Still scrolling through the text thread, I land on another message I sent: what are you doin about Sulli’s birthday?
She’s turning twenty, and they were planning on going to a waterpark.
Nothing, just stuck here – Akara
Got her cupcakes at least – Akara
Jack is picking them up – Akara
My lip almost curves upward. I would’ve made a comment about him and Sulli, but Omega is dealing with a video leak.
Every 24/7 bodyguard was messaged the “Hot Santa” video where SFO wore red underwear and competed in a fake pageant on the tour bus.
I laughed my ass off when Thatcher appeared in a jockstrap. Now that the footage is all over the internet, it’s less funny.
My brother won’t care that his ass is now circulating news sites. He’s gonna care about Jane. And he’ll care how this affects me.
I’m just concerned about his job…and my job. Because I look just like Thatcher Alessio Moretti, and Mary Mother of God knows well that bodyguards can’t be famous like their clients. That’s the saying on the team. But I think the Alpha lead underestimates how much we all can get done while being fawned over and gawked at.
Hell, that already happens on some scale to the better-looking bodyguards. Which includes the Oliveira brothers and practically all of Omega.
And me.
I’m six-seven—I’m not exactly blending in everywhere I fucking go.
But if Thatcher is suddenly the Hot Jockstrap Bodyguard, then people will think I am too. It’s just the way it is being identical.
So I might be unemployed soon. Yippe-ki-ya motherfucker.
And it could be the end of the line for all of SFO, including Akara. The team is going to have a fucking issue replacing them.
On top of that uncertainty, no one knows who leaked the video. But it’s not Epsilon.
I’m SFE.
And the men living with me here, I’ve known for a long time. A couple need to learn to shut up and just do their jobs, but I could say the same for some guards on Alpha and Omega. For the most part, the guys around me aren’t bad. I trust them, and Thatcher has been their lead for years.
If it wasn’t a new guard, it has to be someone in the family – Akara
It couldn’t have been SFE – Thatcher
I recall those two texts, and it’s not a good feeling thinking the leak might’ve come from a family member.
It’ll crush Xander, who already has trust issues.
If the leak came from security, the Tri-Force could just fire the shitbag.
I pocket my phone, and I wrench my shovel from the mound of snow and go back to work.
Shoveling the driveway, my bones grind and muscles throb. Cold bites my exposed face, and I push through aches and pains from two deployments.
If I could tolerate twenty questions tonight, I’d be inside watching the Flyers game with SFE.
I can let a lot roll off my shoulders, but I’m not looking to be bombarded with questions about Thatcher and updates on Omega.
I have the answers. Perks of being the twin brother to a lead and friends with another lead. I probably know too much.
Akara and Thatcher told me not to spread intel yet, and I’d sooner rip out my vocal cords than betray those men.
I’ve shoveled maybe a fourth of the driveway before my phone rings.
I dig the cell out of my pocket and tear off my glove with my teeth. Clicking into a call from my brother.
He must have news about Omega’s future on the team.
I put the phone to my ear. “Hey—”
“Xander is in trouble,” Thatcher cuts me off, his voice like a cement block. “He locked himself in his room.”
I barely hear him say, you need to go. I don’t think—I just react, a shot of adrenaline thrusting me towards the Hale mansion. I shove off.
Can’t grab car keys.
No time.
Can’t turn around.
No time.
I sprint through thick snow down the half-shoveled driveway. Pain recedes in my body, silent behind urgency, and I reach the mailbox. Where a bike is resting.
I grab it.
I climb on.
Comms buzz in my ear.
The rich neighborhood is plowed daily, and so the streets are clear. I pedal fast, standing up and hearing the chains creak under my weight and height.
Cold air chills my face and cracks my lips, my eyes burning from the freezing wind, and I keep pedaling. Even as snow begins to fall. Even as my pulse thumps hard and deep.
I pedal until the chain breaks.
And then I run.
I’m too laser-focused for jumbled thoughts. I’m on