“So you’ll let Micah die?” he bites out. “Marry a Malone, but show no loyalty?”
He’s dramatic and emotional.Jesus, he’s just like Archer.
“Is Micah dying?” I ask evenly. “Is he showing any signs at all of distress?”
“You mean apart from the hand that was mutilated by those fucking Pastores? And the bullet wound in his shoulder? And the knife wounds along his ribs, and the broken bone in his arm? Oh, and the stitches on his face, and ninety-eight percent of the rest of his body?”
“I know what wounds he has,” I roll my eyes. “I was the one who sewed him up. But I can’t hop on a plane just because you called, Cato. I have responsibilities here in Copeland. And you need a doctor for the living. Someone practiced in dealing with living flesh, not with cadavers.”
“So you suggest I put him in the car and take him to urgent care?” he snaps. He may seem grown most of the time… experienced in the world of mafia. But right now, in this conversation, his teenage rebellion shines bright and makes his brother snigger. “What do you propose I tell them happened to him? Fell down the stairs, maybe?”
“You might honestly be more dramatic than all of your brothers combined,” I groan, only to follow it with a yawn. “Jesus, Cato. That’s putting Archer and Felix in the same basket, and adding the other two on top. Are you seriously this needy?”
“Micah was tortured, Mayet! And now one of his stitches is acting funky.”
“And I gave you the same advice I would give if I was right there in your living room. Leave it alone, apply a warm compress, feed the man ibuprofen, and let him sleep. His hand is where your concerns should lie, not a flesh wound on his ribs.”
“You’re cold.” I hear thethud, thud, thudof a stressed man-boy bouncing a basketball against his bedroom floor. “You don’t even care?”
“You’re fishing for a mother’s touch,” I counter. “But I’m not your mother, Cato, and no one ever accused me of having a good bedside manner. That’s why I work with dead people.”
“Archer!”
“She’s not your mom,” he chuckles. “You need to harden the fuck up. Call that nurse who was taking care of Dad. She already has dealings with the family, and she’s proven she’ll maintain silence if you pay her enough. She’ll treat Micah and make sure he lives long enough to pick up the phone and annoy us himself.”
“You’re an ass,” he grumbles. “I knew you were talking shit when you said you were back.”
“I never said I was back!” Archer booms. But still, his eyes dance with mirth. “I said I was in town to stop Felix from killing us all. I was there for a short time, taking care of Pastore, cleaning up the mess every other asshole made, then I was coming home to my wife. I kept my word, Cato.”
“You’re a pussy.”
The line goes dead, shocking in its suddenness and finality. But Archer’s good mood remains, so he leans over me and takes the phone. Locking the screen and tossing the device to the table, he turns my way and so very gently fists my hair and tilts my head to get access to my neck.
Immediately, his lips slide along my flesh and send goosebumps racing along my skin.
“Mmm.” He suckles, but not too hard. He bites, but doesn’t leave a mark. “I’ve waited all fucking day to get back to this apartment.”
“Should we worry about Cato?” My eyes flutter closed, despite my willing them to stay open. Infusion makes me sleepy, and Archer’s touch zens me into an almost comatose state. “He seems worried.”
“He has mommy issues,” he responds instead. “I fell in love the moment I saw you inside the airport, Mayet.” Bite. Salve. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking he hasn’t gone and done the same.”
“What?” Nerves flicker through my blood and start my heart racing a little faster. “He’s a child.”
“He’s a man,” he chuckles. “And he sees what I see. Micah’s fine, by the way. He was texting me earlier today.”
“So Cato’s lying?”For my attention?
“He’s…” He slides his hand along my hips and down to my thighs. “Exaggerating. He wants to speak to you, and Micah really does have an annoying stitch. So he took the opportunity for what it was and called up his new stepmommy.”
“Shut up.” I smack his chest and inadvertently catch his bad shoulder.Another Malone brother, another gunshot wound. “Don’t say that shit ever again. You make it creepy.”
Humored, he trails his lips along my collarbone and down to the V in my blouse. “How tired are you?”
“Hmm. What’s the scale?”
I want to argue; it’s like foreplay in my marriage. But Factor VIII really does make me sleepy, and Archer’s hands on my body is potentially the most relaxing remedy after I’ve had a long day.
“Tired, like straight to bed for sleep?” he mumbles. Kiss. Bite. Tongue to soothe. “Or tired, like climb into bed, put on a movie, and make out for a little while?”
