12. Archer
Archer
Two days have passed since I washed London's hair, and I can't get the entire experience out of my head. It's fucking frustrating. The image of her bruised body is burned into my memory and despite only knowing her for a week, I feel strangely protective of her.
I mean, that's a given, considering Silver's main objective was to find someone to keep her safe.
Where was his plan when someone beat the shit out of her? Why couldn't he have watched out for her then? Why did things have to get as bad as they did for Silver to finally step in and say enough was enough?
I try to rid myself of the nagging thoughts and questions, but they bubble up and disrupt everything—my sleep, my work, my every waking thought.
The buzzer to my apartment goes off, abruptly bringing me back to reality. My gaze flits to the bedroom, where London is with the door shut, and then to the front. I rush over and press the button.
"Who is it?" I ask.
"Uh, delivery for Archer S—"
I cut him off before he can continue. "Come on up."
It takes the guy far longer than it should to reach my door and once he does, I see why. His nose is practically buried in his phone. He shoots me an apologetic glance when he approaches. "Sorry, my girl's mad at me. I'm sure you understand." He holds the small box out to me. "I need a signature."
I ignore him, scribble on the pad, and take the box from him, shutting the door on him a second later.
Once inside, I go straight to my desk and open the box, revealing the phone I ordered for London. With the bedroom door still closed, I quickly adhere one of the smallest trackers I have in my stash to the back of her phone, holding it up and wondering if she's going to notice it doesn't belong.
She's a smart woman, but I don't think she's quite that observant.
I swipe at the screen, turning it on and going through the automated prompts, plugging in a brand-new email when it's asked for, and shutting off the unnecessary location services.
London comes out of the room and goes to the kitchen, pouring herself half a glass of water and chugging it down. She leaves the glass there, on the counter, and I can't help but wonder if she does it on purpose to drive me insane.
Spoiler alert, it does.
She approaches, and it's then that I take her in—a pair of dark jeans and a fitted white top, the heels she bought herself on the one foot that doesn't have a cast on it.
"You're not seriously wearing that, are you?" I ask her.
London snatches the black bag I had bought her off the table and does her best to walk without limping. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"You're wearing heels…and a cast."
"And?" She pauses and points at the phone in my hand. "Is that my phone?" London snatches it out of my grasp without letting me answer. She looks it over and swipes her finger across the screen. "Cool, thanks, what's my number?"
I join her next to the couch, towering over her shoulder. "Click settings, then phone. That'll show your number. But you need to be careful who you give it to, you can't just—"
London pivots her body and places her hand on my shoulder. "Simmer down, big boy."
I glare at her. "Wait, where are you going?"
"Out." She opens her purse and plops the phone inside.
"What do you mean out?"
"It's Sunday, Archer. I've been out of your apartment once this entire week. I'm going out."
"It's Sunday?" The recollection of my conversation with Ivy hits me like a ton of bricks.
"Are you okay? You look like you're having an aneurysm." London squints her eyes at me and pokes at my cheek.
I gently swat her away. "I'm fine. That's fine. Have fun."
"That's it? No protesting? No lecture? You're going to let me go?"
"Mmhm," I mumble and take a peek at my watch, flinching at it being half past noon. I'm already thirty minutes late and I haven't even gotten ready yet. Ivy made it clear that she was sick of my shit, and here I am letting her down once again.
"Okay," London says, a hint of surprise in her voice that isn't lost on me. I don't have the time to do any of the things she mentioned. She's made it this far in life, I must assume that she'll heed my warnings and not be a complete idiot when she leaves my place.
"Don't leave town, please," I instruct her, the words slipping out too hurriedly. "Stay within a four-block radius."
"Are you going to tell me not to talk to strangers, too? Maybe not to get into strange white vans?"
My rushed nature halts and my entire body goes tense. "London," I say through gritted teeth.
"It was a joke, big boy." London pats my shoulder again, but it does nothing to ease the worry. Only, the wrath of Ivy comes creeping back in.
"I put my number in your phone," I say. "Call me if you need me.
" I open the front door and shut it a split second later.
"Oh wait, hang on." I rush over to grab the spare key I had made for her off the stand.
"Here's this." I hold it out to her, a sort of electric energy pulsing between us I don't have time to decipher.
Perhaps it's my anxiety getting the best of me and nothing is there at all.
"You're being weirder than usual." London takes the key from me and slides it into her purse. "Are you on drugs?"
"I'm not on drugs."
"Maybe you should be."
I ignore her remark. "The access code is 2220."
"So original."
"I didn't make it," I tell her.
"I would hope not." London nervously motions to her body. "How do I look?"
I let my gaze wander, regretting it the second my heart skips a beat. "You look fine," I respond, my tone even.
"You sure have a way with words." London reaches for the door handle, and I reach for her, pausing her from going any farther.
"Be careful, please?"
"I will," she tells me, a sense of honesty lingering. "I'll be back in a few hours."
"Okay. Make sure you use that card. Get whatever you want."
"Whatever I want? Okay, maybe you do have a way with words." She slips out the front door, a piece of me going with her. I fucking hate how she's crawled under my skin in the week that she's been here.
Once she's gone, I rush to the bathroom, turning the temperature to a reasonable degree, and take the quickest shower I ever have, drying off so quickly that I almost forget to hang my towel up.
I'm throwing my arms through the sleeves of my shirt and trying to button my jeans when a voice calls out from my front room.
My chest tightens. Why would London be back already? Maybe she forgot something. Maybe she changed her mind. Either way, if I can't get rid of her soon, I'm going to have to explain…
"Arch, honey, we need to talk," Ivy murmurs from her spot standing at my bedroom door.
I rush toward her, grabbing her shoulders and guiding her out of the room that has London's stuff all over it. "Hey, let's chat out here."
Ivy throws her arms up. "You might be older than me, taller than me, but you know I'm prepared to kick your ass, right?
" She shrugs me off and places her handbag on the counter, opening it to pull out a compact.
She powders her nose and snaps it shut, dropping it into the bag.
"How many times are you going to stand me up before I do something about it?
This is getting old. I'm done making excuses for you.
" She tilts her wrist toward her. "Noon.
Once a month. That's all I hold you to. Everything else, sure, make excuses for…
but for Christ's sake. I'm not asking for too much.
One Sunday. Your brothers get it, why can't you? "
I shove one of London's shirts under a couch cushion and attempt to tidy up while Ivy isn't paying attention.
Ivy is pretty small, probably shorter than London, but she grew up around four of the most ruthless men in this town and is trained to kill in various forms. I do have the advantage of being taller and stronger than her, and I'd never lay a finger on Ivy, but I'm not sure if I could hold her off.
She's like a ticking time bomb. Soft and sweet on the outside, dying to murder someone on the inside.
She gets it honest, though, her twin brother, Seven, being a homicidal maniac.
I've killed people, but for necessity. Seven does it for fun.
"Are you even listening to me?" Ivy turns around, her heels clicking against the floor in my kitchen. "Archer. What are you doing?"
I stop dead in my tracks, my heart pounding out of my chest. I hate lying to Ivy. I hate making her upset. And yet here it is, the only thing I can manage to do.
"I'm just straightening up," I tell her.
Her dark brow arches and she takes a full scan of the room. "What's going on here?"
"What do you mean?" I swallow harshly.
"Your place. It's a wreck. And…" She sniffs, then sniffs again. "Have you been using that bodywash I left here?"
"I, uh, I can explain." But no words follow and I wish like hell I could come up with some reasonable explanation for why it looks like a tornado came through my apartment.
Luckily, the front door flies open and saves me from having to say anything.
"There's my least favorite brother," Leo says as he marches in, his arms extended as he pulls me in for an aggressive hug. He slaps my back hard. "Can't believe you stood us up, Arch. What the hell?"
I hug him back, my apartment feeling smaller and smaller as Seven and August come in, too.
August thumbs something on his phone and shoves the thing into his pocket. "Sorry, dealing with a crisis."
"Oh, what's new?" Ivy says, rolling her eyes.
August shoots daggers at her before turning his attention to me. "Brother. Are you well?"
"Why do you talk like you're fifty-five?" I ask him, the comment suddenly sounding like something London would have said.
London, shit, I need to check on her.
I rush over to my computer, type a few things, and sync her tracker to my phone, the loading screen taking far too fucking long.