Page 48 of The Tallest Tower (Underbelly Enchanted)

And yet, memories flash in the back of my mind. His crooning words of comfort. His hands, holding me. I remember him brushing my hair, even when I didn’t want it, and his cologne lingers in the clothes I wear. In the air of the room I’m in.

“Mayet?” he snaps when no one else speaks, startling me so my body jolts. “When?”

“Soon.” I hear the soft wheeze of a chair cushion expelling air as she pushes up. Then feet on the floor. I feel her warmth as she pads closer.

I don’t know this woman, but I know her name. I know exactly who she is. She’s Archer Malone’s medical examiner wife, and the unfortunate topic of one of my more recent articles.

I might’ve accused her of being in the mob, too, despite her prestigious position within a respected medical institution.

“I see you in there, Ms. Cannon.” Mayet stops close by, her body near enough, I feel her heat. “Open your eyes and take accountability for this bullshit.”

Dread swirls in my stomach, and my pulse thunders so hard, I’m certain everyone in this room hears it. But at least the nausea has subsided. At least I lived.

Slowly, with hard work, I crack my eyes open, and immediately squint under the harsh light surrounding me where I lay. Daylight sprints through a dozen or more windows. A soft breeze follows.

I swallow the nerves in my throat and draw a deep breath for what feels like the first time in days. Then I open my eyes the rest of the way and find the subject from the front page of last week’sCannon Daily, staring straight down at me.

“Hello.” Minka Mayet pushes her lips into a small smile. “You okay in there, Ms. Cannon?”

“I…” My voice crackles, painful enough to bring tears to my eyes. “I’m thirsty.”

“Not surprised. You might be about as stubborn as I am.” She leans away for only a beat, then comes back with a glass of water featuring a small, purple straw poking out the top. “I don’t like to discuss my medical details with jerkoffs, either. But killing yourself for your privacy? Really?”

“I didn’t mean to…” Drained, I close my eyes again, only to start when the straw presses to my lips, and a pair of strong hands lifts my shoulders.

My eyes whip open and stop on Archer Malone. The man I so recently accused of being a dirty cop.

A murderer.

A liar.

My body yearns for water, but my brain screams, “Danger, danger!”

“Drink.” Mayet shoves the straw between my lips, giving me no choice but to pull liquid up and swallow it down. “Did you have a plan to run away, Christabelle? Thought he’d call an ambulance, and you’d escape Hades that way? Or are you suicidal? Because from where I’m standing, I can’t actually tell.”

“I didn’t mean to get sick.” I push scraped words along my painfully dry throat, and moan when Archer lays me back down. “I didn’t mean— Where is he?” I look to my right, past the beautiful Mayet’s trim hip, and search for my captor’s familiar face. Then I look to my left, only to whimper when I find piercing green eyes boring into mine.

Rage.

Cold, hard, calculatedrageburned into every line and groove of the second-oldest Malone’s face.

“You’re gonna be punished for that stunt, Darling.” He pushes up from the couch perched against the wall and stalks closer, the buttons of his shirt undone, giving me a glimpse of his ridged and scarred abdomen. The belt of his pants, unbuckled, but dangling from the loops that keep it in place. “If I wanted you dead,” he nudges his brother aside and sets his fist on the bed beside my head, “I’d have slit your throat myself.”

“Easy.” Archer places his hand on Felix’s shoulder and attempts to pull him back. “Give her a minute to wake up.”

“Nah.” Felix stares down into my eyes and sneers, “Fuck you, Cannon. Fuck that stunt. And fuck the night I just spent, holding your dying body and havingnoclue how to help you.No clue!” He shoves away from the mattress and throws Archer’s hand off his shoulder. “Fuck you to hell and back.”

He storms across the room, past a watchful Micah, and through the door to escape into the hall. Then he’s gone. But I’m struck by the fact that the anger in his eyes was overshadowed by what I’m almost certain was… fear. His fury, somehow—despite the ridiculous circumstances that have me in this house—fair.

He abducted me. Took me against my will. Didn’t provide adequate medical care.

Not that I informed him it was needed.

And now, I’m the one who feels guilty.

“He’ll come around,” Minka assures me. But her softness makes way for professionalism as she grabs my hand and pricks my finger.

She doesn’t ask for permission. Or warn me it may hurt. She doesn’t do any of the things a normal doctor might to put their patient at ease. She merely forces a drop of blood from my finger onto the end of the glucometer similar to the one I keep in my purse.

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