Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“You’re right. I’m not an innocent little lamb.”
“Intelligence is not a guarantee for social greatness. You’re the same lady doing everything possible to lose your job while claiming to try and save it, all in the name of justice, because what you see going on is WRONG. WE.ARE.THE.SAME.”
She stepped closer and took his hands in hers. Both of them were breathing hard and heavy. His eyes were wild with life and hurt. Pain. Burning memories.
“I love it when you speak. When you share. I purposefully pushed your buttons just now, said things I don’t actually believe, just to hear that beautiful voice of yours. So you can talk your way out of the pain.”
She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and drew him in for a hug. He melted against her. Hot, hard muscle that smelled like love. They looked out at the incredible view once again, enjoying a small reprieve of silence.
“I’m going to say three words, Archer, and I want you to tell me something about your childhood, using those words.”
“You’re not a counselor. I don’t wanna do this.”
“I know… just humor me.” She squeezed his hand.
“All right.”
“The three words are: School. Depression. Honorable. Go.”
He took some time to respond, as if carefully pondering.
“My grades in school were terrible because I was having problems dealin’ with the fact that my fuckin’ mother was too doped up to focus on me and Irish. My grandmother was suffering from undiagnosed depression and barely talked for an entire year after she lost my father, ’cause I come from a background of people who don’t whine and moan about our problems. Just like your family. We deal with our own emotions and feelings by not dealing with them at all. I had some sort of PTSD after the shit with my father, and not one damn person thought, ‘Gee! James is getting into a lot of fights at school and cursing everyone out… maybe we should get him a grief counselor or psychologist.’ NOBODY DID SHIT BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO DO SHIT, SO I TOOK CARE OF MYSELF, AND DID THE SHIT ON MY OWN. THAT’S HONORABLE.”
“Yes, it is honorable.”
They stared into each other’s eyes. He wrapped his strong arms around her, dragged her flush to his hard, strapping form, and crushed her lips in a searing kiss. She melted against his touch as he trailed his fingers through her hair. And then, he slowly released her. Without any more words, they got back on the motorcycle. She rested her head against his back the entire way. He rode slower, steadier, as if he were dragging the experience out. Once they arrived at the house, he took the helmet from her, set it down in the garage, and then they made their way inside.
She entered her room and he sailed past her without saying so much as a goodnight or goodbye. She sat on the bed. Taking out the cellphone, she called her mother, eager to speak to her. She was filled with disappointment when it went to voicemail. She was still for a long while, thinking. Things had gone in a strange, unpredictable direction. Every time she thought she had Archer figured out, he threw her for a loop, but she knew him far better now than she did before.
He trusts me not to call the police. This could be another test…
An idea struck her—something that had been weighing heavy on her mind. Archer was asking her to do something risky. Dangerous. Her job was to find out information, but something was missing. She glanced at the bedroom door, then at her phone, and wondered if she had WIFI on it.
Oh my God, I do!
She quickly typed in Dr. Bannon’s name into her search engine. Article after article showed lawsuits involving him. Botched surgeries. She looked at his photo. He looked rather smug in most of them. But the charges were serious. Embezzlement, fraud—a long list of criminal cases that somehow, he’d managed to get out of. And then, she hit the motherload…
OH.
MY.
GOD.
She heard footsteps approaching and quickly deleted her search history. When Archer reached the door, she noticed him pause, then open it. He stood there for far too long, his expression tense. Walking across the room, he went into the large walk-in closet, retrieved her empty luggage, and brought it into the main area. He then opened up the dresser drawers and transferred her articles of clothing into the bag.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He didn’t respond but kept moving, bringing her toiletries from the bathroom and packing them up. When he was all done, her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest. He set all of her belongings, including her camera equipment, neatly by the door. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a thumb drive, and handed it to her.