Liar (Madison Kate #2)(37)

"So, what did he do?" I pushed, desperate to hear more.

Archer shifted his weight, giving me a humorless smile. "What any decent person should do," he told me. "He went home to his father's estate over Christmas and shot Gregoric in the head."

My lips parted in shock, but then... was I really so surprised?

"The rest, so to speak, is history," Archer broke eye contact with me, looking around the room with sad eyes. "Phillip's past haunted him. His upbringing under Gregoric had been cruel and sickening. It'd shaped his mind in a way that he could never have recovered from. Add into that all the horrors he must have seen—or done—while working in covert affairs for the British government?" He shook his head and sighed. "He and Constance moved out here shortly after Gregoric's death—bringing Ana with them, obviously—and tried to start over."

"I take it that wasn't a happily ever after for them?" I asked tentatively. I wanted that story to end in a happily ever after, even though I already knew it didn't. Phillip was dead, and Constance and Ana were still hiding their relationship after fuck knows how many years.

Archer gave me a short laugh, turning to run his hands over some of the drawers set under the counter top. Popping one open with a flick of his fingers, he revealed a padded drawer full of gleaming, colorful butterfly knives.

"Phillip fancied himself a Good Samaritan," Archer told me, running his fingertips over the gleaming metal like he was lost in his own memories. "He made it his mission to rescue kids who were heading down a bad path. But his methods were..." He trailed off with a grimace. "A bit off the mark."

"What happened?"

He cocked a brow at me. "His sons both ran away from home and started their own gangs in a lame attempt to follow after their granddaddy's footsteps."

I sucked in a breath, the pieces clicking together in my brain. "Ferryman is your uncle?"

"Yep." He nodded. "He and Damien turned their backs on Phillip and Constance, for good enough reasons. Cut all ties until Zane was a fourteen-year-old punk and Phillip saw a chance to fix what he’d broken with Damien and Ferryman."

I scoffed. "So much for that."

Archer shrugged. "Phillip never took into consideration the weakness of human nature and the strength of pure greed."

He fell silent, and I chewed the edge of my lip while I processed his family history.

"Why did you tell me all of this?" I asked softly when he made no sign of continuing his story.

He shifted away from the drawer full of knives and crossed the tiny room to where I leaned on the opposite countertop. Bracing his hands to either side of me, he crowded my personal space, and I let him.

"I have no idea," he admitted in a rough, quiet voice. "Maybe it's a test. Will you use this information against me in your relentless quest for vengeance?"

I held his gaze from just inches away, my breathing too shallow, too quick. "Maybe," I replied honestly. "I guess it depends how badly you piss me off."

A micro smile touched his lips. "Fair enough."

Yet he didn't move away from me. His broad, strong frame caged me in against the wall of weapons, and I made no attempt to free myself, even when a shiver of apprehension shuddered through me.

I suffered some kind of mental break, and my mouth moved without my permission, forming words that shouldn't have passed the mental filter. "What do you want from me, Archer?" It was a husky whisper, and I fucking well knew I'd just unchained the beast.

Archer's ice-blue eyes flared with heat just moments before his lips crashed into mine.

I gasped into his kiss, and he claimed my mouth with raw need and hungry desperation—then all of a sudden, wrenched himself away. He took two steps across the room, his back to me and his shoulders heaving.

"What I want from you, Kate, is more than you'd be willing to give." He didn't look at me as he spoke, his voice harsh as he braced his hands on the countertop. His knuckles were white and the muscles in his forearms stood out prominently, displaying his tension.

Anger and frustration and... hurt rose up in me at his rejection.

"What the actual fuck is your problem, D'Ath?" I demanded, planting my hands on my hips and scowling at his broad back. "This mood swing crap is getting seriously old. Make up your fucking mind and stick with it; you either want me or you don't. I don't have the emotional capacity to navigate the minefield of your fucked up baggage."

He barked a sharp, bitter laugh. "Just go to bed, Madison Kate," he told me in a cruel tone. "I don't fuck desperate chicks."

Cold indignation and disappointment lanced through me, and I sucked in a breath. "Screw you, Archer D'Ath. You're a damaged piece of shit, and straight up, you don't deserve me."

I didn't hang around to hear his answer, leaving the secret weapons room and Phillip's dust-filled office with my head held high.

All until I hit the main staircase, then the tears started to roll, and I hugged my arms around myself. One of these days, I'd learn.

Sadly, today wasn't that day, and my heart was paying the price of my own stupidity.





15





I gave up on sleep sometime before dawn and decided to wake Bree up with a phone call to bitch about Archer instead. I'd rejected Steele's suggestion of sharing my bed, preferring to lick my wounds alone. But alone, when my nightmares woke me up sweating and shaking, I had no hope of getting back to sleep.