Page 71 of Sinful Promise
“Fletch?”
“Archer?” Minka stops at our side. But Fletch doesn’t speak, and I have no more information than she does. So she snatches my phone. “Thank you, Randy. We’ll call you if we need anything else.”
Before he has time to answer, she kills the call and scrolls my screen.
I can’t see what she’s doing, but I know in my heart she’s jumping to my messages. She’s searching for the trigger that took Charlie Fletcher out.
“Holy shit.” She exhales so it’s an entire gust. She presses a hand to her heart, then the other, the one holding my phone, to her stomach. “Oh my god.”
“What? What the fuck is wrong?”
“It’s Mia,” Fletch chokes out. Pain riddles every word he speaks. Sickness visibly convulses in his chest. “He was coming for Mia.”
“What?” I shove up and take my phone from Minka’s hand. Too rough. Too demanding. But I juggle the device and turn it right side up.
Bile rises in my throat when I see our little girl playing in the park with the watchful—but not watchful enough—Penny keeping guard.
The next picture is of Mia going down the slide.
The next, her and her nanny walking side by side along the very street we’re on now.
The next, Mia with her head thrown back as laughter rocks her entire body.
Then the next.
The next.
The fucking next.
“He’s dead.” Minka lowers to her knees and pulls Fletch in until his cheek rests on her chest. She’s everyone’s caretaker—which is ironic, considering how much she abhors the idea. “He’s dead, Charlie. That asshole is dead, and Mia’s okay.”
“He was coming for my baby.”
“He was stopped,” she grits out as anger beats through her veins. “He was taken out in his sleep, and he won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
“He wasmurdered.” Fletch’s voice cracks with an ache so deep, he damn near undoes me. “Fentone was murdered, and I’m here trying to punish that person.”
“Everyone deserves a fair and thorough investigation.” She threads her fingers in his hair and scratches. Soothes. “Everyone. Even Laramie Fentone. But I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
“Oh god,” he cries. His back bows, and his free arm comes out to wrap around Aubree when she crouches to rub his shoulder.
She was coming to comfort. But instead, she’s crushed to his side.
“He was coming for my baby,” he groans. “And I wouldn’t have known till it was too late.”
“He doesn’t have her.” Minka’s words remain firm, unbending… so strong, compared to Fletch’s. “He’ll never touch her. Because he’s already burning in hell.”
MINKA
“What the hell am I supposed to wear to the mayor’s wife’s birthday party?” I flick past hanger after hanger in my closet and ruminate between blouses and dresses. The second, I have no desire to wear, but, “Are jeans too casual? Will I look stupid while everyone else is in their black-tie best?”
“I’m wearing jeans.” Archer drops his towel to the bed and turns to me, buck-ass naked and with his body on full display. His ridged abdomen. His scarred chest. The chain he wears around his neck—the one that matches mine, so the ring sits between his pecs.
He’s tatted. Scarred. Marked. And tan.
And he looks down at his cock, pulsing with need as I stand in panties and a bra, only for his expression to fall when I turn back to my closet.
“Seriously? Nothing?” He stalks up behind me and presses his chest to my back.
