Page 80 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

London stays quiet for a long moment before drinking the tequila in her glass. Her face pinches slightly and she licks her lips. "Good job, you made me drink."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yep," she says while pouring herself more tequila. "Let's talk families. Tell me about your parents."

"Never knew them," I admit easier than I expected.

"Wait, what's the age gap between the twins and August? How did you not know them?"

"That's a lot of questions, little tornado."

"Help me make it make sense," London pleads.

"We're not blood-related," I confess. "Well, Ivy and Seven are. They are twins. But the rest of us, there's no blood relation."

"But you call each other brother and sister."

I run my hand through my hair, unsure of how much of this I want to share with her. Any other time, I'd clam up and not say a word, but the back-to-back shots have my inhibitions and my lips feeling a bit loose. "We grew up in foster care together. We bounced from house to house but would always end up back together in the group home. We were the only constants in each other's lives, and after a while, we started looking out for one another. I guess a sort of unspoken bond formed, and it turned into something stronger than a blood connection. We made a pact to be there for each other and the rest is history."

"Interesting," is all London responds and I hate that I can't read her mind to fully grasp what she's thinking about my admission.

I grow uncomfortable in my skin at having told her all that information and shift in my seat. "What about you? Tell me about your parents."

"They're both dead."

It's not that I expected that to be her answer, but I don't find myself at all surprised. I guess neither one of us is a stranger to losing someone.

"What happened?" I ask even though I know damn well it isn't my place to. It must be the alcohol talking at this point.

"My father killed my mother when I was three years old."

My mouth goes dry and I'm not sure what to do with my hands other than reach out and place them around London's,cupping them in a way that begs for her to understand that I'm here.

She stares blankly, her eyes shifting back and forth, lost in a memory. "Most people, when something traumatic happens to them, their mind blocks it out, files it away as it tries to protect itself. Me? I remember everything bad that's ever happened. Starting with that day."

"You don't have to?—"

"There was blood everywhere," she whispers. "I walked right in it. It was warm and sticky and I remember being so confused, and so worried, because my dad hated messes. I was three and knew that. Knew that he would be so furious when he found it. I grabbed a rag, followed the trail of red, and thought if I could find the source, maybe I could stop it from getting worse.

"It wasn't until I stumbled over her lifeless leg that I realized she was where it came from." London blinks stiffly. "Her eyes were open, her mouth parted. She wasn't moving and I couldn't understand why. I put my arms around her, hugged her, and laid there for I don't know how long, thinking maybe if I stayed with her, it would fix things. Shortly after, that's when the maid found me, covered in my mother's blood from head to toe. She had to pry me from my dead mother."

The buzzer to the apartment dings, loud and intrusive.

London seems to snap out of her trance and hops from the stool. "Food’s here."

Chapter 21

London

Irush over to the door, my legs somehow easier and harder to walk on now without the cast. It's strange that I only wore it for a short period, but it seems like I lost some permanent piece of me.

Archer walks past me, putting himself between me and the door. He hits the buzzer and gives the takeout guy access to the building. "Go sit down, I've got it," he tells me with thatdo it or elselook on his face.

I roll my eyes and return to the kitchen, topping off our tequila and taking a long swig of the water so Archer doesn't give me shit about it. My entire body is warm with the alcohol, and for the first time in a long while, my head and shoulders feel lighter.

A minute passes before Archer comes over with a large brown sack in his hands. He sets it on the counter and carefully rips open the bag, taking one thing after the other out and setting it on the counter.

"How much stuff did you order?"

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