley thing on the side. We’re waiting here for you. Please come to talk. It’s very very important. – Winona

  “Their personal bodyguards are here for the event, aren’t they?” I ask Jane.

  She ties her hair back, cheeks flushed hot. “They were given temp bodyguards tonight. It’s likely Ben and Nona ditched them, and it’s even more possible they’re here to protest the auction.”

  “I don’t know.” I stare off, thinking. “Winona and Ben are passionate about these things, but they’d both rush in and not just wait in Ben’s car. It seems weird…” I trail off and notice Charlie alone, still slumped on a seat.

  He tosses his bowtie to the floor.

  I’ve stopped bringing him into the fold. Because he kept ignoring me every time I did. And maybe he still will, maybe he’ll hate that Winona called me first, but I don’t want to chisel him out of my world anymore.

  I look to Jane. “Should I ask your brother to come with me?” Jane has always played neutral in my feud with Charlie, but I can tell it’s strained her relationship with him.

  She smiles. “Oui, oui.” Yes, yes. “Vous deux, allez-y. Je vais rester avec Beckett au cas où il serait bientôt appelé. Je ne veux pas qu’il soit seul.” You two go. I’m going to stay here with Beckett in case he’s called soon. I don’t want him to be alone.

  I wave Charlie over, and he surprisingly drops to his feet and saunters to me. I explain what’s happening and finish with, “Want to help?”

  Charlie stares at the ground, processing everything. And when his yellow-green eyes lift up to me, he answers, “You’re in luck. I’m available.”

  I was prepared for a fight, but this is better. So much better. And I turn on instinct, looking for someone else.

  Farrow.

  He’s still chatting with Ace Steel down the aisle, but Akara and Oscar flank him like they’re two-seconds from pulling him backwards.

  I cup my hands around my mouth. “Farrow!” I call out, and nearly every head swerves in my direction.

  Farrow locks eyes with me, and I know, in this second, that I want him with me.

  So I text Winona: me, Charlie, and Farrow are coming in a sec. Don’t drive away.

  She’s fast to reply.

  Isn’t Farrow like 6’5’’? Ben’s eco car is too small for all 3 of u – Winona

  I type quickly as a six-foot-three Farrow approaches, and I send: not if you sit in the middle seat in the back.

  K. Hurry. – Winona

  I plan on it.

  5

  MAXIMOFF HALE

  Heavy rain beats the sleek, blue electric car in a deserted alleyway. Car windows are fogged.

  An overhang on the side-exit keeps us dry, and Farrow catches my arm before we run into the midnight storm with Charlie.

  My cousin already disappears into the front passenger side.

  “Half of Omega is waiting in security’s Range Rover in case Ben drives off,” Farrow explains as he quickly fits in his earpiece and hooks a radio to his belt.

  “They really let you back on duty?” I ask, and we step into the rain together, our boots meeting the slick road.

  Farrow jogs around to the other door. “I’m the best at what I do, wolf scout. Everyone needs me. Case in point.” He puts a hand on the car’s wet roof.

  I clutch the door handle. He’s right, but there’s a difference between security and me. “I don’t just need you though.”

  I want you.

  I want you.

  God, I want you.

  I express the carnal words in my eyes, and his chest elevates, seeing every loving want written on me.

  “Damn,” he mutters, rain dripping down his temples and off his jaw.

  Damn.

  I inhale strongly. Yeah, that’s about right.

  It’s a good start to a doomsday. Because I’m not always that smooth, and something needs to go right before everything goes fucking wrong.

  We both slip into the rear doors at nearly the same time. Shutting out the rain. I brush water out of my soaked hair.

  Winona rotates to me in the middle seat, her face delicate and feminine compared to her older sister’s strong squared jaw. Her hair, lightened to dishwater-blonde from the sun, falls on a man’s button-down that’s knotted at the waistband of her cargo pants.

  Her hazel-flecked eyes bore into me with so much emotion that it tries to knock me backwards.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “No, I’m not okay,” she says powerfully, her eyes glassing and chin threatening to tremble.

  “We’re going to help, alright?” I hug Nona, and she grips my shoulders.

  I rub her back, and I flip a figurative switch. Trying not to feel the hurt that she feels. My eyes rise to Farrow.

  He studies my stone face, and he mouths, I’m here for you.

  I nod. I know, but I’m not sure how to be everything they need without shutting off emotion. What Farrow called a survival instinct.

  When my family breaks down, I fortify.

  “Nona, don’t cry,” Ben says in a whisper, turning around from the driver’s seat. “Because then I’ll start crying again and we’re not going to move past the waterworks stage of this crisis.”

  You know Ben Pirrip Cobalt as the sixteen-year-old savvy environmentalist who makes friends easier than all of my family combined. He’ll even be your friend. He’s probably already followed you back on Twitter or Instagram, and he’s liked your pictures ten or twenty times. You think he’s one of the coolest Cobalt boys—with his accessibility, his windswept brown hair, baby blue eyes, and pretty boy charm—and you wouldn’t be wrong.

  I know him as Ben, sometimes Pippy, the youngest and most free-spirited Cobalt boy and my little cousin. A guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, who hurts over sad, broken things, and I know he wishes more people paid attention to important causes than the beauty mark on his cheek.

  Fair Warning: I will hold you beneath a frozen lake and drown you if you fuck with him.

  “You smell foul,” Charlie says to his brother. Ben does stink like locker room B.O., but Winona has to be used to the stench. If it bothers Farrow, he doesn’t let on.

  Ben scratches his hair. String-braided bracelets (made by Winona) fall down his wrist. “I’m doing a water-only wash period. I’m on week four.”

  “It’s not working,” Charlie tells him and scoots his seat back on me—

  “Charlie,” I growl, the seat crushing my knees. Nona sits back up and rubs her cheek with the heel of her palm. She opens a box of salted crackers.

  Charlie is ignoring me. In case you were all wondering.

  “Are you cool?” Ben is asking Farrow, and at the same time, Winona crosses her legs on the seat. Giving me room to shift mine in her space.

  “Thanks,” I tell my cousin.

  She offers me a cracker, and I pass since they taste like salted tree bark. And she offers Farrow one, which he accepts
.

  “I won’t nark if that’s what you’re asking,” Farrow says and pops the cracker in his mouth. He chews slowly, his face scrunching, and I almost start laughing.

  “Cool,” Ben nods.

  Farrow coughs in his fist, then unpockets a pack of gum. “Your cousin already likes me better than he likes you, wolf scout.”

  I give him a middle finger, and his mouth curves upward. I tell Farrow, “Ben likes everyone. It’s not that big of an accomplishment.”

  Ben flips on his windshield wipers. “I definitely do not like someone.”

  “Who?” Farrow and I say while Charlie mutters, “This is new.”

  Ben checks his rearview mirror. “I also don’t like idling in a dead-end…you all mind if I drive out?”

  I think he’s worried about being trapped in an alleyway if paparazzi find us. But like Farrow said, Omega is in a Range Rover nearby, probably watching for incoming vehicles. They’d alert Farrow before we’d get blocked in.

  “Vas-y,” Charlie says. Go ahead.

  Ben reverses his car.

  I extend my arm across the back of the backseat in a death-clutch. Jesus, I hate riding backseat. In any car, with any driver. I wish being a passenger on a tour bus could’ve cured me of this, but I’m just not that lucky.

  Farrow clicks his mic on his collar. “Omega to Farrow, we’re heading out.” He rests his elbow near my hand, then lays his arm on top of mine, his thumb stroking my bicep.

  It takes me back to my car, that moment when we decided to be a couple, in a relationship. Where we had our first kiss.

  I wonder if he’s thinking about that too, or if I’m just sentimental because this is my first relationship, first love, and that was the most meaningful first kiss I’ve ever had in my life.

  Ben switches the automatic gear to drive once he reaches the main road, and then he aims for an on-ramp to the highway.

  “The Range Rover behind you is Omega,” Farrow tells him.

  “Thanks,” Ben says and fixes his side mirrors with a button. Rain pours harder and pings on the roof.

  I really want to know why they’re both upset. “Who do you not like?” I ask. “Did they do something?”