Page 14 of Sinful Deception

“I love coming home to you every single day.” I yank her yoga pants down, then her panties to reveal her pulsing core, begging me to fill her up. I know, in the back of my mind, thoughts of Fletch and Jada plague me. What they had, and what they have left. I think of my father and the relationships he destroyed and the women he killed. I think of Seraphina and the hurt she nurses each night while she attempts to get over a man and his daughter. Their loss is like lashes of a whip across my back. Pain I run from, but never truly escape.

But I have this. I have now. So I bury myself in Minka Mayet and vow to do whatever it takes to break cycles and keep what we have intact. “I love you so much.” I unzip my jeans with one hand and fist my cock until electricity rockets through my veins. But she’s ready for me. Waiting, with her hips poised and her heart racing. So I slam deep inside and take her.

Because I’m the most selfish man that ever lived.

MINKA

Archer’s phone buzzes, but the world outside is still dark. The device vibrates somewhere nearby while the man sleeps draped over me, his heart pounding in my ear, and sweat slicking between us. His stubble scratches my scalp, and his breathing catches as the buzz of the phone invades his subconscious.

But he doesn’t wake yet.

“Archer?” My eyes ache as I force them open. Like sandpaper on the backs of my eyelids. Which means it’s not nearly morning yet. Which, ultimately, means someone is dead. “Hey?” I push his shoulder and swallow a stab of guilt when my action leads to a sharp intake of air.

Because even if his old bullet wound is healed on the outside, it doesn’t mean he’s not in pain on the inside.

“Archer. Your phone is ringing.”

“Fuckkk.” He rolls off me and falls to his back, his hulking form a mere shadow in the otherwise dark room. Copeland City lights shine through my window, the curtain a poor excuse for a covering so it’s never pitch black in here. “I’m not on call.”

“I think you’re always on call.” I fight the covers and crawl onto my hands and knees, my bare backside too exposed as he reaches across and pats my rump. But I follow the vibration to the foot of the bed and feel around until I find his jeans, the rough denim and smooth leather belt, dumped just as soon as he escaped them a few hours ago. “What the hell is the time?” I feel around his jeans until I find the offending pocket, then I snatch out his phone just as the call ends, and I find not only Fletch’s name on the screen but the number two beside it.

We missed the first call completely. “It’s Fletch.” I flop back again and slam my hand and the phone into Archer’s belly. “Your partner, your problem.”

“I shouldn’t have problems between the hours of nine at night and seven in the morning. I don’t feel like that’s asking too much.” Grudgingly, he brings the phone up and hisses when the bright backlight blinds him. “Fuck me. A man’s night spent with his wife should be sacred.”

Startling me, my phone rings from somewhere else in the apartment. Not just a buzzing, but a whole fucking orchestra on loudspeaker. Or that’s how it feels, anyway, when the sky is still black and the sun is somewhere over Australia. “He’s calling me now?” I crawl off the bed and snag the closest fabric I can find—a hoodie that belongs to Archer—and then my yoga pants, so I’m not walking buck naked into a shared space that also houses a teen who copes with sex and isn’t ashamed to hit on his own sister-in-law. “Someone better be dead, Archer. He’s making your problem my problem.”

“I’m calling him.” He dials and flops back in bed. But even as he does so, my phone continues to chime. Sluggishly, I stumble to the door and open it, only to find the device on the floor—definitely not where I left it last night—which means Cato must’ve delivered it before he went to sleep.

Even though I stole his dinner.

“I guess he’s a good kid. Sometimes.” I bend and pick it up, finding Aubree’s name flashing for attention. “What?” Confused, I straighten again and swipe to answer, and though I bring it to my ear, I turn to Archer and find him sitting up again, spine straight and stress etched in every line of his face. Finally, exhaustion makes way for fear. “What’s wrong?” I cling to Aubree for answers. “What happened?”

“Come to the hospital. Hurry.”

Archer’s hand wraps around mine, his palm almost twice the size of mine and touching halfway along my forearm. But he’s no longer sleepy. No longer using just a portion of his brain. He refuses to release me as we step out of the elevator and arrive in a bustling ward, hopping with energy and panic and emergency personnel.

“This way.” He tugs me toward the nurse’s station and flashes his badge at the first annoyed RN who looks up. “Detective Archer Malone. I’m looking for Detective Fletcher. I know he’s here somewhere, and I need to see him immediately.”

She scans his badge with an air of disdain. Because his emergency, I suppose, is not hers. “Is he being arrested for something, Detective?”

Archer’s eyes fire with rage, so I step forward and show my badge, too. It’s not really the same and holds none of the same powers. But medical practitioner to medical practitioner, I appeal to the woman who’s clearly worked too hard and nearing the end of her patience—if not her shift. “Chief Medical Examiner Minka Mayet. Can you please direct us towardDetective Fletcher? He’s already called and let us know he’s here. So if you could?—”

“Minka.” Aubree steps out of a room, her hair a mess and her shirt… Tim’s. She wears jeans that fit her like a glove and a flannel shirt buttoned up the middle that swamps her tiny frame.

“Hey.” I keep my voice low and refrain from charging straight into the room with monitors beeping and machines working hard. “How is he? What’s happening?”

“Pretty wrecked.” She nibbles on her pinky nail as nerves beat through her blood. But then Tim steps out of the same room and stops at her back, his chest against her frame and his hand resting on her hip. His touch brings her peace, the way Archer’s does for me. And for that alone, I approve of whatever relationship they choose to indulge in. Even if, on the outside, they appear incredibly incompatible. “He’s in there,” she continues. “And he’s a mess. But no one died, so…”

Relieved, I exhale and attempt to look around the pair. “And Mia? Is she here?”

“She’s with the sitter.”

“I want to go in.” Archer pulls me around the duo. “I’m not staying out, Minka. I refuse.”

“It’s okay.” I walk faster and reach the door in the same step he does. Then I carefully grab the curtain and pull it back to find a man broken. A hospital bed takes up a massive chunk of the room, and machines fill what little space remains. Wires and tubes stretch in every direction. And a body, bruised, broken, and battling for life, lies in the middle.

“Fletch.” Tears burn the backs of my eyes as I move into the room. “Hey.” I press a hand to his shoulder and gently squeeze. “How are you doing?”

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