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How,howis it that a sting of remorse rockets through my blood when I say that? The guy is a mafia fucking don, and he’s dying. That’s good news to anyone who asks.
But he’s Archer’s father. And good or bad, biology is biology.
“Maybe you won’t go back for him…” Gentling my voice, I turn in the shower to watch Archer struggle with his clothes. “But you’ll go back for your brothers.”
“I won’t.”
“You would kill for Tim,” I challenge. “Even now, as a cop, as a guy supposedly removed from that world, you would slay anyone who crossed him. Felix will kill for you—proven already when he turned on his own man down at the bay. How can I know there won’t be a reunion of the five musketeers?”
“Because there wasneverunity among the five musketeers. Ugh!” He struggles with his buttons and yanks on his shirt. Glancing up helplessly, he looks at me the way a wounded animal might. “Babe…”
“Come here.” I remain in the shower, but I step to the edge so water sluices along my back. Extending my hands, I wait for Archer to come close enough. Then I unfasten the remaining two buttons on his shirt and push the fabric back so he can shrug it off.
His eyes burn with a deep ache. His breathing comes faster.
This is his first full day with no meds at all, and instead of celebrating that fact—or at the very least, resting—Archer is bombarded with Felix’s visit and my verbal assaults.
“I won’t share you with them either,” I mumble. Reaching down, I unsnap his jeans and lower into a crouch to drag the denim down. “If you go to New York, I’m gonna follow you. If Felix comes to live here, I’m probably gonna shove a rocket up his ass and get rid of him again.”
I brace my body and wait as Archer sets his hand on my shoulder to use me for balance, then I drag the jeans over his feet. “He didn’t shoot you, Archer. But if he never came to Copeland, you’d be fine.”
Glancing up from my position on my knees, I swallow when I find his cock full and ready, bobbing in my line of vision. Then I look higher and meet his eyes. “I can’t do that and talk about Felix at the same time.”
Archer chokes out a laugh and bends to set his hand under my arm. Slowly pulling me up, he steps forward, backing me into the water and not stopping until I hit the wall and my breath comes out on a sharp exhale. “I don’t wanna talk about Felix anymore.”
“I love you,” I breathe. “More than I should. I love you enough to want to drive every other Malone that isn’t you and Tim out of this city, if that means keeping you safe and here with me.”
“I’m never leaving.” Leaning in, Archer presses his lips to mine and swallows down my gasp of desperation. And pleasure. Surprise. “That shit you found…” Resting his forehead on mine, he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. “I wasn’t hiding it from you. It’s just something I’ve always kept. When you grow up the way I did, you learn to keep a bag ready.”
“You say you won’t leave…” My breath comes shorter. Anxious. “You say you’re never going back. But what if Tim goes?”
Stunned, Archer’s brows pull tight. “What?”
“If Tim goes, will you follow to make sure he’s alright?”
“Tim’s never going back.”
“That’s not the question I asked.” Bringing my hands up, I slowly, so very gently, peel the dressing from Archer’s shoulder. “I askedifhe goes, will you follow?”
“I don’t…” He doesn’t look down at my hands. He doesn’t study the massive bruise on his chest. Instead, he holds my eyes. “I can’t answer that. Because he’s not going anywhere. But if he does… I can’t leave him there to rot.”
My heart aches. My stomach jumps, and the fire in my blood changes from lust to fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.
But I don’t let on. He already knows his fate, so me adding something else for him to worry about helps no one but me.
“That’s what I figured.” Pushing to my toes, I press a kiss to his jaw. “Now talk to me about the cigarettes in your little bug-out bag.”
A slow grin works across his lips. “What?”
“You’re a smoker, Archer Malone?”
“No, I—”
“Smoking kills!” I tear the last of the dressing off and feel no remorse when the tape tugs his skin, and a hiss escapes his throat. “Hard limit.”
“I don’t smoke.” Chuckling, he reaches down with his good hand and massages my hip. “Not since my twenties.”
I study him with narrowed eyes. Disbelieving. Challenging.
