Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
If this is affecting Banks that badly, then maybe I should pull him off social media checks. Give the task solely to the tech team. Shoot, I’ve considered letting this part of the job go, but I can be a control freak. And I like understanding the temperature of the public perception without running to Jack Highland-Oliveira.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Banks grumbles, so lowly that I almost miss the words.
He can’t be on a fan page like me.
“What are you reading?” I lean over to see, the cot creaking.
He shows me Twitter with the trending hashtag #SullivanMeadows.
@lowandbehold23: hope that slut chokes on pool water #SullivanMeadows
@CoolBeanz_haha: We’re all rooting for you #SullivanMeadows!!!!! Don’t fuck it up!!!!!
@tee2hee: im gonna rape that slut after she loses to Australia #SullivanMeadows
@calloways-thots1: #SullivanMeadows is with the hottest guys. I don’t make the rules #facts #LAOlympics
@RykeMeadowwsNumber1Stan: @calloways-thots1 in what world? Ryke is wayyyy hotter than Banks and Akara
@calloways-thots1: @RykeMeadowwsNumber1Stan ew Ryke is old
@RykeMeadowwsNumber1Stan: @calloways-thots1 ur old! U smell like aged gouda
I wish I could laugh at the absurd gouda tweet. But I fixate on the tweet that I’m positive is grating on Banks.
@tee2hee: im gonna rape that slut after she loses to Australia #SullivanMeadows
I go still. Fire starts brewing in my chest that I need to extinguish. Only one of us should be amped at once. At most two, and preferably, it’ll be her and him and I won’t be fueled off impassioned feelings that exist inside me, churning. Stirring.
Burning.
“Those aren’t people, Banks,” I whisper strongly. “They’re anonymous trolls hiding behind their screens and keyboards, and they spout off empty threats that are meant to incite.” Banks knows I can pop off, but we can’t pop off on the internet.
It’s a bad call.
Banks is stewing and still glaring at the rape tweet.
“Banks.” I reach for the phone.
He jerks it away. “For every single rape threat, there’s a dozen more death threats, and I know—I fucking know it’s messy and dumb to respond. But not telling these guys they’re sick in the head is fuckin’ killing me, Akara.”
I want to tell him to stick to fan pages. It’s safer. Good mixed in with some bad. Tech team can handle hashtags. They have the software, so they’ll do a better job anyway.
But the words sit like tar in the back of my throat.
I can’t release them.
Banks is saying everything that I feel deep-down. He’s craving to do what I wish I could do. But I’m the boss of this security firm. I have to consider the reputation of Kitsuwon Securities. About the example I set for my bodyguards.
Part of me envies Banks. That he can be so carefree with his emotions. Part of me hates that I have the power to stop him, and I should. It’d be smart.
It might even be the right call.
Listen to your heart, Nine.
I stiffen, not sure if I should be listening to my dad in my head anymore.
“I made Donnelly suspend his Twitter account for fighting with Farrow-haters,” I remind him.
Banks still looks amped. “You’re always saying that.”
“Because we’ve been here before.” This isn’t the first time that Banks has considered replying to hatred and me talking him down. He’ll eventually concede to just posting positive things about Sulli on his own Instagram.
“I can’t get over it,” Banks admits, a rough hand running through his hair. “I just keep picturing them getting away with my worst fucking nightmare.”
“They won’t,” I say with heat, my chest on fire. “You know we’d scorch the ground before anyone hurts her. And these sick pricks aren’t coming out of the computer, Banks. It’s faraway.”
“It feels close.”
“Yeah,” I breathe tightly. I can say it’ll never happen, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to see and know someone out in the world is thinking these vile things about the person we love.
Banks holds my gaze in a vice. “It’s Sulli.”
The way he says her name, I feel that desperate love seep deeper into my bloodstream.
It’s Sulli.
I think about the past. “I’ve been here before with Farrow,” I tell Banks. “He was obsessing over that Instagram account with murder photos of Maximoff. He was convinced it was a real threat, and it seemed like one-in-a-million at the time.” I take a tensed breath. “Even when we found out the threat was real, I told Farrow to stop looking at the account. He was too close to it.”
Banks rests his eyes on mine. “You’re going to tell me to stop looking at social media?”
“I should.” I pause. “I should ban you from Twitter. Make you delete your accounts.”
Banks studies me. “But you’re not?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Sulli.” I inhale a bigger breath, “And you’re Banks. And even if it makes me a bad boss, I’d rather be free with you than hold us both back.”
He cracks a shadow of a smile. “I guess my brother was right.”