Page 1 of The Soul of Archer
Chapter 1
Alora sighed as she stepped out of the shower. Grabbing one of her large fluffy towels, she slung it around her body, then grabbed a second towel for her hair. Today had been long but productive. After wrapping her long mahogany locks up turban style in the towel, she quickly dried herself, slipped on her fuzzy minion pjs and headed for the living room. Curling up on the couch with her current book, Alora settled in for a relaxing evening. At least that had been the plan.
About ten minutes into her book, the quiet of her evening was disturbed by an almost pounding on her front door. The sound startled her, causing a squeak to escape her. Placing a hand against her now racing heart, Alora took a few calming breaths as her visitor knocked again harder.
“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” Alora called out.
She marked her place, slammed the book closed and got to her feet. She practically stomped to the door and jerked it open. Her eyes widened when she saw who was there.
“What the hell kept you Alora?”
“S..Sam, what the hell are you doing here? I’ve asked that you call before you just come over.” Alora stated as Sam walked inside, almost knocking her into the wall.
Sam was prowling the living room when she caught up with him. He seemed stressed and pissed. Yet Alora wasn’t going to take that, not anymore. Over the last few months Sam had begun to change, and it wasn’t a change she liked. Crossing her arms, she just watched him.
“I called you at the bakery and left a message for you to call me back.” Sam said, finally facing her.
“I did call you back at lunch and told your secretary that I would be working late and would be unable to meet you. I’ve only been home for maybe an hour.” Alora countered.
“Why won’t you make time to see me anymore? You used to.”
“Sam, we’re getting into the wedding season. I warned you this would happen. Already I’m booked solid for July and most of June. I own a bakery and I’m the head baker and decorator. I can’t just drop everything because you want it. The REAL world doesn’t work like that.”
She barely had a chance to register the danger before Sam grabbed her and had her pinned to the wall. A shiver of fear shot through her as she watched his electric blue eyes flash like lightning. His handsome face contorting into an angry snarl.
“How dare you speak to me like that Alora. I am Samuel Malconi. You are nothing but a sniveling little baker. You’re nothing without me.” He drawled, icily.
Alora’s fear melted into righteous anger. She jerked herself free and shoved him as hard as she could, forcing him back a few steps only because she caught him off guard. “Get the fuck out of my house! We’re through Sam. Don’t call me, text me, email me, and don’t you EVER come to my house or my bakery ever again.”
Everything happened in a flurry. One second, she was standing and the next she was slammed to the hardwood floor as pain erupted along the left side of her face. He had hit her. Sam had actually hit her. She cried out when she felt his foot connecting with her midsection.
“You ungrateful bitch! Nobody tells me what to do!” Sam roared, delivering a kick with every other word.
“Stop! Please!” Alora cried trying desperately to protect herself.
Sam bent down, grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her to her feet. “You’re mine Alora. I’LL say when we’re done.”
Genuine fear fell over her. Her entire body enveloped in its icy grip. She felt herself being tossed like a ragdoll to the floor once again. Painfully lifting her head, she watched as Sam stalked out of the living room, the door slamming behind him.
***
Alora took a slow painful breath before she slipped from her car. She had no idea why she was here but yet here she was. Knowing Sam like she did she knew he would be at his home. Maybe she was hoping he had calmed down and they could talk. Quiet as a church mouse, she moved through the shadows toward the lightened window of his office. She peaked in and couldn’t believe what she was witnessing.
A man in a black suit was in a chair with two of Sam’s bodyguards on either side of him. The man’s face was bloodied and angry bruises already forming. Across from him, leaning against the desk, his ankles crossed, was Sam.
“Omar, Omar. Did you really think that my father wouldn’t find out? That you could betray us and actually get away with it?”
“N…no Sir. I…I didn’t…betray your father. I swear.” Omar sobbed.
“Carmichael here saw you go to the F.B.I., Omar. That you were there for nearly an hour.” Sam replied calmly.
“I did go…but because of my Uncle Vincent in Chicago. He was caught smuggling drugs and he told them I let him stay with me. That’s all Sir. I swear!” Omar pleaded.
Sam gave a curt nod to his men. Alora watched in dismay as Carmichael and Branson forced Omar to his knees. Barely able to keep the cry from escaping, she watched as Sam pulled a silver pistole from his shoulder holster, leveled it and fired. The back of Omar’s head exploded back with a spray of blood and grey-matter. Turning, Alora bolted for her car.
***
Lance yawned, pushing through the doors of Blackout. Last night had been another wash. He hated stakeouts like these. Some rich housewife was so sure her husband was banging his campaign manager and had hired Blackout to investigate.
