Chapter 20
Archer
Even though it’s been a few days, I still can’t believe that London was only gone less than an hour and she managed to land a job.
How?
I fought the urge to prevent it from happening and decided to go along with it. The whole point is for London to get back on her feet so she can move out, and yet I can't help but feel resistance.
The job isn't far, and their security is lax enough that I can easily gain access to various feeds throughout their building.
If she was going to get a gig anywhere, this would be the most ideal.
She doesn't have to take a bus, taxi, or train, and if something happens, I could be there in two minutes flat.
I finish my daily scan of what Joe Vito is up to, and conclude that he doesn't seem that interested in locating her.
Maybe Silver overestimated the threat or did a good enough job of making her disappear that he doesn't even know where to look.
Either way, it's made my task of keeping her safe that much easier.
Perhaps I should accept the independence she's gaining because it's putting her one step closer to getting out of my hair.
I thought London having a job was going to be painful, but so far, nothing bad has happened.
That doesn't mean I haven't been watching her intensely every moment she's been gone.
It's distracting. My work is suffering. And if I don't get my head out of my ass soon, I might make a costly mistake I cannot risk.
I'm getting things done, but mainly when she's fast asleep in my bedroom, and I can guarantee she's safe and sound.
My investigation of the man who tried to rob Ruth's place was unsuccessful—one dead end after another.
I'm not convinced it didn't have something to do with the Manor brothers but I haven't found anything to give me irrefutable proof yet.
And without that, none of my own brothers will take me seriously.
They call me paranoid and tell me I'm overreacting, and honestly, I'm kind of starting to believe them.
I didn't used to be like this. I was always pretty thorough and collected, but this Archer second-guesses and triple-checks everything. There are things I miss about the old me despite it being better that he stay buried in the past.
London slams the front door shut, jarring my attention from the computer I'm mindlessly typing code on. I've been trying to hack into security footage at a high-end gentleman's club on the West Coast for the past hour to no avail. I'm getting sloppy and it shows.
She doesn't bother looking in my direction, which is a dead giveaway that something is up. London continues into my bedroom, her purse clutched to her chest. She doesn't visibly seem injured, but her body language tells me this isn't her normal behavior.
This is what I get for not watching her every second she's gone. I thought having her feed in the background and paying attention every so often would be enough. Yet here I am, clueless about what's going on because I was focused on anything other than her for a change.
London slips out of my room and darts straight into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
I make my way over there in a rush, tapping on the door. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she calls back without hesitation.
"Why are you being weird?"
"Why are you?" she responds. "Maybe I have to poop, leave me alone."
"Are you sick?" I ask her.
"I'm fine, Archer. Leave me alone." Her tone is clipped and pointed but it does nothing to settle my unease.
I remain there, one arm on the doorframe and wait for something, anything.
"I know you're still out there," she says through the door. "Go away."
Breathing through my nose, I attempt to calm my nerves and not break this door down right now. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on, London."
She grunts. "You are so annoying, you know that, right?" Muffled sounds come through. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll be out."
I keep my arm on the doorframe and consider how hard I'll have to kick to open the door. Only, if I'm not careful, London could be in the crossfire and that would make things worse than they already are. I don't want to hurt her, I just want to know what the fuck she's hiding from me.
An entire minute passes and my nerves have done nothing but grow wilder. "London, I'm giving you to the count of three and I'm busting the door down." I hate myself for being this way. "One…" I pause and give her a chance. "Two…"
"Jesus, Archer," London huffs. "Hold on." She unlocks the door and turns the handle, opening it slightly.
I peer at her, inside the bathroom, and back at her. "What are you doing?"
"Why does it matter?"
"It matters," I all but growl. "Let me in."
"You're being a psycho." London keeps the door barely ajar, hiding herself behind it.
"And you're being secretive. Did something happen? Did someone hurt you? Tell me and I'll make it right."
London narrows her gaze. "Are you listening to yourself right now?"
"Step away from the door." As forcefully as I can without shoving her out of the way, I push the door and step into the confined space, my sights scanning the room and searching for answers.
"You can't just barge in here and…"
That's when I locate the bag on the counter from a local hardware store and the thing sitting on top of it. I snatch it off the counter, turning it over in my hand and trying to make sense of what I'm looking at.
London hugs her arm to her chest and it finally clicks what's going on here.
"Let me see it." I hold out my hand and she reluctantly puts her casted arm into my palm, the edge of the cast snipped from the blunt-edged scissors she attempted to smuggle in here.
A million thoughts run through my mind, like how could she be so stupid?
Why wouldn't she go to a doctor? Why not ask me for help, or at the very least, someone else?
She's going to hurt herself if she's not careful.
"I don't want a lecture, Archer," London says. "So if you're going to give me one, you can get the hell out."
"I'm not going to lecture you," I tell her even though I really fucking want to. Chewing at the corner of my lip, I realize the only path forward is to play nice. "Let me help you."
"I don't need your help," she snaps at me and pulls her arm away. "I was doing fine without you."
I ignore the strange sensation cutting through me at her jab and continue. "It's not an option. I either help you or you can get out." So much for playing nice.
"You wouldn't." London glares at me and I match her intensity, stepping toward her.
"I would." I put my hands on London's waist and hoist her onto the counter without giving her a chance to protest. "Now sit here and shut up."
Surprisingly, London doesn't disagree, and even puts her arm on her lap instead of hugging it to her chest.
"Good girl," I tell her and line the scissors along the edge of the cast. It doesn't take me long to carefully cut through the cast, pausing once I reach the end. "Are you in any pain?"
London swallows harshly. "No."
"I'm going to pry it apart," I tell her and hope like hell enough time has passed for her arm to be healed.
If it were up to me, London would be in a doctor's office having this done, but I'd be a fool if I thought she would wait to let that happen.
Once London makes her mind up about something, she stubbornly won't let it go.
"Okay." London keeps her eyes on her arm as I grip her cast gently, but firmly, and pull at the sides.
The cast cracks and gives way, revealing her frail arm underneath.
London loosens a sigh and brings her other hand over to caress the no doubt tender skin.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask her.
She nods rapidly. "I'm great." London extends her fingers and contracts them, turning her wrist over and bringing it toward her. "I feel like I just lost twenty pounds."
"You should probably take it easy with that thing for a while. Maybe get it checked out."
"Can you not ruin this moment for me?" London pushes my chest to move me away before hopping off the counter and unbuttoning her pants.
"What are you doing?" I blurt out.
"Uh, taking my pants off so you can cut the other one off."
"Right. Yeah." My chest constricts as London slides her jeans over her ass, revealing a pair of dainty lace panties, similar to the ones I fucked her with and ended up stealing.
"Put your tongue back into your mouth, big boy." London smirks and steps out of her pants completely, leaving her in just her fitted top and panties.
Maybe it's a good thing she didn't go to some random doctor to have this done.
I do my best not to eye her too much and focus on the cast attached to her leg. I'm not always a gentleman, but for her I'll try.
London inches toward the counter, pressing her hands to the sides to lift herself. I get there first, my palms gripping her waist and putting her back up there before she can hurt herself.
"You shouldn't apply pressure to that arm this soon," I tell her like I'm trying to come up with an excuse for why I'm touching her.
"Whatever," she responds and repositions herself.
Kneeling in front of her, I start at her foot, holding her leg steady with one hand and using the other to run the scissors up her cast. The material is easier to cut through than I expected, and it takes no time to make my way to the other side.
"Are you ready?" I ask her once I've cut the length of the cast.
She nods stiffly.
Repeating the same movement as her arm, I pry the sides of the cast open until it pops and reveals her leg.
"Gross," London says immediately. "It's so hairy."
"I think that's normal," I tell her.
"Normal and gross. I'm so ugly now."
My jaw tenses. "Don't say that about yourself."
London rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, I'm joking." She wiggles her toes and rolls her ankle to get a feel for her newfound freedom.
"Are you in any pain?"
"Not at all."