Mad Love

by Drake, Tabatha

  A soft blanket falls over me. I open my eyes to see Archer towering over me beside the bed.

  “Did I wake you?” he asks.

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” I claim, pushing to sit back against the headboard. “What are you doing?”

  He adjusts the blanket to cover my feet. “You looked cold.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Bullshit. Your nipples are about to slice holes in that dress.”

  I force a scoff in disgust, refusing to admit how right he is. It’s damn freezing in here.

  He throws another blanket onto the floor in front of the bed and slides his leather jacket off, revealing tight, toned arms sticking out of his shirt.

  “What are you doing now?” I ask.

  “We’re just outside of Chicago,” he says, hanging the jacket on a hook sticking out of the wall. “I’m going to get a little rest.”

  “On the floor?”

  “Well, my bed is currently occupied, and I don’t fancy getting my neck twisted in my sleep, so… the floor it is.”

  I breathe a laugh. “Fair enough.”

  He falls out of sight as he lays down. I scan the dark trailer, searching for a way out but it’s not here. This headboard was created exactly for a situation like this and nothing short of snapping my thumbs is going to get me out of these cuffs. Sure, I could borrow a page from Lucy Vaughn’s Manual for Escaping Shitty Situations, but I get the feeling I’m going to need full use of my hands sometime very soon.

  My cell phone is still in my duffel bag. If I can get to it and turn it back on, then my brothers could easily track it. It would only take a second…

  There’s no brute-forcing my way out of this. I’m going to have to find another way.

  “Hey, Archer?”

  After a few moments, I hear his voice from the floor below. “What?” he mutters.

  “Why was I sent to kill you?”

  He chuckles. “You tell me, love.”

  “I don’t know. As you pointed out, I don’t exactly ask questions when I’m given a job.”

  “Why ask now?”

  My lips twitch. “Personal curiosity.”

  I wait through several seconds of silence before he finally sits up and balances on his hands behind him.

  I blink away as his handsome face comes back into view, cradled perfectly by shadows around us. “The Boss’ list of loose ends isn’t for just anybody,” I say to distract myself. “You must have done something to piss off the organization at some point.”

  He pauses with a furrowed brow. “This came from the Boss herself, then?”

  “How did you know the Boss was a woman?” I ask.

  “Lilah, I knew about Snake Eyes long before Fitzpatrick turned rogue.”

  “Really?”

  “If I had to guess…” he bites his cheek in thought, “I earned my loose end status about five years ago.”

  I shift up into a more comfortable position. “How?”

  “I was with MI-6,” he begins. “I got called in for a classified assignment in Afghanistan. The US government suspected one of their own of traitorous activity, but they didn’t want anyone tipping him off to the investigation, so they sent me instead.”

  “Who were you investigating?”

  “High-ranking bloke named Paxton,” he answers.

  “Yeah. He’s one of ours. Or he was.”

  “I learned that fairly quickly,” he says with a nod. “Before I could alert anyone to my findings, I woke up in a box buried beneath six feet of sand.”

  I pause. “You were buried alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you get out?”

  He stares at the bed between us for a few quiet moments. “In some ways, I never did.”

  My chest clenches. I take a deep breath only to push it back out again as my lungs fill with that phantom stench of smoke and fire.

  Archer clears his throat and turns away from me. “That’s enough story time for now.”

  He lays down again, leaving me in suspense. I roll the blanket beneath my ankles to keep them warm and I shimmy in place to get more comfortable.

  “Hey, Archer.”

  “What?”

  “Thanks for the blanket.”

  He doesn’t reply, but I sense a smile.

  * * *

  “Rise and shine, love!”

  I jerk awake to find Archer standing over me in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist.

  He grins at me as he pulls open the top drawer of a dresser beside the bed. Beads of water fall from his hair and trail down his chest and back, drawing wavy lines along the taut skin over his muscles.

  I turn away from the fresh and clean scent of him. The cuffs dig into my wrists, instantly reminding me of how fucked I am.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “Early,” he answers, grabbing some underwear and socks from the drawer.

  I glance around for a clock. “Wanna narrow that for me?”

  “No.”

  I yawn. “Cool.”

  Archer smirks and takes his clothes to the foot of the bed. I watch with one eye as he dresses himself, fiercely tempted to gawk at every inch of him. He’s built like a damn tree with a thick, muscled torso and strong legs. Unbelievable arms and, of course, stunningly equipped where it counts.

  He glances up and smiles as he pulls his pants up. “See something you like?”

  I roll my eyes. “Not in a million years.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining last night. Before the whole attempted murder thing happened, I mean…”

  “I was working,” I say. “All part of the job.”

  “Sure, it was,” he says, winking at me before throwing a tank top on.

  I shift up to sit and my head throbs, threatening a serious caffeine headache if I don’t drink something fast. “Look…” I say, “I know we’re supposed to be mortal enemies and all, but can I please have a cup of coffee?”

  “No.”

  I collapse against the headboard. “Oh, come on. I said please.”

  “I don’t have coffee.”

  “You…” I raise my head. “You don’t have coffee?”

  “I don’t drink it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s really bad for you, you know.” He walks into the kitchenette and reaches for the cupboard above the sink. “You should switch to tea.”

  I recoil in disgust. “I can honestly say that in all of my years of killing people, I’ve never wanted to make a person suffer as much as I want you to at this moment.”

  “That’s quite the honor.” He chuckles. “Feeling pretty good about myself right now.”

  “God, I hate you.”

  “I’ll make you some tea. You’ll feel better.”

  “Ugh…”

  I glance at my bag in the corner. I need to get to that phone. Especially if this bastard is withholding coffee. Chaining me up is one thing. Depriving me of caffeine is another.

  I sit up taller. “Can I use the bathroom?”

  “No.”

  “That’s inhumane.”

  “Says the monster.”

  My anger spikes. “Don’t call me that,” I murmur.

  His head pops up. “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  I turn away and stare at the wall, trying to shake off the insult but it still burns. It’s been hours since I disappeared from the hotel. Surely, Elijah’s figured out I’m gone by now.

  Unless things went really well with that nurse.

  Well, shit.

  Archer walks over to the bed and leans over me with the handcuff key. “You have sixty seconds,” he says.

  I flinch with excitement as he frees my hands but quickly deflate as he bounds our wrists together with a single pair of cuffs.

  I blink. “You’re going in with me?”

  “It’s that or nothing at all.” He pulls me off the bed and flashes me a smile. “I could sing a little song while you tinkle if it’ll make you fee
l better.”

  I groan.

  We walk to the bathroom and I look again at my duffel bag in the corner.

  He stops. “Wait—”

  I startle at the sound of his voice. We halt right outside the sliding door. He pokes his head into the bathroom and reaches in to grab the razor off the sink.

  “Wouldn’t want you getting your hands on this…” he says, proud of himself.

  “Then, you should take the toothbrush, too.”

  Archer pauses, the wheels spinning in his head as to whether or not I’m joking. In the end, he reaches back in and snatches his toothbrush, along with his package of nail trimmers and tweezers.

  I wink. “Good call.”

  He takes a step back to let me inside. “Sixty seconds,” he repeats.

  I step inside the tiny bathroom and, to his credit, he slides the door closed so it’s only open enough to poke his cuffed hand through. A quick glance outside shows that he’s turned his back to give me privacy.

  Hell. I’m almost starting to like him.

  Almost.

  “Can you really kill a man with a toothbrush?” he asks.

  I chuckle as I awkwardly try to figure out how to do my business with only one hand. “Well, yeah. I mean… I never have, but it wouldn’t be too hard, I think.”

  I regard the toilet paper roll beside me and a plan pops into my head. I check Archer again to make sure he’s not peeking before silently collapsing the tube and sliding it off the rack.

  “Just stab the handle into his eyes,” I say, buying time as I try to twist the white roller apart with one hand. “Or shove it down his throat. Or, depending on the thickness, I could probably force it up into the brain through his nose…”

  He says nothing. I kind of wish he’d sneak one peek just so I could see the terror in his eyes but, thankfully, he doesn’t even glance back.

  I smile as I pull the metal spring from the tube. “Archer?”

  “I now regret asking that question.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I prefer to make it quick. I wouldn’t do any of those to you.”

  “Oh, you’ve mentioned that.”

  “At the worst, you’d just feel a little pinch.” I stand up and flush, quickly straightening the spring and using it to pick my cuff. I don’t slide it completely free, just far enough to let me slip out when I need to. “Or a cold sensation.”

  He turns around and slides the door open with a quick jerk. “Cold sensation?”

  I look into his face, finding great amusement in his stunned expression, like a spooked child staring at me from across a campfire. “Do you really want me to describe that one?”

  Archer blinks. “No, thank you.”

  I rinse my hand in the sink and shake the water off. “So, what’s next? Is it back to bed with me?”

  “Well, if you promise to behave—”

  I slip free from the cuff and reach for the back of his neck. His face twists in surprise. I yank him forward and smash his head into the door frame.

  Archer shakes it off quickly and juts forward to take hold of me. I use his momentum against him and deliver a hard punch to his gut. He keels forward. I smash my knee into his face on the way down.

  It’s not enough to knock him out cold but it’s enough to buy me the few seconds I need.

  I jump over him to make it to my bag. I pick it up and dump it onto the bed, sifting through it for the hard, plastic case.

  It’s not here.

  He tossed the phone back into the main compartment with my clothes. I saw it. It was here.

  I shove my hands into the bag to check again but there’s nothing there. It’s empty. I—

  A wet rag clamps over my mouth. Archer’s strong arms squeeze around me as I take in a single undeniable breath of chloroform.

  I push off the floor, raising my legs to kick against anything I can. Archer groans, but he takes the beating, planting his feet and holding the rag over my nose and mouth until I can’t fight it anymore.

  The chemical seeps into my system. My vision blurs. My lungs burn. His arms stay locked in place around me until my muscles relax and he guides me down to the floor.

  I roll onto my back and Archer smirks over me as I pass out.

  Chapter 10

  Lilah

  Then

  Headlights flash through my bedroom window, igniting the posters above my bed. I sit up, already wide-awake, and wander over to the window to see who’s here in the middle of the night. I have a good idea of who it could be, but I don’t want to get my hopes up too much.

  I spot the old car creeping up the driveway. My chest surges with excitement.

  Dante’s back.

  I quickly rush out into the hall with both ears tuned to my grandparents’ bedroom beside mine. Gramps would have woken up by now if he heard the car, so Dante should be safe.

  My bare feet whisper along the floor and stairs as I head down. I grab my jacket and slip on my shoes, eager to see my big brother again. How long has he been gone this time? Two weeks? Three? He’s barely been home at all since he turned eighteen, but he was always eager to get out of here. Gramps used to tell him he would, most likely in the backseat of a cop car if he kept going the way he was going.

  But I don’t care about that.

  He’s my big brother.

  Dante is standing next to the garage by the time I make it outside. He’s bent over with the hood of his sweater obscuring his face, but I’d recognize those wide shoulders anywhere. He softly yanks on the ancient door handle to try and pry the garage open.

  I chuckle and roll my eyes. “You never could get this thing open,” I whisper.

  He silently shifts to the side, giving me room to slink in beside him. We grab the handle together and pull, moving the door slowly to avoid any loud squeaks on the track as it opens.

  “Thanks,” he says with a grunt.

  He turns away from me and walks back to his car.

  I pause with concern, instantly noticing the limp in his step. “Dante, are you okay?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. He grabs a small duffel bag from the passenger seat and takes it with him into the garage, his hood still pulled up over his head. As he walks past me, I notice the red and black bruises on his knuckles. The stains on his clothes. The smell of sweat and blood.

  “Dante?”

  He gestures me into the garage. “Come on,” he whispers.

  My heart is racing as I follow him into the dark garage. Dante sets the bag down on Gramp’s workbench in the very back and flicks on the lamp beside it.

  He drops his hood and I gasp. His bottom lip is busted open. I can hardly see the whites of his eyes, they’re so swollen and bruised. A butterfly bandage rests along the bridge of his nose.

  “Oh, my god! Dante—”

  “I’m fine,” he says, quickly blocking my hand when I try to touch him. “It looks a lot worse than it is. Believe me.”

  “What happened to you?”

  He opens the duffel bag. Stacks of money rest inside bound together by worn rubber bands. A lot of them. More than I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Dante, where did you get all that?” I ask.

  He smiles. “I won.”

  “You won?”

  “Remember the fights I told you about?” he asks. “The tournament?”

  “That Alpha thing?”

  “I won,” he says again. “The whole damn thing.”

  “Wow,” I say, genuinely proud as his smile grows. “That’s amazing.”

  “And that’s not all. After the fight, there was this guy there that wanted to talk to me. Told me I had potential — great potential — and he wanted to recruit me into his squad.”

  “Recruit you for what?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m gonna meet him again tomorrow to talk, but...” He exhales excitedly. “Lilah, this is it. My ticket out of here. He said I’d get to travel the world, hone my skills, be someone important.”

  I cringe inside. “You�
�re leaving again?”

  Dante pauses. His shoulders sag as he studies my expression. “Lilah, I have to go,” he says.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I can’t stay here, you know that. Gramps said he didn’t want me around you guys anymore.”

  “Okay, but...”

  He takes a step closer. “What?”

  I look down. “We said we’d always stick together,” I say.

  Dante rests his thick hands on my shoulders. “And we will,” he says. “But right now, you gotta stay here.”

  “I wanna go with you.”

  He shakes his head, amused. “No. Stay in school.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know, but you’re still just a kid.”

  “I’m sixteen!”

  “Exactly.” He chuckles. “You and Eli should be doing kid things. Not following me around.”

  I cross my arms, too heartbroken to argue with him.

  He sighs and drops his bruised hands to his sides. “Look, I brought this money for you, all right? It’s yours. I’ll send more.”

  “I don’t want it,” I murmur.

  “Then, give it to Elijah. He’ll keep it safe for when you guys can get out of here for real. Until then...” He nudges my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You stay here. Someone’s gotta take care of Eli, right?”

  I roll my eyes, unable to resist our inside joke. “He’s always getting in trouble.”

  “That’s right.” He smiles. “We’ll be together again soon. You just gotta grow up a little first.”

  I punch him in the arm. He winces but laughs through the pain as he steps away from the workbench.

  “I should go before Gramps realizes I’m here,” he says. “Take care of yourself.”

  “When will you be back?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure. Keep working on that left hook while I’m gone.”

  “I will.” I smile. “I love you, big brother.”

  He opens his car door and smiles back. “Love you, too, little sister,” he says before lowering himself inside.

  Chapter 11

  Lilah

  Now

  My face rests against a hard and cold surface.