Page 43 of Sinful Sorrow

Stunned, my heart stumbles as I pull back from Archer and hold his stare. “What happened with Seraphina?” I pick up the phone and bring it closer, like that’ll somehow help me hear him better. “When?”

“Tonight. She came to my apartment. She had a toy for Mia, and a stern talking to for me.”

Archer grits his teeth and communicates a thousand words in a single look.

“I told her to fuck off. And said some shit about her mom and her trauma.”

“What? Fletch!”

“I called her some names. I don’t even…” He shakes his head. “I don’t even remember everything I said anymore. She caught me off guard and my feelings were already hurt.”

“So you lashed out,” Archer guesses. “And hurt her feelings in return.”

“She brought a gift for my baby,” he sighs. “In fact, she’s brushed my daughter’s hair more times this year than Jada has. She’s eaten more meals with her. Spent more time with her. She’s a prickly know-it-all who can’t hardly bend, for fear she’ll snap the stick up her ass. But she shows how she cares with her actions.”

“She’s a fluffer…” The words tumble along my tongue and out to sit between the four of us without my permission. And with them, my brows pinch tight. “She’s mean and rude and insufferable. But she takes care of the arrangements. She expresses her feelings through actions, since clearly she lacks the ability to communicate without coming across as…”

“Prickly,” Cato offers with a grin. “Mean.”

“She came to us,” Fletch sighs. “To express how she cares. And in repayment, I took her innermost traumas and slapped her in the face with them. Because I’m an asshole.”

“Jada’s always been your trigger.” Archer takes the phone from my hand and sets it back down, purely to free up space and press his forehead to my clavicle. “Always. She’s the reason you and I argue. She’s gonna be the reason you and any woman you’re with in the future will fight.”

“It shouldn’t be like that. I should be able to cool my shit and communicate respectfully, no matter who she’s talking about.”

“You got the Malone genes too,” Cato teases. “It’s okay. We’re all brothers here. I mean, you’re the ugly step sibling nobody really wants. But you’re here anyway, because my dad fucked your mom. It happens.”

I turn to the youngest of five and present him a look that promises retribution if he doesn’t back the hell up and shush soon.

Then I look away and focus on Fletch instead. “So you and Fifi had your thing. Do I need to worry about her tonight? As her employer, and, or, as her friend? Or was it a regular sized fight, and she’s gonna go home to slap on a moisturizing mask and cuss you out?”

“Probably the second.” The rustle of his shirt tells me he shrugs. “She’s got Kevlar shields all over, Delicious. I doubt there’s much I can say that’ll hit too hard.”

Funny. Because I think beneath the Kevlar is a heart that hurts most of all when those she cares about treat her poorly.

Her mother was an abusive jerk, and her sense of self-importance was dinged a time too many in her formative years.

“Can we discuss the case?” he changes the subject. “For the love of god, can we just talk work so I can ignore all the rest?”

“I watched the tapes from the haunted house this afternoon,” Archer murmurs, running his hands along my thighs to create a rhythmic pattern that warms my skin. “It’s the looping kind of system, so we catch five minutes of the kitchen. Five minutes of the living room. Five of the porch. That kinda thing. We caught the whole thing, but it wasn’t really anything that’ll help us.”

“Which is ironic,” I insert, “considering it’s rare you get a homicide on camera.”

“The four of them walked in. Mason and Naomi. Brent and Kallie. Each couple was intertwined with their partner. Easy familiarity and affection shown between them. The girls were chatty at certain points. The guys talked to each other. Naomi’s hand went to her stomach thirteen times in the five-minute clip of that section of the house. She was holding her belly tenderly, which Stokes says is an indication of protection and love.”

Curious, I pull back and search his emerald gaze. “Stokes?”

“Psych consult,” Fletch answers. “He reads people and gives us that psychological take. So he’s concluded the baby was wanted.”

“Unplanned,” Archer agrees. “But very much wanted. For a girl who found out approximately three weeks prior, her psyche jumped in and her maternal instincts immediately became about protecting the fetus. Which was proven again as the knife came down; she saw the threat coming and turned to the side, ensuring her stomach was safe.”

“So the four of them are walking the haunted house together,” Fletch recites. “Everyone is happy.”

“Well, Naomi was creeped out. And Mason was, at some points, sympathetic and happy to hold her. And at other parts, humored by her fear.”

“What does Stokes have to say about that?” Cato plops his ass on the counter across from mine and joins a conversation he has no part in. “Big strong boyfriend is laughing at his scared girlfriend. That screams sociopath, no?”

“You taking a psych class on the side for extra credit?” I lean around Archer and purse my lips. “What degree are you actually working on, Cato?”

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