Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“That’s allowed?” Quinn asks, but no one answers that loaded question. Is it allowed? Not really, but the best bodyguards go to the grave for their clients.
I will.
I turn to Oscar. “Luna’s eighteenth birthday is in three months. If she wanted, she could’ve waited until November to get a professional to pierce her tongue.”
Oscar cocks his head. “So piercing herself has nothing to do with secrecy?” He raises his arms. “Then why?”
“Because she wanted to.” I notice the office’s doorknob slightly rotating.
Donnelly lowers to the mats and sits against his bag. “I must’ve been about her age when I pierced my cartilage myself.” He wags his fingers. “Four safety pins.”
Oscar swigs his water. “Using yourself as an example, Donnelly, goes on the cons side automatically.”
Donnelly blows him a middle-finger kiss.
Finally, the office door opens, and four men emerge. My gaze instantly hooks onto Maximoff. He stands stoically, assuredly, not shrinking among the Tri-Force’s authoritative presence.
Damn.
The corners of my mouth begin to lift, but they lower at one irritating thought: I’m not leaving with Maximoff. Thatcher and Price said they’d escort Moffy to his townhouse. That way I could be a part of Omega’s meeting.
I’d rather be the one to lead him out.
Maximoff says goodbye to Akara. As Price and Thatcher walk ahead of Moffy towards the gym’s exit, he abnormally hangs back for a second. His forest-greens search the gym.
And then they land on me. He was looking for me.
My smile stretches, and my brows rise knowingly.
He licks his lips and eyes my damp hair and black shirt that suctions to my muscles. He calls out, “Already beat after a five minute workout?”
“Twenty minutes,” I correct, “and never forget, I last longer than you.”
Maximoff touches his heart mockingly and then shoots me a middle finger on his exit. The door thuds closed behind him.
Oscar rests his bodyweight on his bag, still staring at the exit. “Photos don’t even do that guy justice.”
I rub my bottom lip, my piercing cold beneath my thumb. I’ve known Oscar is bi since I met him at Yale. He was a science major, too, only his focus was on kinesiology. So we shared a couple of the same courses, and on Friday nights we went to gay bars together because 1.) Oscar is fun 2.) watching him hit on guys is amusing as shit; no one has simultaneously the best and worst pickup lines.
I read into his words. “You think Moffy’s hot?”
“Everyone thinks Moffy’s hot.” Oscar rotates to me. “It’d be near impossible to find someone who says less than that. You see him. On a scale of one to ten, he’s—”
“Out of your league,” I say matter-of-factly. Trying not to appear territorial. My muscles contract, almost flexed, but Oscar can’t tell.
“More like, he’s way, way off-limits.”
Maybe.
Akara approaches all four of us, standing well over six feet. “Hey, everyone take a seat.”
Oscar and I lower to the mats where Donnelly and Quinn already sit. As soon as we’re on the ground, Oscar sticks his hand into a Doritos bag.
Shit, with Oliveira, he could’ve packed the whole snack aisle in his gym bag. The guy is always hungry.
“First things first, if you plan to recommend your gym buddies as security detail, ask where they’re from. It’s not that hard. Like this, hey, Donnelly.”
“Hey, boss.”
“Where were you born and raised?”
“South Philly.” He pats his chest. South sounds like sow-philly out of his mouth.
Akara gestures to the Oliveira brothers. “Oscar and Quinn, where were you born and raised?”
“Northeast Philly,” they say with deep pride.
Akara nods to me.
“Northwest Philly, two streets over from you.” We grew up in an affluent neighborhood and attended the same high school. Really, we were acquaintances. We became friends when Akara opened this gym, and I was one of the first to walk through the door.
“See, easy,” Akara says right at Oscar, calling him out. Tri-Force only hires new bodyguards who were born in Philly. They want people on the team who can navigate the city blindfolded.
Oscar raises a hand. “I thought Reynolds was from here. He had that annoying South Philly lilt, sounded like Donnelly trying to order breakfast at Lucky’s Diner—kept saying beggles and wooder.”
We all laugh.
Most everyone has a mild to no dialect, but the South Philly guys carry a much thicker Philly accent.
“Again,” Akara smiles, “just ask where they’re from. Saves me time.” He finally takes a seat on the mats and closes the circle. Looking around to each of us, his lips fall in a serious line. “You’re going to hate what I have to say about the charity event, but you get a grand total of five fucking minutes to complain. Then you’re done. I don’t want to hear anyone whining over the coms for the next three months. Don’t be that guy.”
Quinn nods repeatedly. Akara should’ve been his mentor.