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“Her name is Christabelle. And don’t pretend you weren’t the driving force behind going to New York recently.” He comes back to the couch, but this time, with a small white box I know contains my Factor pack.
Careful not to touch anything he shouldn’t, he places the package on the cushions between us, slowly opens it to reveal the needles, then he makes fast work of opening one of two small vials: one contains powder, and the other, diluent. “I’m related to those guys,” he murmurs, more seriously now. “We share blood and a fuck load of history, but you’re the only person I chose, Minka.” He slides one end of the double-sided needle into the top of the powder vial, then repeats the movement on the other end, for the diluent. Instantly, liquid travels through the steel and begins mixing to create the medication we’ll soon inject into my veins.
This entire process, a few months ago, was something that made the hardened man tremble.
The thought of my bleeding disorder, a weakness, made him quiver.
Now, it’s just a part of our lives.
“I’ll protect them. And I’ll do what I can to ensure they don’t die. But if I had to choose between you and them…”
I turn my head and meet his perfect, green stare. “You’d find a way to save us all.”
“I’d go to you first.” Leaning closer, though he doesn’t pinch my chin between his fingers or cup my face with his palm like I know he wants to, he nibbles on my bottom lip and grins so I catch the movement of his eyes. “They’re my blood. You’re my choice.” He presses a sweet kiss to my lips and pulls back. “I know who I need by my side for the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, well…” Sweet moment over, as the Factor finishes mixing and Archer rolls the bottles to bring the temperature up, my mind goes to a different couple. A different marriage. “Do you think Adrianna killed William?”
He scoffs, but he opens his mouth when I offer a fry and takes it between his lips. “I think the evidence says she did.”
“Right. But that’s not what I asked.” I look down at my dinner and find my burger already sliced in half. My brother-in-law is perhaps the second-most considerate man I’ve ever met in my life. I leave my right hand to rest on the couch cushions, the crease of my elbow exposed and waiting as Archer slides the tourniquet up and tightens it around my bicep. Using my left hand, I pick up the first half of my meal and take a small bite. “The evidence says one thing. But as an investigator, as a man experienced in homicide, do you think Adrianna killed her husband?”
“I mean…” He places my constituted medication on the coffee table and looks down at the butterfly needle someone needs to slide into my vein. “I don’t know. We’ve barely scratched the surface on this one. She looks guilty. She’s small, but certainly strong enough to have punctured a man’s chest with a sharp knife. She had motive.”
“She really did,” I agree, remembering the black eye she sported today. “He’s lucky he lived as long as he did.”
“The scene says she was the only one there, Minka.” He picks up the final needle and extends his hand until it sits in my peripherals. “Can you do this?”
“Slide it in?” I take another bite of my burger and shake my head. “My hands are dirty. I’m too tired. And you forgot to alcohol swab my elbow.”
“Shit.” He sets the needle back on the packaging it came from and tears open a small wipe. “I’ll clean your hands,” he bargains. “You don’t have to get up.”
“I don’t wanna do it.”
His entire body stiffens. His muscular chest, hardening so I feel it in the air. “Minka…”
“You do it.” I force my lips up into a friendly, encouraging—I think—smile. “I’ll teach you.”
“Minka! I’m not stabbing you with a fucking needle.”
“Irony,” I snigger, “considering our topic of conversation. You’ve cleaned it. You’ve prepared the Factor. You know every step. So now it’s time to do the hard part.”
“Babe—”
“You force me to share my vulnerabilities with you.” I set my burger back on the plate and put it on the coffee table. “You demand to be all up in my personal business. Now I’m giving you a chance I’ve given no one. Ever. In the history of my life.” I taunt him with a look that says ‘really?’ “Are you going to pass this up because you’re scared?”
“I’m not scared.” Grumbling, he tosses the alcohol wipe aside and picks the butterfly needle up once more. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“Well… the needle’s going in, no matter what.” With an idea flashing in my mind, I reach out with my left hand and flick his earlobe with a savage intensity that has him yelping.
“Ouch! What the fuck?”
“There.” Laughing, I lean in and press a kiss to his lips. The fact that he kisses me back, that he accepts my gesture, even while cranky, only makes this moment more comical. “I hurt you. Inserting a needle into my vein will hurt less than that. So,” I look down at his trembling hand. “Put it in, Archer Malone. Don’t stop at just the tip.”
He firms his lips and scowls. “Mocking me, hurting me. These are not signs of a healthy marriage.”
“Sure, and you and I know exactly what a healthy marriage should look like, right? Your dad was a capo, and my mom had an affair with a man who was not my father.” I reach around and cup the back of his hand, guiding him forward, knowing he will never willingly slide the needle into my skin on his own. “You still don’t even know the identity of your mother, though we’re reasonably certain she was murdered and buried in a shallow grave somewhere on your New York property. And my father stayed married to a woman who cheated on him. Worse,” I firm my hold as the tip of the needle hovers just a millimeter from my flesh. Archer rejects the thought of sliding it in. His hand shakes. His knuckles turn white. And his jaw hardens to stone in my peripherals. “Worse,” I force his hand forward, piercing my skin and guiding him the rest of the way or risk him pulling away, “he knew she was sleeping with someone else. And he stayed anyway.”
“Fuckkkkk…” Archer watches my arm like he thinks I might tug it away and scream. He controls every breath he takes. Every time he blinks. We’ve administered my meds together dozens of times now, but he has never been the one holding the needle. “Minka…”
