Chapter 22
Archer
My head aches but it's nothing compared to the regret I have of saying things I should have kept to myself. London and I shared trauma I'm not convinced either of us has shared with others, and I don't know whether it's a good or bad thing.
I feel closer to her, but I hate showing weakness. I hate how vulnerable it makes me.
But then there are moments from last night I don’t hate—like slow dancing in the living room and laughing at each other while we were eating. I didn’t mind opening up to her, it’s just everything else that comes along with it.
Feelings…gross.
London steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around both her body and her hair. It’s sort of a gut punch seeing she no longer needs, or even wants, me to wash her hair. I had gotten used to it, looked forward to it even, and I regret not enjoying it a bit more when it was happening.
Life's strange like that—you don't realize in the moment that it's the last time and once it hits, there's nothing you can do to turn back the clock.
She doesn't look in my direction as she makes her way into the bedroom and shuts the door behind her, a coldness to her today that wasn't there yesterday.
Did I share too much? Did I overstep? Did a wedge get put between us that can't be removed?
I shake my head and remind myself that it's better this way. She's doing me a favor by icing me out. Because that's what we both should be doing. It's clear that we aren't compatible—it must stay that way.
Still, that doesn't mean we don't have insanely palpable chemistry that is off the fucking charts. Just the memory of how sweet she tastes is enough to make my cock ache for her.
I continue my task, typing away at my computer, slyly removing funds from one account and moving them to another. I might be a bad man, but there are worse men out there, and I fucking love stealing from them and donating to charities they'd never be caught supporting.
I do this seven more times, stealing over three million dollars to spread across various charities, my actions completely untraceable. I'm double-checking my family's investments when London comes out of the bedroom, her towel-dried hair hanging over her shoulders.
"Do you want help with that?" I ask her.
"I'm good," she says and goes into the bathroom.
I chew at my lip and try to force away the rampant thoughts of not fully understanding where her head is at.
Maybe she's hungover, too. Maybe she regained some freedom from getting the casts off and just wanted to wash her hair herself.
I can't imagine asking for help in the first place was easy for her, so not needing it now, it makes sense for her to go back to her old ways.
Still, I wish she knew I wasn't bothered by helping her. I enjoyed it.
It's nice to feel needed.
After a quick recap of the whereabouts of Joe Vito, I mark him off my to-do list for the day.
The guy is boring, predictable, and honestly, a total fucking waste of oxygen.
He spends most of his time at the same few clubs, spending entirely too much on bottle service to buy friendships, and has his hand in countless illegal activities that I would never approve of.
Don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of shady shit, but I draw the line at women and children.
I don't respect men because they don't deserve it, but women are doing their best to survive so there's no way I'm adding to the shit they have to worry about.
Call me a feminist, or maybe just a decent fucking human being.
The sound of the muffled blow-dryer comes through the bathroom door, and I picture myself in there, drying and brushing through London's red hair.
I got pretty okay with it toward the end, picking up a few new braiding techniques and learning how to use a round brush to style her hair while drying it.
I had no idea so much went into doing hair until I wanted to make sure she was happy with hers.
My phone rings, and a picture of Ivy lights up the screen.
Reluctantly, I answer. "Hey, sis," I say into the receiver.
"Arch. How are you? What's going on?"
"Not much," I tell her while keeping my eyes on the bathroom door.
It's not like she can leave without me seeing it happen; I don't know why I'm so fucking drawn to where she is.
I wouldn't put it past London to accidentally drop the blow-dryer in the sink with the water running, though.
She's accident-prone like that, and a bit ditzy. "What's up with you?"
"Busy with work, as always. You know, August keeping me busy."
"How is he?"
Ivy sighs. "He told me you called the other day."
"Oh great. What did he say?"
"Something about you're paranoid the Manor brothers had something to do with a robbery in your neighborhood."
"I don't think I'm being paranoid," I tell her.
"That's what a paranoid person would say."
"Explain it to me, Vee. He came in with a dirty gun, said he'd get killed if he told me who sent him. Who else could it have been?"
"You know they're not the only family that doesn't like us, right? We have enemies coming from every direction."
"Which is all the more concerning. Who's to say they're not aligning to take us out? We're going to have to make a power move if we want to maintain control."
"And what do you suggest?"
"You're the PR specialist, isn't this your thing?"
Ivy laughs. "A suggestion or nudge in the right direction wouldn't be the worst."
"I think we need to reach out to Johnny Jones. He and his wife have a huge sector. If we could align with them, we'd have more territory. A stronger footing." I pause and then add, "They have connections out West, too. And if I'm not mistaken, I might know a guy."
"Are you listening to yourself? You might know a guy? Really?
I shrug even though she can't see me. "What's the worst that could happen, they decline? We need to do something, or they're going to overpower and push us out."
"I'll have to discuss details with August. He has the final say in these things."
"I think you're underestimating how much control over him you have. August would do anything you said."
"Anything other than listen to me."
"It's worth a shot. I'd hate to see us lose everything we've all sacrificed so much to build."
"It's not going anywhere."
I lean back in my chair, my sights still on the bathroom door.
"What's going on with you and that girl? Is she still there? Will you be at the family dinner?"
"Nothing is going on between us. Yes, she's still here, for another few weeks. You'll have to remind me about dinner."
"Sunday at noon. Promise me you won't fight with Seven."
"I can't make that promise," I tell her, especially with London on the line. He overstepped by getting aggressive with her, and that's something I refuse to allow to happen again. "How about this? I promise not to kill him. Everything else is on the table."
Even through the phone, I can tell that Ivy rolls her eyes and switches ears. "You're the worst, Arch…but who am I kidding, I want to punch Seven in the face from time to time, too."
"I don't know how you don't. I would have consumed him in the womb if I were you."
Ivy grins so much I can hear it in her voice.
"You have no idea how many times I've considered it.
That man, well, that fucking child, he drives me insane.
I'm sick of cleaning up his messes. It's getting out of hand, and I'm at the point I don't know how to help him.
He needs professional help but he refuses to talk to anyone.
He just wants to push me away, and all I'm trying to do is be there for him. "
"Maybe he needs you to be there for him in a different way.
" But once the words are out of my mouth, I come to terms with the fact that Seven really is unwell in the head. He lacks remorse and empathy and any consideration for his own, or anyone else’s, safety.
If he weren't family, I'd have nothing to do with him. He's too much of a loose cannon.
"I don't know what else to do, Arch. I've tried everything. I'm at a loss."
I sense the shift in her tone, the seriousness of everything she's said and hasn't said.
I just wish there was something I could do to help her, to help him, but at this point, I think Seven might be a lost cause.
The trauma he's experienced molded him into who he is, there's no denying that, but I think things go deeper than trauma and more into who he is as a person fundamentally.
"Anyway," she says before letting me get a word in. "What's going on with you? Tell me more about this girl. How long did you say she’s crashing at your place?"
"She has a name, you know."
Ivy sighs. "That doesn't answer my question."
My mind floats back to last night, the game London and I had played. If only I was able to take a shot instead of having this conversation with my sister. "I think she's getting an apartment in a few weeks. So not much longer."
I loathe the tightening that forms in my chest. How can I look after her when she's not living inside my apartment? Next door isn't that far, but it's farther than I'd prefer.
"I have a bad feeling about her, Arch."
"You have a bad feeling about everything, Vee. You have trust issues."
"I trust you."
"Well, that's a given. I'm a pretty trustworthy guy."
"I don't know about all that." Ivy pauses. "Dinner, the Sunday after next. Can you handle that?"
"Where?" I ask her.
"If I say your place, will you promise not to go out of town or change the locks?"
"Chinese?"
"Keeps everyone happy. But maybe hide the booze from Seven this time."
Seven's drink of choice is tequila, although I don't think there's an alcohol he would pass up given the opportunity.
And considering the dent London and I made in it last night, as long as I don't replenish it, he shouldn't get too fucked up with what's left.
Maybe I'll go ahead and put a lock on the cabinet door just in case.