Page 33 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

"Yep."

I glide my hand along his stomach until I reach his back, feeling for one on the other side. "And there's the exit wound." I turn my face toward him. "At least it was clean and straight through."

"Why do you know about gunshot wounds?" He asks me, his stare intense. Archer reaches back and grabs my hand, bringing it around to his front. He hovers it over his stomach, across his abs, and onto another scar, then another. The next one surprises me, the length and texture are drastically different. This scar is longer and jagged.

"Knife?" I ask him, unsure of whether I'm right.

"Yeah." He lets go of my hand and puts a step between us. Archer folds his arms over his chest like he's hoping it will prevent me from finding anything else about him.

"Guess we both have our secrets," I say, scooting myself off the counter before he can help me get down. I nearly lose the towel wrapped around my body, but I catch it as it tries to fall off.

"Guess so." Archer doesn't take his eyes off me, and it leaves me wondering what he's thinking, a thought I'm almost always assaulted with. Sure, I know how to make him mad, but aside from Archer being a grumpy control freak, he's sort of a mystery. One I find myself unable to not want to figure out.

But I'm no stranger to secrets, and sometimes they're better left buried.

Chapter 12

Archer

Two days have passed since I washed London's hair, and I can't get the entire experience out of my head. It's fucking frustrating. The image of her bruised body is burned into my memory and despite only knowing her for a week, I feel strangely protective of her.

I mean, that's a given, considering Silver's main objective was to find someone to keep her safe.

Where was his plan when someone beat the shit out of her? Why couldn't he have watched out for her then? Why did things have to get as bad as they did for Silver to finally step in and say enough was enough?

I try to rid myself of the nagging thoughts and questions, but they bubble up and disrupt everything—my sleep, my work, my every waking thought.

The buzzer to my apartment goes off, abruptly bringing me back to reality. My gaze flits to the bedroom, where London is with the door shut, and then to the front. I rush over and press the button.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"Uh, delivery for Archer S?—"

I cut him off before he can continue. "Come on up."

It takes the guy far longer than it should to reach my door and once he does, I see why. His nose is practically buried in his phone. He shoots me an apologetic glance when he approaches. "Sorry, my girl's mad at me. I'm sure you understand."He holds the small box out to me. "I need a signature."

I ignore him, scribble on the pad, and take the box from him, shutting the door on hima secondlater.

Once inside, I go straight to my desk and open the box, revealing the phone Iordered for London. With the bedroom door still closed, I quickly adhere one of the smallest trackers I have in my stash to the back of her phone, holding it up and wondering if she's going to notice it doesn't belong.

She's a smart woman, but I don't think she's quite that observant.

I swipe at the screen, turning it on and going through the automated prompts, plugging in a brand-new email when it's asked for, and shutting off the unnecessary location services.

London comes out of the room and goes to the kitchen, pouring herself half a glass of water and chugging it down. She leaves the glass there, on the counter, and I can't help but wonder if she does it on purpose to drive me insane.

Spoiler alert, it does.

She approaches, and it's then that I take her in—a pair of dark jeans and a fitted white top, the heels she bought herself on the one foot that doesn't have a cast on it.

"You're not seriously wearing that, are you?" I ask her.

London snatches the black bag I had bought her off the table and does her best to walk without limping. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"You're wearing heels…and a cast."

"And?" She pauses and points at the phone in my hand. "Is that my phone?" London snatches it out of my grasp withoutletting me answer. She looks it over and swipes her finger across the screen. "Cool, thanks, what's my number?"

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