Chapter 22 #2
My head throbs, a deafening symphony of drums pounding at the base of my skull. “He wanted Anthony dead, he wanted me to do it, and then… what? He wanted Archer to know he knew I did it. Why?”
“That’s where the rest of us are stuck.” She laces her fingers together and lays her hands in her lap, her lips curling into a sweet smile as she looks me up and down.
“We’re not sure yet. Goosing you and Soph along, having you whack Agosti…
the motivation is reasonably easy to see.
But calling Archer and telling him a whole freakin’ city was about to come down on your head is a little more perplexing. ”
“H-he told Archer I was a target?”
She scoffs. “He told Archer you were dead freakin’ meat, because you’re a Malone and therefore, a Malone gonged another family’s patriarch.
The rules you thought you were not breaking were, according to Cordoza, broken, and therefore, Archer had two options: accept your actions as the actions of the whole family, thus declaring war, which would eventually lead to your death, but also, the death of his brothers and his brothers’ wives and that cute little doggy of Christabelle’s, too. ”
“But I’m not a Malone!” I cry out. “Not technically. And I ruled it a suicide, anyway. No one outside of us even knows—”
“Cordoza knows.” Her eyes darken. “He put you where he needed you and played you as if freewill no longer applied. Archer’s second option was to hand you over to Cordoza, thus severing your association with the family and saddling you with the repercussions of your own actions.”
“He wouldn’t—” I gulp. “He didn’t…”
“He would never. So his third, not-at-all-desirable, but better-than-having-you-killed option was to ask you to stay away for a few days. He would make it appear as though the relationship had been severed, Cordoza—still playing his game—promised to do his part in New York, smoothing things over, and in the meantime, Archer had security on you like white on rice.”
“But he—”
“And then he exploded all over everyone,” she quips.
“Fighting with Fletch, fighting with Felix. Cato. Harrison. Stovic.” She swallows, her throat shifting with the action.
“Fighting with you. He wasn’t sharing his plan with anyone else, so Fletch was throwing down for you.
Cato announced Archer ain’t shit anymore, so he, Cato, would marry you instead. ”
I choke on a wet, stupidly tearful laugh and swipe my nose. “Of course he did.”
“Archer threatened to bury him in the orchard with his dead mother,” she rasps, the pain she feels, no doubt a runoff of the pain Cato felt hearing those words.
Of the pain Archer felt saying them. “Whatever Cordoza said left Archer paralyzed with fear, and the only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to keep you alive. If that meant burning the world down, including the tenuous relationships he’d been building with his brothers, then that was a sacrifice he would make.
But because he was all alone in the things he knew, he was all alone in the pain and terror he felt, and the people he could have relied on…
” Her lips quirk into a soft, almost silly smile. “They chose you.”
My face falls, my lips drop into a pout, and my shoulders slump. My entire being collapses in on itself. “He was alone?”
“In his heart?” She presses her hand to her chest. “In his mind? Yeah, he was as alone as you’ve felt this week.
But while you were crying and vacillating between rage and devastation, he was dealing with Cordoza, so freakin’ sure if he slipped even once, you would end up in a body bag.
Oh.” She flashes a bright smile. “And he bumped five of the men on your list.”
“He what!?” I sprint back toward the bed and throw myself onto my knees, the sheets pooling around my legs and my heart damn near tossing itself to the floor. “Archer? My Archer? That Archer? And just so we’re on the same page, by bumped, and bonked, and whacked, you mean—”
She runs a finger across the front of her throat. “Kaput.”
“Aubree!”
“Dead,” she snickers, lowering her hand.
“He had Harrison listen in on every damn discussion you had with Soph, Harrison fed information back to Archer, and then Archer intercepted and killed your marks before you got your hands dirty. All of which is proof, by the way, that he wants all of you. He wants so much of you, he’s willing to do the stomping himself just so you don’t have to go out at night.
Also, he’s pretty mad about the date you were supposed to go on last night.
Something about how his wife—said in a growly tone—is forbidden from dating other men.
Unacceptable,” she taunts. “Can’t say I disagree.
If the shoe were on the other foot and he—”
I dive forward and grab her hand, clutching it desperately between mine. “He didn’t send me away?”
“Well… in the strictest technical sense…”
“Aubree Grace!”
“Not because he wanted to,” she concedes gently.
Sweetly. “Cordoza has the final word on all things in New York, and he’s always been kind to you and Soph, so when he said you were in danger, Archer took him at his word and acted accordingly.
Even when everyone he loves screamed in his face and chose you, he didn’t bother telling his side of the story.
He didn’t need their ass pats and there-theres.
He just needed you to survive. To be safe.
And he definitely needed to add Factor to your fridge, because when he found out you’d left without yours and too freakin’ stubborn to use the family card, he was not very pleased. ”
I drop her hand and spin on still-aching knees, tangling myself in the sheets and almost pitching straight onto my face.
“Wait.” Aubree shoots up in bed. “Where are you going?”
“Archer!?” I stumble to my feet and sprint across the room, swinging the door wide only to skid to a stop and yelp when I’m met with Mr. Harrison’s startled stare.
“You!” Instead of barreling past him and down the stairs, I stop in front of my guard, my friend, and poke his chest. “Nobody likes a snitch, Theodore.”
His cheeks blaze bright red. “Uh…”
“You told him everything? Is there no loyalty among jogging buddies?”
“N-not everything,” he stammers, broadening his chest and wringing his fingers. “I’m technically employed by the Malone family, which means answering the questions they ask. When I felt your choices placed you in unnecessary danger, I informed Mr. Malone.”
I peel my lips back and sneer.
“But when your diet consisted only of Pepsi, coffee, and the occasional candy bar, I said nothing. I felt there was room for intelligent distinction and, when appropriate, privacy.”
“And before that, you nearly died because my husband’s bad temper got the best of him.
” Throwing caution to the wind, I stalk forward and wrap my arms around the man, stunning him into stillness and, along the hall, shocking two other guards whose eyes nearly pop clean out of their heads.
“I’m sorry you landed such a sucky job this week, and I’m sorry my actions got you in so much trouble. ”
“Uh…” He clears his throat, his body rock-hard and completely still. “Respectfully, Doctor. Please don’t hug me.”
“Because hugging feels weird?” I squeeze him extra tight. “I know. I hate hugs, too.”
“N-no, ma’am. I just don’t want to die today.”
I pull back and release the poor guy from my clutches. “If there ever comes a point where I must accept someone to watch my back, I would choose you.” I paste on my most convincing smile and lay my hand on his arm. “I take comfort knowing such news would probably annoy the crap out of you.”
His brows pinch close together. “Ma’am?”
“I imagine Felix’s annoying tendencies likely land him in his enemy’s scopes often. Which means whoever is assigned to guard him is in mortal danger just as often. Even knowing that, you would choose dodging bullets over being stuck with me.”
He drops his chin, his eyes going to the floor. “I volunteered to stay in Copeland, Doctor Mayet. Until this mess was resolved, I wanted to ensure you were okay.” He peeks up from under long lashes. “Don’t hug me, though. That’s how a man in my position is terminated early.”
“Bonked. Whacked. Terminated.” Aubree snorts, her shoulder pressed to the door frame at my back. “Might I also suggest extinguish and, when a matter must be dealt with quickly, dashed.”
“Thank you for everything, Mr. Harrison. I appreciated your presence this week more than you know.” I hold his stare for a beat longer, drawing my hand back and offering the man a kind smile.
Then I spin on bare feet, charging past two more guards and starting down the stairs.
“Archer Malone?!” I shout so loud the words scratch along my throat, leaving a tickle in its wake.
“Detective Malone! I wish to speak to you.”
Cato skids across the tile on the bottom floor in white socks, basketball shorts, and a tank, much like he wore last night. His hair is messy, his eyes are wary, and as I come down the stairs, marching like I’m heading to war, his shoulders broaden and swell.
Because if I’m going to war, I don’t doubt, not for a single second, that he’ll charge the front line right beside me.