Sinful Like Us Read online

  Contents

  Title

  A Note from the Authors

  Character List

  Prologue

  1. JANE COBALT

  2. THATCHER MORETTI

  3. JANE COBALT

  4. THATCHER MORETTI

  5. THATCHER MORETTI

  6. JANE COBALT

  7. JANE COBALT

  8. JANE COBALT

  9. THATCHER MORETTI

  10. JANE COBALT

  11. THATCHER MORETTI

  12. THATCHER MORETTI

  13. THATCHER MORETTI

  14. JANE COBALT

  15. JANE COBALT

  16. THATCHER MORETTI

  17. JANE COBALT

  18. THATCHER MORETTI

  19. JANE COBALT

  20. THATCHER MORETTI

  21. THATCHER MORETTI

  22. JANE COBALT

  23. THATCHER MORETTI

  24. JANE COBALT

  25. THATCHER MORETTI

  26. THATCHER MORETTI

  27. JANE COBALT

  28. JANE COBALT

  29. JANE COBALT

  30. THATCHER MORETTI

  31. JANE COBALT

  32. THATCHER MORETTI

  33. BANKS MORETTI

  34. JANE COBALT

  35. JANE COBALT

  36. THATCHER MORETTI

  37. THATCHER MORETTI

  38. BANKS MORETTI

  39. THATCHER MORETTI

  40. THATCHER MORETTI

  41. JANE COBALT

  42. THATCHER MORETTI

  43. THATCHER MORETTI

  44. THATCHER MORETTI

  45. BANKS MORETTI

  46. JANE COBALT

  47. JANE COBALT

  48. THATCHER MORETTI

  49. JANE COBALT

  Thank You!!

  Also by Krista & Becca

  About the Authors

  Pronunciation Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  Sinful Like Us Copyright © 2019 by K.B. Ritchie

  First Edition - Digital

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any capacity without written permission by the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, are coincidental and originate from the authors’ imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Cover Image ©Shutterstock

  Book cover design by Twin Cove Designs

  www.kbritchie.com

  A Note from the Authors

  The Italian used in this book is an Italian-American language developed by Italian immigrants. It is an incomplete language and uses Italian, English, or both. Different Italians speak different dialects in certain areas, and what is used in the Like Us series is prominent on the East Coast. Words may vary in pronunciation and spelling in different communities. A glossary with pronunciations for Sinful Like Us is included at the end of the book.

  * * *

  Sinful Like Us is the fifth book in the Like Us Series. Though the series changes POVs throughout, to understand events that took place in previous novels it should be read in its order of publication. Sinful Like Us should be read after Tangled Like Us.

  LIKE US SERIES READING ORDER

  1. Damaged Like Us

  2. Lovers Like Us

  3. Alphas Like Us

  4. Tangled Like Us

  5. Sinful Like Us

  6. Headstrong Like Us

  Character List

  Not all characters in this list will make an appearance in the book, but most will be mentioned.

  Ages represent the age of the character at the beginning of the book. Some characters will be older when they’re introduced, depending on their birthday.

  THE COBALTS

  Richard Connor Cobalt & Rose Calloway

  Jane – 23

  Charlie – 21

  Beckett – 21

  Eliot – 19

  Tom – 18

  Ben – 16

  Audrey – 13

  THE HALES

  Loren Hale & Lily Calloway

  Maximoff – 23

  Luna – 18

  Xander – 15

  Kinney – 13

  THE MEADOWS

  Ryke Meadows & Daisy Calloway

  Sullivan – 20

  Winona – 14

  THE SECURITY TEAM

  These are the bodyguards that protect the Hales, Cobalts, and Meadows.

  Security Force Omega

  Akara Kitsuwon (lead) - 26

  Thatcher Moretti – 28

  Banks Moretti – 28

  Farrow Keene – 28

  Oscar Oliveira – 31

  Paul Donnelly – 27

  Quinn Oliveira – 21

  Security Force Epsilon

  Jon Sinclair (lead) - 40s

  Tony Ramella – 28

  O’Malley – 27

  …and more

  Security Force Alpha

  Price Kepler (lead) – 40s

  …and more

  Prologue

  Nearly 1 Year Ago

  JANE COBALT

  Late in the quiet night of the lake house, I’m curled up on a leather sofa. Eyes raw from crying, pastel purple stationery paper lies on my lap, and I lift my ballpoint pen off inked words, my stomach sunk low.

  I stare faraway at my messy scrawl. “This isn’t the end,” I whisper, grabbing at any leftover optimism.

  I’m all alone and talking to myself. It’s certain then: happy or sad, I can’t shut up.

  My cousins, brothers, and bodyguards are in their bedrooms for the night—while I’m in the living room, staying warm in flannel pajamas beside a lit fireplace.

  I don’t love the solitary quiet, but the crackle of flames fills the silence a little. Light flickers against the dark walls, and I blow out a breath. “Come on, Jane.”

  My heart has been broken. Just recently.

  Torn to bleeding shreds, and I’m trying not to sit with these painful feelings. “You can withstand anything,” I murmur. “You’re a Cobalt.” A lump lodges in my throat, and I bite the inside of my mouth to quell emotion—emotion that pierces all the armor I’ve ever built.

  I’m not sure I want to be a Cobalt these days, and even the thought feels sacrilege. My family is my everything.

  But I never prepared to be hurt by the people I love. By two Cobalts. By my parents.

  Aren’t they supposed to believe me and trust me? When I’ve done nothing devious in my life to elicit their doubt. Yet, they’re the ones who believed I could be in a forbidden relationship with my best friend.

  Oh, and that best friend—he happens to be my cousin.

  It’s unthinkable. Never in my life have I ever even imagined…

  My face starts to twist in a cringe and then morphs into a grimace as I remember how my parents will be at the lake house tomorrow. I’ll have to confront them face-to-face then.

  I can’t say that I’m ready. Not when I’m wallowing. More pitifully than I like.

  I sigh at myself. Where is the fierce roar of a lion? “Where are the claws?” I mutter and tuck a piece of wavy hair behind my ear.

  God, I feel kicked down and meek. As the firstborn Cobalt, I’m supposed to be the fiercest, the most vicious and courageous of them all.

  Not a puddle that people can splash in.

  My voice falls to a softer whisper. “Buck up.” Soon, I’ll be on a tour bus and on the path to rebuilding my tarnished friendship with Moffy.

  I nod. We’ll be okay.

  It’s the bright side of an awful December. I take another breath and focus more on the stationery paper.

&n
bsp; My fingers brush along my handwriting, a few words scribbled at the top:

  For Thatcher Moretti.

  I continue writing out a list.

  - I prefer that you ride in my car with me. You don’t need to follow in a security vehicle.

  - Fans can approach, but if you feel they’re possible threats, please don’t let them near me.

  - I talk a lot. (If I bother you, please let me know.)

  I spend a few more minutes making notes for my brand-new bodyguard, and I end with just three words.

  I write: keep me safe.

  Once I pick my pen off the paper, I look around. Half expecting one of my cats to keep me company. They’re not here at the lake house in the Smoky Mountains.

  I really don’t love being alone, and these rumors have wedged something between me and Moffy. Pushing him further out to sea while I’m standing on a lonely island.

  I take an umpteenth breath and pull out my phone. Without second thought, I text my new bodyguard: I have the list you asked for. We can go over it now if you’re still awake. I’m in the living room.

  It’s late and it’s highly likely he’s fast asleep. But as I lower my phone to my lap, a message lights up the screen.

  I’ll be down in a minute. – Thatcher

  A small smile tries to tug my lips. Thatcher coming at my call is new to me. Lately, and very slowly, it’s been dawning on me that he’s been transferred to my detail.

  Just temporarily.

  He’s considered my secondary bodyguard, you see. Quinn Oliveira, the youngest SFO bodyguard, is still on my detail. I’ll have two men protecting me during the charity FanCon.

  I look up as floorboards creak.

  Thatcher walks across the third-floor balcony towards the stairs, moving with grave authority. A sort of domineering confidence. Like he’s on a single life-or-death mission. It lures me in for a much longer moment, an even longer minute, reminding me that he’s a leader among security, and this is the first time I’ve ever been protected by a lead.

  His shoulders are bound strictly, a radio in his fist, and his serious gaze sweeps the living room—he sweeps me.

  He zones in on my eyes, which must be red and bloodshot I’m guessing. Mostly because he lingers on my gaze for quite a while. At the same time, he’s hiking down the steps.

  And he nears me.

  I leave my notes on the couch and rise to my feet. I plan to extend a hand in greeting, but his sheer imposing height seizes my attention.

  Oh…

  My eyes slowly widen.

  He’s an archangel. Sent to protect me. And I doubt it’ll be the first time I think it—because, dear God, the analogy fits.

  I lift my chin to meet his gaze, my hands naturally perching on my wide hips. “We’ve obviously met many times before,” I say aloud.

  He nods. “Yeah. We have.” The corner of his lip almost lifts, I think, but then he rubs his mouth. Not much else passes through his stoic features. He attaches his radio to the waistband of his black slacks, also dressed in a black button-down while I’m in pajamas. “But this is different.”

  My brows jump. “How so?”

  He rakes a firm hand through his brown disheveled hair, longer pieces curled under his ears. “I’m here to protect you, Jane. You’re my first priority now.”

  “Even though you’re a lead?”

  “Even though I’m a lead,” he confirms. “Your safety is what matters most to me.” He holds my gaze.

  I don’t want to look away. I lean closer, even.

  He asks, “Do you prefer I call you Jane?”

  “I do,” I say softly, entranced by him. Thatcher might be hard to decipher, but I realize that I’m finding his strong presence extraordinarily comforting. His whole protective demeanor envelops the room and wraps around me—as though silently commanding: I am here for you.

  Warmth spreads through my limbs, and I could bask in this safe feeling for eons of time. Maybe that’s why I keep my eyes on his eyes, even as my neck aches.

  “And I should call you Thatcher?” I make sure since I’ve called him Mr. Moretti before (I was a little drunk) and he said, Thatcher is fine.

  He nods. “Thatcher works. Unless you feel more comfortable calling me something else.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I like your name. It’s unique to you. I don’t know any other Thatchers.” We’re still staring intently at each other, and I can’t tell if he’s reading into my bloodshot eyes. Knowing that I’ve been crying.

  “I don’t know any other Janes,” he admits.

  I nearly smile. “I always thought Jane was a common name. There were five in my grade in high school. But most people just referred to me by my full name anyway.” I rock forward on my feet. “I was the Jane Cobalt. Still am, I suppose.” I think of my family.

  I think of my mom and dad, and a frown drops my lips.

  My eyes burn.

  Thatcher never breaks my gaze. “Look, it might not be my place to say something, but you should just know that you’ll get through this.”

  I clutch the comfort in his eyes. Earlier today, Thatcher told most everyone here that he knows what these kinds of accusations feel like. So I say, “As a twin, you said you’ve received rude questions before?”

  “Yeah. That and more.” He weaves his arms over his chest. “Guys in high school used to say that my brother and I did some…things together for fun.”

  Things.

  I assume it verges on incestuous things, which is why he can relate to me now. I do wonder if he’s censoring himself to remain professional or because the past is hard to talk about. Either way, I won’t pry.

  I tilt my head. “Did it change your relationship with your brother?”

  He’s nodding.

  And my hands fall off my hips, and my heart plummets. It’s what I feared. That this rumor will forever destroy my relationship with Moffy.

  “It made us closer,” Thatcher says. “We got stronger.”

  Stronger.

  I inhale. “I want that so terribly for Moffy and me.” I stare off at the burning fireplace logs. “I think our odds are 50-50.”

  His brows draw together. It takes him a second to ask. “You’re that unsure?”

  I smooth the wrinkles of my cat-chasing-yarn-balls pajama top. “I know that you know me and my family better than most ever will because you’re a bodyguard, and I might never fully know you—and that’s okay.” I speak quickly. “But I’m not my mom. I’m not always so sure of myself, even when I wish I were, and I’m not a warrior goddess, even when I wish to be. I have to take that into account when constructing probabilities.”

  Thatcher stares at me in a way that causes my pulse to speed, heart to pound, and my lips part as I find more words to fill the quiet.

  “Do you agree?” I wonder.

  He almost shakes his head, but I see how he cuts the movement off. And he just says, “I think you’re really hard on yourself, Jane.”

  I like how he says my name so softly at the end, and I wasn’t searching for reassurance, but I didn’t mind that at all—in fact, I think I liked that too.

  “Not 50-50. 70-30 then,” I say. “Moffy and I come out stronger.”

  “90-10.” His eyes almost drop to my neck, but again, he stops the movement mid-way—and then he nods to the couch. “You want to take a seat?”

  Heat blazes my cheeks for some reason. “I can sit.” I return to the couch, splaying the papers on my lap. In the quiet, I steal a few glances at him.

  Thatcher looks back at me before he pulls a leather ottoman over.

  I have trouble focusing on the notes. Sitting pin straight, I fold my palms over my paper. “Were you sleeping before I texted?” I wonder if I woke him.

  He takes a seat in front of me, his posture rigid, still quietly commanding. “Not that long.”

  So he was in bed. “How come you didn’t come down in your pajamas?” I raise a hand. “I’m sorry if I’m being nosy. I’m disastrously curious, which yo
u may already know.”

  Bodyguards talk. Of course workplace gossip exists, and security’s workplace is me and my family. Plus, Thatcher knew the names of all my cats when he wasn’t even on my detail.

  That fact alone is highly attractive. And it means that he’s paid attention to my life before being assigned to protect me.

  Thatcher cups his hands together, elbows to his thighs. “You’re fine, Jane.” He takes a short beat. “It’s inappropriate for me to be around you in anything that I wouldn’t wear on-duty.”

  Interesting. I lean forward some. “But you’ll be on a tour bus with SFO and my cousins and brothers soon, so the lines will inevitably blur?”

  He never flinches. “SFO will maintain professionalism while we’re in close quarters with our clients. We’re having a security meeting before your parents arrive to discuss these details.” He’s not a buddy-guard. He’s not about to fist-bump me or lounge on the couch beside me.