2. Archer
2
Archer
“ W hat the fuck was that last night?” my half-brother Jayce’s voice barks through the phone.
“Not sure what you mean. I’m gonna need you to be more specific,” I answer. I know exactly what he means, but to be honest, I’m not entirely sure how to answer him. Last night was a complete shit show, and I’m still confused about how it all went down myself.
“What I mean is, why did I get a call after midnight asking me to clean up another one of your messes? A very gruesome one, I might add. You know I don’t normally question your methods, but damn, Arch, did you really have to pull the guy’s pants down like that? I mean, dude, what the fuck? I could have gone the rest of my life without ever seeing that shit. I was tempted to bleach my own eyeballs after that.”
A smile curves my lips when I picture Ian Murphy’s, lifeless body, sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood. His pants were still down around his ankles with that sorry excuse for a dick on display. If it wasn’t so goddamned poetic, I might almost feel sorry for the guy.
Truth is, he had it coming. The guy was a real piece of shit. It was obvious to me what he planned to do with that girl— or what he might had already done . The smile slips from my face when I think of how far things may have gone, before she was able to fight him off.
Rage boils my blood, making me wish that bastard was still alive if only so I could kill him all over again. He got lucky it was her and not me, because I would have drawn it out, made him suffer. After all the pain he caused my family, he deserved a whole lot more than the quick death he received.
“As much as I would like to claim that one for myself, I cannot take credit for it. He assaulted one of the female employees, so she slit his throat with a box cutter,” I tell him. He mutters a low curse under his breath.
“That’s pretty savage,” he says, sounding impressed. “How is the girl? Was she alright? I’m assuming that’s what you were busy with. Why you left me to do all the dirty work.”
“She’s fine. I made sure she got home safely.”
An image of soft pink lips and scarlet red hair draped across light blue sheets pops into my mind. I’m not sure how long I stood there in her tiny apartment watching her like a creep, entranced by her angelic face soft with sleep. Maggie Rose McKennan. The name suits her. The perfect portrayal of innocence—if you didn’t know any better—but I saw firsthand that this little rose has some sharp thorns.
When I tracked Ian to that bookstore, I wasn’t sure what I expected but it certainly wasn’t what I walked into. I was so taken aback by the whole scene that I was unsure how to proceed. To see this tiny slip of a women standing victorious over Ian’s massive body, covered in his blood, was a shock, to say the least.
It was like witnessing a modern day David and Goliath. As I stood there across the room, watching her cackle like a mad woman, I found myself intrigued and strangely…aroused. Yeah, it surprised me too.
However, when those laughs turned to sobs, I could tell she was nearing her breaking point. Seeing her fall apart that way triggered some dark and primal instinct in me, and I felt compelled to go to her. The need to comfort her was so strong, that I didn’t even stop to think about how she would react, a mistake I would not have made if I had been thinking straight.
As soon as I got close, she spooked, lashing out at me, leaving me no choice but to subdue her with the sedative I had in my pocket intended for my original target, Ian.
Like Jayce said, last night was not my usual MO. Some guys enjoy the thrill of the kill. They get off on the risk of exposure, but not me. I prefer to do my work in private, where I won’t be disturbed.
I derive pleasure from the hunt. The chase. The look of fear in someone’s eyes when they realize their misdeeds have finally caught up to them. Or at least I did…before .
Last night, however, had been more about vengeance, tying up loose ends. At least, it would have been, had the kill been mine. Still, I can’t begrudge this woman for stealing what was supposed to be mine.
“So—did you find out what Murphy was doing here? Seems odd he would show up here of all places. You think he was looking for you?”
“Nah,” I say simply. Although his presence is one hell of a coincidence, I don’t think I’m what brought him this far south. When I left Boston several years ago, I made sure to thoroughly cover my tracks, going completely off grid for awhile as I traded out the big city for a life of isolation on a small, secluded island off the coast of Georgia.
Ian was too stupid to find me, and honestly, I doubt he was ever even looking. The passing of time made him complacent, offering him a false sense of security. He always was too cocky, arrogant. His ties to the Boston underworld led him to believe he was untouchable, when really, he was too strung out on blow to ever truly be worth a damn.
Ian was a bottom feeder, an opportunist, willing to do anything to score. Drugs, guns, you name it—there were even rumors about his involvement in a human trafficking ring. If I didn’t already want that fucker dead for what he did to me, that alone would have signed his death warrant.
Trust me, I’m no saint. My soul is about as black as they come, but that is a line even I would not cross. Nor would I ever take the life of someone who didn’t deserve it. I firmly believe there is a special place in hell for those who harm innocents, and I make it my mission to send them there.
At least, I did….until my family paid the price for my sins.
After ending the call, I bring the paper cup to my lips, cringing when the syrupy sweet caramel and espresso hit my tastebuds. How does she drink this shit?
I glance across the street from the small café that gives me an unobstructed view into the large bay window of the bookstore. Inside, a petite, scarlet-haired beauty is busy stacking books on a display table. I watch her as she flits about the store, mesmerized by the graceful way she moves.
I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about her that fascinates me, something that calls to the darkest parts of me like a siren’s song. I shouldn’t be here. I should get up and walk away now. I accomplished what I came for—making sure she was alive and well—but I cannot find it in me to leave.
She goes about her work completely unaware she has caught the attention of a monster. This is a dangerous game I’m playing. Fortunately for her, she is safe from me. I would never act on my desires, but if someone is looking to hurt her… That, I will not allow.
Picking up my phone, I tap on a familiar contact. As I wait for him to pick up, I look over to J. Austin Books, where a set of large emerald eyes peer out in my direction .
“Hello?” he answers, and I drag my eyes away.
“Hey, Becks. It’s Archer. I need a favor. I need all the information you can get on a Maggie Rose McKennan.”