Chapter 6 The Hedge Maze #3
The laughter rippled through comms like static, unnerving in its cheer. Bev flinched, like she could feel the predators closing in.
Shep disappeared just as Lucas arrived. The shift in presence was immediate, like the temperature dropped when Shep left, only to rise again as Lucas stepped into the light.
Mac and Archer’s eyes met across the chaos, both of them fighting back laughter at the absurdity of the tableau: Bev in her bloodstained ballgown, three superheroes, a villain and a pirate, circling her like some unholy Justice League fever dream.
It wasn’t funny. It was tragic. But it was also, undeniably, more than she deserved.
“Looks like it’s just us now,” August said, pulling a wicked-looking knife from his belt.
Its serrated blade caught the moonlight.
The handle was carved in the shape of a bat’s wing, all black metal and menace.
He twirled it lazily around one finger. The gesture was pure theater, but the danger beneath it was razor-sharp.
“You claim Zane’s embellishing,” August continued, his voice smooth as smoke, “but I’m sure you’ve heard about my husband’s…abilities. How confident are you that your memories are the correct ones?”
“Very,” Bev spat, eyes wild as they locked on Lucas. Her bravado cracked as quickly as it came. “Wait, how do you know he’s not lying to you?”
“My husband doesn’t lie,” August said, stepping closer until the knife hovered like punctuation in front of her chest. “If anything, you should be more afraid of him telling the truth.”
“I have nothing to hide,” she said, her chin lifting in defiance that was starting to crack.
“Willing to put your fingers where your mouth is?” Jericho asked, deadpan.
“Wh-what?” she stammered, her voice a pitch too high, too sharp.
Jericho looked to his husband. “Feeling sentimental, Freckles?”
“Our anniversary is approaching,” Atticus said. “Let’s call this a double date.”
Archer snorted softly. “Seems like you don’t need us anymore,” he said, tipping an invisible hat. “We’re gonna take a stroll through the hedge maze.”
“Is that code for fuck in the gazebo, you pervs?” Noah asked, voice crackling through the comms.
Archer smirked, giving the four remaining family members a mock salute before catching Mac’s hand and leading him toward the maze. The cool air swallowed them as soon as they stepped off the lantern-lit path, the sounds of the confrontation behind them muffled by the thick hedges.
Once they were alone, Mac slung an arm over Archer’s shoulders. “Well, that was…something.”
“Yeah,” Archer said, his grin crooked. “Definitely the oddest Mulvaney Halloween ever. And that’s saying something.”
“You’d think I’d feel some kind of sympathy,” Mac admitted, “leaving an old lady to August. But somehow, I feel like there’s no torture adequate enough for that woman.”
“Yeah, it makes me miss the kids at the Watch,” Archer said. “How did a bunch of silly little psychopathic twenty-somethings become such a huge part of our lives?”
Mac chuckled under his breath. “Stockholm syndrome, maybe?”
He led Archer to the stone bench beneath the gazebo, the structure haloed by strands of white lights that flickered in the breeze. Then Mac grabbed Archer’s ass and pulled him in until he straddled his lap.
“I wonder what they’re up to right now?” Mac mused, voice low and amused.
Archer laughed, resting his forehead against Mac’s. “They probably have the teachers trussed up and are torturing them for candy.”
“I bet Gift’s whispering in Payton’s ear like a puppet master,” Mac said, dipping his tongue into the hollow of Archer’s throat. His voice dropped to that low rumble that always seemed to vibrate straight through Archer’s spine. “Did you rent this costume or…”
“I bought it outright,” Archer said, breath hitching just slightly. “Your creepy pirate fetish isn’t a secret to anyone. You’re welcome.” He tilted his head back to give him better access. “Don’t get too excited, though. I’m not missing that bitch’s sendoff.”
“Which upsets you more?” Mac asked, teeth grazing his skin. “That she broke Zane’s heart, or scared the shit out of Noah by almost taking out our most spoiled baby psycho?”
Archer’s laugh was soft and sharp all at once. “Honestly? It’s a tie. My brothers can take care of themselves, but when they go after the feelings faction, I start to forget we have a code,” Archer murmured.
“You are fiercely loyal for a psychopath.”
“We both know you don’t think I’m a psychopath.”
“I also don’t care,” Mac said, his thumb brushing the back of Archer’s neck in slow circles. “As long as you love me.”
“I do,” Archer said in his best Jack Sparrow impression, voice dipping into a lazy drawl. “By the way, did I mention how dashing you look tonight, Lt. Norrington?”
“Once or twice.”
“This does feel like the ultimate enemies-to-lovers trope,” Archer teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“I thought you said we were the ultimate enemies-to-lovers trope.”
Archer smiled, soft and real this time. “We were never enemies. That was the problem. That was always the problem.”
Mac’s hand slid up into Archer’s hair, tugging lightly until their foreheads touched. “And now?”
“Now,” Archer said, his grin turning wicked as he dropped back into character, “it’s not a problem a’tall, luv. No problem a’tall.”
Their laughter tangled with the hum of the garden lights. Somewhere behind the hedges, vengeance was still unfolding, but for now, in this small, stolen corner of the chaos, it was just them.