Even more insulting was the fact that I’d had no intention to fuck with him today. I genuinely enjoyed his grandmother's company and had thought we were making progress in not constantly taking swipes at each other. Evidently not.

  Archer had taken a swipe and drawn blood.

  Slowly I made my way into the dining room and hesitated for a moment. There was a vacant seat left on Constance's other side—as she sat at the head of the table—and directly opposite Archer. I doubted it had been left vacant for Ana—she was bustling around serving up food onto everyone's plates with silver servers—and it'd be too pointedly rude to sit farther down the table.

  With a sigh, I took my seat and gave Ana a tight smile as she filled up my plate with delicious smelling food. My champagne glass was already refilled, so I took a long sip and quite deliberately avoided looking across to Archer.

  Not that he was paying me any attention, but still.

  "Are you okay?" Steele murmured, leaning closer to me. He was sitting on my other side and reached for my hand under the table. I squeezed his fingers on reflex, soaking up some of his strength and letting it ground me. I needed to get back in control of my own emotions, or Archer really would win this round.

  Stupid me for not realizing the game was still being played.

  "Yeah," I replied with a smile, "just tired."

  He started to reply, but Constance cleared her throat and drew our attention.

  "My dears," she said with a warm expression on her weathered face, "it's such a delight to have you here today. All of you." She met my eyes and smiled. "Madison Kate, I can see you fitting into our little family just perfectly. It's not every day Archer meets his match." She shot me a wink as her grandson choked on his sip of scotch.

  Constance chuckled, and Ana—refilling Kody's glass of water—grinned a smug smile.

  "Well, dig in, then," Constance continued, waving a hand at the impressive spread of food. "Ana didn't slave in the kitchen all day for it to sit here and go cold."

  Despite what Archer said about Constance and Ana keeping their relationship on the down-low, I'd have to be blind to miss the adoring look both women gave each other.

  It gave me hope. Surely Archer couldn't be all malice and cruelty when he had such strong, confident women in his life. Surely.

  But once again, why the fuck did I care so much?

  14

  After hours of incredible food, sweets, drinks, and conversation, Constance pleaded old age and retired for the evening. As the echo of her footsteps died away, an uncomfortable silence fell over the four of us as we sat around in front of a huge, roaring fireplace.

  "So, when are you going to tell me why we're really here?" I asked Archer directly, when the tension grew too thick for my liking.

  He curved a cold smile at me, his thumb rubbing lazily across his lower lip as he stared me down, unblinking. It shouldn't have been a sexy gesture. It shouldn't. But my body had grown a mind of her own and reacted like he'd just opened his pants and—

  "What makes you think there's an ulterior motive, Princess Danvers?" he taunted me, interrupting my train of thought before I could do something embarrassing. Like drool.

  I rolled my eyes and shifted in my seat, taking Archer out of my direct line of vision and replacing him with Kody. Much better.

  "As if there's not," I muttered my reply. "If you wanted a nice visit with your grandmother, you wouldn't have brought me along. This is too personal for us."

  Archer grunted a sound that seemed almost surprised. Or agreeing. But either way, he just sipped his drink and stared into the fireplace. I knew because, despite taking him out of my direct vision, he was still in the peripheral. Always, permanently in my peripheral like some kind of nasty addiction I couldn't seem to shake.

  Kody arched a brow at me, though, and I tilted my head at him in question. I sucked at interpreting his silent speech.

  He rolled his eyes with a small smile and reached over to whack Steele on the arm. "Hey, bro. Want to go see if Connie still has that '62 Ferrari GTO in her garage?"

  Steele let out a panicked sound. "That's a fifty-million-dollar car, Connie would never get rid of it."

  Kody just shrugged. "That's what you said about the '57 Spider, too, but didn't she donate it to some charity auction?"

  Steele paled to the point of ill and shot me a worried look. "You want to come check out some cars, Hellcat?"

  I opened my mouth to accept, but Archer got there first.

  "No," he snapped. "Madison Kate and I have business to discuss."

  Steele blanched further— even Kody looked a bit uneasy—but Archer just gave them a flat stare back. "About Phillip's knives," he elaborated, and the tension dropping out of his two friends was unmistakable. Which made me wonder what other business they'd just panicked about.

  "Okay, well..." Kody stood up and stretched his arms over his head. "Try not to kill each other while we're gone. And let’s all keep our fingers crossed that Connie hasn't off-loaded Steele's dream car to a charitable cause again."

  Steele scowled, following Kody out of the room and muttering about negative thoughts.

  Archer made no move to get up after they were gone, still staring into the fire with his fingers linked under his chin, and I gave an exasperated sigh.

  "Come on, D'Ath," I groaned. "I'm not in the mood for more bullshit. Did you actually have anything to show me? Or were you just worried I'd somehow talk Kody and Steele into a three-way in the back of your grandmother's Rolls Royce?"

  A short huff escaped Archer, like a laugh he was trying not to let out, and he slowly swung his gaze back to me. "I highly doubt it'd take much to talk them into that, Madison Kate."

  I sighed and folded my arms under my breasts. "Okay, so, good to know you're a major cunt-blocker."

  Archer's lips curled up in a smile, like he found me amusing. I liked that. Then I hated myself for liking it.

  "What do you want from me, D'Ath?" I asked in an exhausted voice.

  That was exactly the wrong phrasing to use, though. He slid out of his seat with fluid grace, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back against the velvet couch I'd been sitting on. His huge frame hovered over me, the hard planes of his body pressed along the length of my body and his lips a fraction above mine.

  "I want all kinds of things from you, Kate. Ask me again, and I'll fucking show you." His voice was a husky promise of pure hedonism, and my body responded like a well-trained puppy. Thankfully, he stood up again before I could take him up on his vaguely threatening offer. "Don't say you weren't warned. Now, come on. I need to show you something."

  He stalked out of the sitting room, but I didn't miss the way his hand dropped to his crotch to adjust his cock. Apparently my body wasn't the only one affected.

  I took a second to suck in a couple of calming breaths, then hurried after him. As badly as I hated chasing him down, my curiosity was burning. I needed to know the mysterious reason for this whole Thanksgiving trip. What was so important here at D'Ath Estate that he'd suffer through me meeting his grandmother?

  "Wait up," I snapped when I needed to actually run a bit to catch up to him, and he gave me a side-eyed look. "I'm sure we're not in any great hurry, so quit walking at double my pace just to piss me off. It's childish."

  Archer rolled his eyes, then stopped outside a closed wooden door. He pulled an old-fashioned key from the pocket of his jeans and inserted it into the lock. The tumblers clunked heavily as he turned the key, then the hinges squealed as he pushed the door open to reveal a dark room.

  "After you, Princess Danvers," he told me, holding his hand out in challenge. The interior of the room was pitch black and smelled musty, like it hadn't been opened in years. I hesitated. "Unless you're scared of the dark?"

  I scowled at him. "Only if that darkness hides creepy look-alike dolls or masked men with pretty red knives." But because I could never freaking back down from a challenge, I stepped into the gloom without another pause.

  My shoulders bunched, and I tensed myself for an attack. Not because I still suspected Archer of being the one who’d stabbed me—I was at least ninety-seven percent sure he had some interest in keeping me breathing—but because that would be the kind of school-bully bullshit that was right up his alley.

  Nothing jumped out at me, though, and when Archer flipped on the light, I let out my held breath with a long exhale.

  His quiet snicker said he hadn't missed it, either, and I seethed that he'd got one up on me. This time.

  "So brave, Madison Kate," he murmured, flipping a lock of my hair when he walked past me. "I wonder how long that will last."

  I scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  He didn't answer me, instead walking around the enormous wooden desk of what was clearly an office. Certainly not Constance's office, though, and not of anyone who'd used it recently, if the thick layer of dust on all the surfaces was any clue.

  "Was this your grandfather's office?" I asked, peering around at the bookshelves, the ornate globe, the gold-framed paintings... It was definitely a masculine workspace.

  Archer grunted a sound that I assumed to be, "Yes, MK, it was."

  He stood in front of a huge portrait of a strikingly handsome man with jet black hair and dark eyes. The resemblance to Archer was uncanny; they could have been brothers.

  "Is that him?" I pushed, feeling the need to fill the silence. No one had stepped foot in this room for a long time, and it made me wonder why the staff hadn't cleaned, at the very least.

  "Phillip D'Ath," Archer announced. "Yep, that's him, alright."

  I thought of Constance and Ana's relationship and wondered how Phillip had factored into that. Had he known? And if so, had he supported them?

  "How long ago did he die?" I asked instead, coming to stand beside Archer and peering up at his handsome ancestor.

  "Six years," he replied, his voice rough. I got the feeling he missed his grandfather, but the emotions there were confused. Like maybe his grandfather wasn't the nicest guy on Earth. Archer let out a long sigh, then reached for the edge of the frame. "This is what we came to see, though." He curled his fingertips under the frame and pulled it off the wall. It swung out easily, hinged on the other side, and revealed a mechanical keypad with a blinking blue light on the display.

  "Uh... we came to break into his safe?" I asked, startled but not disapproving. If there was some evidence that might help me locate whoever tried to kill me, I'd do just about anything.

  Archer's lips pulled up in a half smile. "Something like that. It's also not breaking in when I own it."

  He keyed in the passcode, not bothering to hide it from me, and that made me suspicious. He sure as shit didn't trust me, so did that mean he planned to kill me one day?

  When the light turned green and the mechanical lock bleeped, the entire wall panel clicked open to reveal a room beyond. Halogen lights flickered to life as Archer pulled the hidden door open wider, and I stifled a gasp of shock.

  "Yeah, Phillip was an interesting character, that's for fucking sure," Archer muttered.

  Every available surface of the secret room was lined with weapons. Guns of every shape, size, and caliber. Knives in all kinds of shapes and curves. Even...

  "Is that a rocket launcher?" I squeaked, pointing to a scary-looking weapon with a long-ass tube attached.

  Archer huffed a short laugh. "Bazooka. Phillip was a bit of a collector."

  "Oh-kay," I looked all around me with wide eyes. "Will you explain this, or am I wasting my breath?"

  Archer leaned his shoulder on one of the racks of weapons, folding his thick arms and giving me a considering look.

  "I mentioned to you that Ana was purchased by my great-grandfather, Phillip's father." It wasn't a question, merely a reminder. I nodded. "He was a revolting man, crooked as they come, with his fingers deep in every type of crime imaginable. Gunrunning, drugs, sex trafficking, murder... nothing was out of his wheelhouse. It's where the bulk of the D'Ath fortune came from."

  I raised my brows, processing what he was saying. But that was his great-grandfather, who could have died before he was born. "So, Phillip carried on the family business?"

  It made sense. It explained the abundant wealth evident at D'Ath Estate, and certainly lined up with Damien D'Ath having founded the Shadow Grove Reapers. However, knowing how deep into the criminal world their ancestor was, the Reapers seemed almost small-time in comparison.

  Archer shook his head, though. "No way. Phillip despised his father and everything he was involved in. Gregoric buying a kidnapped fourteen-year-old Croatian girl in a flesh auction was just the last straw for Phillip."

  My stomach churned, thinking of Ana's kind warmth and how hard her life must have been. What horrors she must have endured. It gave some serious perspective to my own petty problems.

  "He enlisted the second he was old enough to do so without parental consent," Archer continued, telling me his grandfather's story, his eyes locked on mine without blinking, "then quickly worked his way through the ranks. When he met Constance, he was working for some highly classified division of MI6." He gave a small, rueful smile. "We haven't decoded his files enough to work out what exactly his role was, but it isn't hard to guess." He gave a head tilt to the room full of weapons, and I nodded.

  "Yup, this is sort of a big clue," I murmured, not finding the willpower to tear my eyes from Archer's. Not yet.

  "Anyway. Long story short, Constance and Phillip married, and she got pregnant. Phillip had some... residual trauma from his time in the service and grew increasingly paranoid that his father would find out about his wife and baby. Possibly even do something to hurt them. Gregoric was a proud man, and hadn't taken his son's abandonment of his birthright well." Archer was delivering the story in a soft, emotionless voice, but I was hanging on every word. I was fucking invested and needed to know how it ended... even though I knew half the characters were now dead.

  "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."

 

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