Minka
MINKA
M y phone dings, right beside the gold box I discovered perched on the very corner of our bed. Red ribbon, and white tissue paper. Just like he said. And when I opened the damned thing, I found out I am the gift.
Me .
He selected a crass rubber dildo and hundred dollars’ worth of lingerie for us to enjoy, though the materials used would have cost the manufacturer all of about thirty cents—considering how little there is of it.
But I understood the mission. I showered. Shampooed and blow dried my hair. Shaved my legs. Brushed my teeth and swiped on a little mascara, since I want the man to feel like his gift was well received.
And since I’ve been looking forward to tonight, I selected a pair of heels and slid those on, too. So now I stand in front of a mirror in… not very much.
“Jesus.” I press a hand to my stomach and attempt to quell the nerves slinging through my blood. The panties are… well, they won’t hold up in a high-stress situation. They show off entirely too much, and in the back, they show off everything . The bra is not a bra at all. Rather, floss, holding my tits up and forcing the swells free in places a regular, proper bra would not.
Garter. Pantyhose. And a shawl, because I guess the man wants his gift wrapped in silk.
I grab the too-thin, see-through material at my shoulder and bring it to my nose to sniff. Is it edible? Is that why it’s so structurally unsound? Or am I overthinking how utterly vulnerable I am in this getup?
But I wear it anyway, because there’s nothing on this planet I won’t do for Archer Malone.
He gives me so much, so selflessly, so wonderfully. And I give him… a hard time, mostly.
I turn from the mirror and pick up my phone to check my messages. But of course, immediately, I’m met with a rock. His gift to me. And then his warning.
I’m coming for you, Mayet. Legs open. Eyes closed. I’m gonna make it hurt and then you’re gonna thank me for it.
I draw a shuddering breath and don’t drop my hands between my legs to relieve the ache that’s been building all day long. The anticipation.
I want to touch. Maybe get started. But I want to save all of me for the man who gives me all of him. So I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth and type a shaky,
I’m ready.
Then I turn on quick feet and collect the discarded packaging. The tissue paper. The golden box that glitters despite the dull storm clouds outside. I plop the lid on top and slide the whole box beneath our bed. Finally, I crawl onto our mattress and find my comfortable spot.
On his side of the bed. Because until he’s on it with me, this is where I choose to lie. I check the time on my phone and note that it’s still early. He said he’d leave work at five-thirty, and technically, it’s only clicking over to five-thirty-one now, so I cross my legs and brush hair off my neck. And then I wait…
And wait.
And wait.
Five minutes pass, and then ten. What was a throbbing need in my core transfers to an anxious curiosity in my stomach. I check my phone again, tap on his name, and send him a rock. Then I chew on my bottom lip and scowl as Chloe the slutty cat strolls into the room.
She was giving us space. And now she’s like ha! Lame bitch. He stood you up .
“Zip it.” I sit up and fold my legs, crisscross style. Not nearly the seductive, sexy pose I was aiming for ten minutes ago. But I unlock my phone again and stare at our chat history. The rocks he sends me every single day now after my last trek to New York. His I love yous . His filthy I wanna fuck yous, when I know for a fact he’s at work and really should concentrate in that moment.
I bring a hand up and scratch my neck as five-forty turns to five-fifty—not late by anyone’s standards. But he said he was on his way twenty minutes ago, and it takes all of ten minutes to walk home. And that’s if we’re slow and chatty and distracted.
Swallowing, I move to our call log and tap his name, setting our call on speaker and tossing the phone down while it rings. And rings…
And rings.
“Hi. You’ve got Archer Malone. Leave a message at the beep.”
“What the hell is going on?” Scowling, I find Fletch’s name instead. Hitting dial, I turn on the mattress and set my feet on the floor, but then relief envelopes my body when the line connects and Fletch’s laughing tone echoes through my room. “I know you aren’t bored with him yet, Delicious. Why are you calling me?”
“He… I…” Nervous, I snatch up the phone and take him off speaker. I press the device to my ear and frown. “He’s not with you?”
“Archer?” He chuckles and says something to Mia about sprinkles. Oven. Hot-hot . “He’s with you.”
“No, he’s not. He said he was on the way, but now he’s not here.”
“We parted ways like…” I see in my mind the way he searches for a clock. “I don’t know. Twenty-five minutes ago. Dude had ants in his pants and was walking your way when I turned and came home.”
“He could have stopped in the bar, I suppose.” I bring my hand up and nibble on my thumbnail. “Maybe Tim grabbed him on the way past for a sec.”
“Could be.” I hear the ruffle of his shirt as he shrugs. “Call him.”
“I tried, but it went to voicemail.”
“Hmm. Careful, baby,” he murmurs to Mia. “If you keep eating that from the bowl, you’re gonna have a tummy ache.”
“But it’s so yummy, Daddy! I want it!”
“I could try to call him,” he rumbles, bringing his focus back to me. “Gimme a sec. I’ll get you back again?—”
The locks at the front of our apartment disengage. The snick-snick-snick is like a warm blanket draped over frayed nerves, soothing my heart and bringing a goofy smile to my lips. “He’s here.” I exhale the words and push off the bed. I’m supposed to stay here. Pose for him. Something about my legs and dinner and being sexy. But relief makes it hard to stay put, so I grab one of his hoodies instead, swapping the shawl for something far more comfortable. “Sorry for bothering you, Fletch.”
“No problem. He was probably stopping by the bar to get booze for your night of sin. Careful, Mia! That’s hot.”
“I’ll let you go.” I feel foolish now. Overwhelmed and stupid with how I overreacted. “Thanks for taking my call.”
“Anytime. Always.”
I hang up and drop my phone to the bed, and though I know he wanted me in here, mostly naked and panting, I snag a pair of yoga pants and kick my heels off. “I’m coming!” I call out, lobbing one heel across the room and stabbing my leg into the pants, then I repeat on the other side. “I know it’s only been twenty minutes, but I got worried. So all that foreplay and teasing you did today was kinda wasted.” I finish dressing and stumble into the hall. “I was ready to touch myself, but it was ruined when you took so long to get home. That doesn’t mean I’m mad at you,” I explain. I over-explain because I’m nervous and weird. “But it provides context for why I?—”
I skid to a stop at the end of the hall and stare into Felix Malone’s taunting, hungry eyes. Then I look left to Christabelle, whose cheeks fire red and her hands come up to cover her eyes.
“What was that stuff you were saying about touching yourself?” Felix sets an entire fucking turkey on the counter, chuckling as Micah steps through the door with Tiia wrapped up by his side. “I wanna know more.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I snap the words out. I practically shout them, so if Archer is, actually, next door procuring booze, he better move his ass or risk losing two of his brothers to a double homicide. “Felix! This is our time.”
“I know. You mentioned the foreplay and self-satisfaction.” He nods for a horrified Tiia to set her bowl of… something , on the counter. “Dinner has arrived.”
“Felix!”
“Archer said we could. He didn’t mention it, Doctor Cutie?”
“He didn’t,” Christabelle groans. “In fact, Archer said fuck no and to go away. But Felix is… well…”
“He’s Felix,” I snarl. Breaking away from the mouth of the hall, I storm across my tiny apartment and shoulder check the mafioso boss as I pass. Then I snatch up the turkey, almost lobbing it too far to the left and dropping the whole thing. I manage to hold on to it, only so I can spin and slam it into his gut. “Go away. Go back to New York, and if you have a spare moment, shoot yourself in the belly and call a different doctor.”
The apartment door opens again, my heart soaring and my emotions yearning for Archer to save me. Only, it’s not him who enters.
“Mayor Lawrence?” The whole world circles and shrinks around me. My brain screaming and my face flaming with humiliation. I’m wearing lingerie! I’m wearing damn near nothing, and above that, sweatpants! “What on earth are you—” I choke on my words when not only Lawrence enters, his hand wrapped around his wife’s, but then his daughters, Tabby and Jen, follow. Then their husbands. Brandan and Colby… probably . I don’t remember their names! My heart spills over when Sophia freakin’ Solomon follows with a giddy grin, then Ellie. And then their husbands. Jordan and Tony. Maybe. Jesus. Those are for sure not their names . But I already have too many to keep track of. “What the hell is going on?”
“Felix called and said dinner was at your apartment,” Lawrence answers seriously. His eyes narrow when Felix grits his teeth. While behind the mayor, Sophia swallows her own lips before she risks giggling. “Felix said?—”
“Felix is a liar!” I release the turkey, so the don has no choice but to hold it or let it fall to the floor. Then I snag the bowl Tiia put down, tearing the foil and revealing she brought potatoes. The yummy, creamy, delicious kind I know Mary made and sent across the country for me. “Felix is not a good person, Justin. His word can never be trusted. And you !” I stare over his shoulder and pin Soph with a look. “ You would know that! So why are you here?”
“I’m so sorry.” She’s a skilled actress, stepping around the mayor all demure and shit and offering a hand. “We’ve met before, Doctor Mayet. That time at Mrs. Mayor’s birthday party. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“So nice, my ass.” I accept her hand and squeeze as hard as I can. Because fury beats in my blood and hurting her seems like a good plan right now. “Surely Felix didn’t call you, too?”
“No, Doctor. Mr. Malone called Justin with an express invitation that we have dinner here. Something about a changed mind and how you were too shy to verbalize your request. Of course we packed up our things and made the move.”
“You brought babies .” I stare down at the lumps of frilly-bottom fatsos the mayor’s daughter’s husbands carry. Frills! “I don’t accept babies in this apartment! They’re smelly and weird and I did not invite you all for Thanksgiving.”
“You’re being rude,” Felix sniggers. At least Micah, Tiia, and Christabelle have the decency to keep their mouths shut and their pleasure locked down. “I talked to Archer about fifteen minutes ago. He said we were welcome.”
“You’re a liar!” I point straight at Christabelle. “She already said that’s a lie.”
“Christabelle needs to learn how to present a united front.” He palms the turkey back off to the counter and drags his bride-to-be closer, smooshing her against his chest and pressing a kiss to her temple. “She’s still learning.”
“Go away!” I search the doorway, the door still open now that we have a whole friggin’ crowd filing in, and glimpse Cato in the back. “You agreed to stay at the bar!”
“Felix said we were having dinner up here?”
“Alright,” Felix chuckles. “Seems I’m surrounded by a bunch of fucking narcs. Why are we suddenly snitching on each other just because it’s the holidays? I raised you better, Cato! But you shack up with a cop for three fuckin’ minutes and suddenly you have loose lips?”
“Where is Archer?” I charge through the group—I would toss them like bowling pins if not for the fact half of them are male and twice my size—then I emerge into the hall and desperately search the top of the stairs. “He’s at the bar, right?”
Cato’s dark brows pinch with confusion. “Huh?”
“Archer’s at the bar!” I turn and pin the baby Malone with a glare. “He’s there, right? With Tim?”
“Tim’s there, but so is Daisy. He’s briefing her, then he’s breaking away for dinner.” He shakes his head. “Because it’s a Malone family Thanksgiving, like Lix said.”
“Archer’s not in the bar?” Worry beats in my heart. “You’re not lying?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, then, where the hell is he?” I leave my apartment, filled to the brim with people who think I’m crazy, and charge to the top of the stairs, searching the concrete stairwell and praying I catch the sounds of his footsteps. Or his aftershave in the air. Or his whistle, though God knows, he never whistles. “Archer?!”
“Uh… do we have an actual problem here?” Felix folds through the door and follows to the stair landing when I start down. “Archer’s here. He said he was heading home.”
“Archer is not here! Clearly.” My walk turns to a fast jog, and my jog turns to a sprint that risks my life as I round the third-floor landing and keep going. “Archer Malone. This is not funny!”
“Mayet?” Lix dashes down the stairs behind me. “He was on the phone. Your act is immature at best.”
“Archer!?” I round the next landing, then the next again, my knees singing when I jump a half-dozen steps and my wrist twisting when I use the railing to maintain my balance. Then I continue down, my freshly washed hair slapping the back of Archer’s hoodie. The string of my fucking thong, riding up my ass and reminding me why no sane person wears this nonsense on a normal day. “Archer?”
“Ms. Mayet?” Steve steps out of his apartment, concern etched on his hundred-year-old face and worry beating in his eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“Have you seen Archer?” I blow past him and crash into the glass door that opens to the street. “Has he come in this afternoon?”
“No. He…” He follows me through the door and huddles into his cardigan when the icy wind whips past. “Doctor Mayet?”
Sirens whoop along the street. Police cars and fire engines, killing all traffic momentum as commuters get caught up in the drama. Blue and red lights illuminate the area as the sun hides behind the buildings and makes a beeline for the horizon. But my heart… my heart aches as intuition has my feet turning. My palms turn clammy despite the cold, and my stomach rolls with dread as I walk.
Then jog.
Then sprint.
“Archer?” I want to puke. I want to scream. Please, not again. “Archer!?”
“Hold on.” Cato catches up to me first. He’s our youngest, but he’s also our resident athlete and his legs are longer than the average person’s body. He grabs my arm before I breach the police tape, yanking me off my feet when motion carries me forward. Then he spins us, placing his back to whatever lies on the other side of the closest truck. He robs himself of the chance to see, to protect me. “Go,” he barks at Micah. “Check it out.”
“Let me go!” I shove Cato back, surprising him with my strength and spinning out of his flailing hands. Then I grab Micah’s sleeve and allow him to drag me along.
“Calm down, Minnnnnka.” Archer’s sultry voice turns my knees to jelly. It empties my lungs and almost has me doubling over in relief. But confusion still swarms in my mind, and darkness threatens to put me on the ground.
“Archer?” Tears burn my eyes as I search, frantically, in every direction. “Where are you?—”
“Up here.”
I snap my head back and stare up at the top of the hospital’s multistory building until I find my husband sitting at the very, very top on a dangerous ledge not made for grown men. He sits with his legs in the wind, one arm folded across his chest to combat the cold, while the other rests on his thigh.
A gentle smile feathers across his lips when our eyes meet.
But then I look to his left and blink once, twice, three times as I study the guy he’s sitting with. Middle-aged, slightly overweight. Balding, but it’s slow and tedious on the way out. That guy’s legs hang in the wind, too, and his right hand is on his thigh.
Worse, a silver glint shimmers between them, shining blue and red as the fire engine lights flicker around.
Handcuffs.
He’s handcuffed to a man I’ve never seen before in my life.
“What the hell is going on?”