Chapter 11
HARLOW
Istartled wide awake when a hand clamped over my mouth.
"Shh," Archer whispered. "It's me."
He lifted his hand from my lips.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"I have a surprise for you. Come with me." He took my hand and helped me out of bed, leaving the covers to lie in a heap to the side.
He pulled me out into the living room and handed me a bundle of clothes: black jeans and a black sweater, a pair of black socks, and black shoes sat beside the door. He was already dressed the same.
"Get changed," he urged.
Blinking sleep out of my eyes, I did as he told me, stripping off my sleep pants and tank top and pulling on the black clothes.
"What are we doing?" I asked, as I pulled the sweater over my head.
"Wait and see," was all the response I was going to get from him, judging by the stony expression on his face.
"You know I don't like surprises," I told him.
"You're going to like this one," he said.
When I was fully dressed, he took my hand and led me out the door.
"We’re not going to the apartment below this, are we?" I asked.
Boner had joked about our enemy being there, but I hadn't expected that to be literal.
"No, only old Mrs. Carboni lives there. And a couple of cats," Archer said. "She's harmless."
"They probably say that about me," I said dryly. "Except the part about having cats."
"Do you want a cat?" he asked, leading me down and out of the building.
"When would I have time to look after one?" I asked. I barely had enough time to look after myself these days, much less a pet.
"We'd all help if you wanted one," he said. "Statistically, it's much more difficult for a black cat to get adopted. One of those would be a perfect fit for you."
"Black like my heart," I told him.
He stopped mid-step and pulled me around to face him. "Your heart is anything but black." He pressed his mouth to mine, soft and reassuring.
“There are a bunch of souls in hell that would disagree with you," I said, but I kissed him back.
Reluctantly he drew away and resumed walking, his fingers laced in mine.
"It's not far," he said. "Just around the corner."
"Do the others know about this?" I asked.
"No, I decided to keep this between us," he said. "I missed doing this alone with you." He squeezed my hand.
"Is that the only reason?" I asked. "It doesn't have anything to do with you not trusting them. Do you think one of them snuck ahead and killed Lionel Gammage before we got there?"
"We were all together for that," he said. "None of them could have snuck ahead. They could have called ahead to someone else though." He chewed on that thought for a moment.
"So you don't trust them." I didn't know how I felt about that. I had feelings for all four of them. That didn't automatically mean they had to like each other. I mean, it would help if they did, but the situation was complicated at best.
"I trust you and myself," he said. "I want to trust them." He put the slightest emphasis on the word. "I know you do."
"Yeah, I do," I said, brushing hair back off my face. "But I've misplaced my trust before."
"Your trust in me isn't misplaced," he assured me. "I’d never do anything to hurt you or betray you. I know I'm not the most…normal person. People think I'm strange."
He exhaled out his nose. "I don't give a shit what they think. I only care what you think."
"I don't think you're strange," I told him. "You're unique. I like that about you. It makes you special."
"I don't think anyone's ever called me special in a nice way before," he said. "Here." He handed me a mask and put one over his own face. I gave him a smile before disappearing behind the hard, black plastic.
We walked on for a while before he stopped in front of a store. It was quiet at this time of night. Or morning, to be exact.
I looked inside my heart fluttering with nerves. "There's got to be all sorts of cameras."
"There are," he agreed. "I was down here earlier checking the place out."
"Then what?" The idea of being caught on camera put me on edge. We didn't take risks like that.
"Trust me." Still holding my hand, he led me into the store.
This looked like every other convenience store in the country. A display of Doritos off to the side. A fridge full of soda and water. A shelf with a couple of half-blackened bananas and sad-looking apples.
Further back was a counter with a cash register. Behind it stood a woman a few years younger than me. She took one look at us and our clothes and her eyes widened in fear.
"We're not here to rob you," Archer said. "We're looking for Toby."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She nodded and jerked her head toward the back of the store.
"In the storeroom," she said in a whisper. Absently, she rubbed at a bruise on her arm.
Archer nodded and led me to the back, moving slowly, silently.
"Please," the young woman whispered behind us. "Make it hurt."
Archer glanced back and nodded back. "We will."
We stepped into the storeroom to find a man sitting on a box, his phone in his hand. His cock in the other.
"Yeah, just like that," he said to the video he was watching. "Hurt her good."
Was that… Ugh, sick. People like him made my skin crawl.
He caught a hint of movement in the corner of his eye and looked up to see us. He startled so violently he almost lost his grip on the phone. Hastily he tucked his cock back into his pants.
"What the fuck?"
"Toby Dent?" Archer asked, his voice menacing behind his mask.
"Yes," Toby started to say. "I mean, no. Never heard of the guy."
"You're a really bad liar," I told him. "Like, really bad."
He pushed himself to his feet. He was tall, but carrying a few extra pounds. Sweat glistened on his brow. The smell of fear wafted from him. Or maybe he hadn't showered in a day or two. Either way, it was unpleasant.
"We know about the things you got up to," Archer said. "With young women who didn't consent."
"What the hell? I'd never do anything like that. Ask Camilla." He looked around us in the direction of the young woman although he couldn't have seen her from where he stood.
"I did ask her," Archer said. "She told us to make it hurt."
"That little bitch," Toby, snarled. "I knew I should have whipped her ass hard—" He stopped mid-sentence, realizing he condemned himself.
"She deserved it," he said changing tack, like all abusers did. Blaming the victim for the things they did to them.
"We both know that's not true. I said. "No one deserves that."
"He does," Archer pointed out.
"Right, he does," I agreed. "But she doesn’t."
"What do you want?" Toby asked, backing up a few steps until his back hit a shelf.
"We want world peace, free chocolate, and no sexual predators," I said.
Not necessarily in that order.
Toby frowned, confused. "I can give you free fucking chocolate. You can have all the chocolate you want," he gestured wildly toward a shelf full of boxes.
"You stock Cadbury chocolate?" I asked. "If I knew that, I might have come in here sooner."
"Of course I do," he said almost looking proud of the fact, as if somehow that made up for everything else he'd done in life. Chocolate was good, but not that good.
"Do you have a will?" Archer asked.
"What?" Now Toby frowned at him. "What do I need a will for?"
Archer pulled out his knife and took a step forward. "Because someone is about to inherit this place."
"What the fuck? No." Toby tried to back up further, but there was nowhere to go. "You really want to do this to Camilla? I'm the only parent she has left."
"Camilla will be just fine," I said coldly.
I'd make sure of that. She'd probably run this place better than him. If she stocked Cadbury chocolate, I was happy to frequent the place. Probably too often.
Toby reached around behind him, trying to find something to fight back with. He put his hand on a box and pulled it forward, dipping his fingers inside. He grabbed out the first thing he touched and pulled it out as if it was some kind of weapon.
"Nacho cheese Doritos," Archer remarked.
I could hear the smirk in his voice.
"Well, I'm scared," I said sarcastically. "Death by nachos."
"There's worse ways to die than eating too many nachos," Archer said.
"Absolutely," I agreed.
Toby threw away the packet in disgust and tried to find something else.
He grabbed up a ketchup bottle. Desperate, he twisted it open and aimed it at Archer's mask. With both hands, he squeezed, squirting the condiment in the direction of Archer's eyes.
Archer turned his face and caught the ketchup on the side of his head instead. It hit with a splat and trickled down his clothes, leaving a red smear.
"Is that the best you've got?" I asked, trying to contain a laugh. "Maybe you could add some mustard."
"Maybe you could fuck off." Toby threw the bottle at me, aiming for my head.
I ducked.
Archer lunged, and jammed the knife into Toby's throat.
"No one throws a ketchup bottle at my woman."
While Toby gurgled, drowning in his own blood, Archer twisted the knife, driving it in deeper.
"No mustard for us, I suppose," I said, pretending to be sad about it.
"Next time." Archer yanked the knife back.
Blood spurted out of Toby's neck. He sank to his knees, then fell backwards against one of the shelves. They rattled. Boxes of cereal wobbled.
A single box of cornflakes at the front wobbled more violently before toppling forward and landing on Toby's leg.
A moment later, the shelves gave way, soda cans raining down on him. Boxes containing deodorant, condoms, and tampons followed, piling up over and around him, like the whole store had been upended.
"Now you've made a mess," Archer said, sounding irritated. "Camilla's not going to appreciate having to clean that up."
"It looks like these shelves were put up badly anyway," I remarked. "She can have them done properly."
Unless, of course, she decided to sell the place. No doubt it held a bunch of disturbing memories. Sometimes it was better to get away and move on with life, than to stay in places that bring us pain.
For half a second I contemplated buying the store myself. Almost as quickly, I dismissed the idea. I had enough on my plate with two restaurants. What would I do with a convenience store?
"Bad workmanship," Archer grumbled. He put his knife away, snagged up a chocolate bar and handed it to me. "We should get out of here."
"Yes, we should." I followed him out of the storeroom.
Camilla was still behind the checkout.
"Sorry about the mess," I told her.
"That's okay," she whispered. "I've been trying to get him to do something about those shelves for a long time. They were bound to fall and kill someone sooner or later."
"Yes, they were," I agreed.
If they looked closely, they'd see a gaping hole in his neck. Who knows, maybe they'd accept the death by shelves excuse. After all, if we hadn't killed him, they would have. Right?
Archer took my hand and we stepped back out into the night.