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ARCHER
The long drive clears my head, just like I hoped it would, but as soon as I pull back up to the farmhouse, I’m reminded again of the blonde inside and the mischief sparkling in her eyes.
Genevieve Dalton. Prisoner turned…something else. Rich street kid. A massive pain in the ass.
Her compliment hit me when I was unprepared, and in return, I revealed a weakness. My looks have always been a tool, but growing up, I was mostly the nerdy kid more than any real heart-throb. My looks only became an asset later when I realised what they could get me and what they could get my family. Now, I can smooth talk any woman out of her clothing, and Genevieve would be no different, but her mouth is far more interesting to me than her looks. Her brain calls to me in a way I haven’t felt in a while. Though she plays the rich, self-made entrepreneur, there’s far more beneath those blue eyes than even I know. The urge to peel back all the layers until I know everything about her is strong, but that’s dangerous. It’s dangerous to want to learn about her. Booker and Eric have already claimed her and made their intentions known. Gage wants her but doesn’t want to admit it. I don’t blame him.
I don’t want to admit it either.
There’s something about the woman, however, that gets under my skin and burrows in, turning my drive into different imaginings of how I would take her if I decided to give in. If she’s going to be family, clearly we can’t all be fighting over her. I don’t think we would, not with how close we are, but sharing? It shouldn’t have any hope of working, but far more dangerous than the thought of sharing is the idea that Genevieve would become the heart of our family, a connection between all of us. That gives her power I’m not ready to grant, even if she didn’t run nor give us away to her dickhead of a fiancé or the police.
Shutting the car off and stepping out, I find myself adjusting my clothing to pull the wrinkles from them. I scowl when I realise what I’m doing. It doesn’t matter what I look like. I’m just walking into the same farmhouse I’ve been walking into for weeks. Nothing is different.
Nothing.
But as I walk up to the door and pull it open quietly, my eyes go right to Genevieve where she sits on the couch. Gage and Booker are nowhere to be seen, probably off to bed at such a late hour. Eric is asleep against Genevieve’s shoulder. The TV is low, playing something I don’t recognise immediately, but they’d been watching it together. Genevieve’s large blue eyes turn to me as I step inside, wide awake despite everyone else going to bed.
I tense but give nothing away as I close the door behind me and lock it. I step over to the kitchen a moment later in search of something to snack on before I head upstairs.
“Why do I make you so nervous?”
The whisper comes from behind me, closer than I expect. Turning, I meet Genevieve’s eyes. She moves quieter than I anticipated. I hadn’t even heard her move. Apparently, Eric hadn’t either, because he’s still asleep on the couch, now lying on his side rather than against Genevieve.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answer just as quietly, returning to my hunt for something to snack on. In the fridge, I find a Tupperware containing some chicken dish Eric previously made. I should probably heat it up, but it would make too much noise. Instead, I take it out and pick up the cold meat, prepared to bite into it.
“Ew,” Genevieve says. “That should be a crime.”
“I don’t want to wake the others,” I grumble before taking a bite.
She frowns and glances at Eric. “Yeah, I get that.”
For a few long seconds, she doesn’t speak, just watches me eat the cold chicken in silence.
“You know,” she murmurs, “I don’t want to hurt any of them.”
“Then don’t,” I retort before setting down the food, wanting to escape her yet again. Spending too much time around her would be bad for both of us. “Why are you bothering me?”
“I know they are your family—”
“You know very little,” I interrupt. “You don’t know what it’s like to hold one of them in your arms as they bleed from a gunshot wound. You don’t know what it’s like to be chased by police, worried that they’ll catch one of you and you’ll never see them again. You don’t know what it’s like to not be able to reach inside their minds and take away their trauma.” The words tumble from my mouth, one after the other, until I’m panting with the force of my emotions.
Genevieve just stares at me, watching me closely. “I want to be a part of the healing,” she finally says. “If you’ll let me. I may not have been there for any of those things, but I’d like to be a part of it in the future.”
Her eyes are honest, and as I look into them, I see she means exactly what she says, but though we both share a tension that only seems to grow, I don’t know if I’m prepared to trust everything she speaks. That feels dangerous.
So instead, I say, “If you hurt any of them, I’ll slit your throat myself.”
She stares at me. “I’d probably let you.”
Nodding, I set the Tupperware aside and move towards the stairs.
“Oh, and, Archer,” she calls. I turn, my brow raised. “If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put U and I together.”
Snorting, I shake my head. “That one was just bad.”
She grins. “Yeah, but it got you to smile.”
The curl to my lips falls at her words, but she doesn’t stop smiling at my discomfort.
“Goodnight, Archer,” she says and immediately cleans up the Tupperware. For a moment, I feel like an asshole for leaving the mess there. She’s not our maid, she doesn’t need to clean up after us, but she does it anyway, as if she’s already a part of the family.
After a moment of hesitation, I murmur, “Goodnight, Genevieve,” and hurry upstairs. I don’t want to do something I shouldn’t, like order her upstairs so I can bend her over my bed and make her beg me for more.
My cock is hard in my trousers, but I ignore it.
A little pain never hurt anyone.
