Page 55 of Dead Vengeance

His grin is far too delicious when he replies, “I guess we’d better go see to your ghost problem, then…”

seventeen

Ascending Stakes

Liam

Archer is so sexy, I cannot even. No suit today, he’s wearing a motherfucking apron. He has clothes under there—a probably cashmere grey sweater that looks almost as touchable as his skin and some kind of expensive-looking jeans… That apron though… It’s pink and soft and has little smudges of raspberry and flour, and I don’t think he’s actually realised he’s still wearing it.

And I’m not going to tell him.

He smells so good too, every time he moves; cologne, something citrusy, then fresh country air, because this house, his sunny stables, and his open windows and gardens are replete with it. But it’s more. It’s Archer.

And what was that he just suggested? Fix the ghost problem and get the man? That’s the kind of bonus I’ll definitely do my best to earn. Ultimate employee motivation program. I’m going to thrive in this business. I’m going to rise to the top and become this man’s chief executive fuckboy.

Shit.

No. Actually, I am here to work.

And as if I have the time for an actual relationship.

I need to stop ogling the boss, even if he looks like the house husband of my dreams tidying up in the kitchen like that.

But why does he think it’s okay to wear jeans that hug his ass so well? On the job and all… Super unprofessional. Not to mention the apron. Did I mention the apron? And damn it, now all I can see is Archer in that apron and nothing else. Reaching beneath it… undoing the string…

Jesus, fuck, fucking job I need to do…

“So this thing?” I cough, clearing my throat when my words come out way too raspy. “What’s our next step?” I’m trying to sound serious, as though I could be the one telling him the next step, but we both know I have fuck all experience with this. Or anything.

He lets out a sigh, folding the dishcloth, setting it on the side of the sink. “It was nice being down here. And not up there.”

He’s had the same realisation as I had about three seconds back. Time to get to work. Time to try to not die. Because that thing yesterday…

But now it’s not the thing I see in my mind’s eye. It’s my brother, dead and bloody, the touch of his icy hand on my shoulder.

That same sinking feeling returns—the worry that he’s still there at the hospital.

Why there? Why, if he’s a ghost, doesn’t he come to see me at home? Maybe he doesn’t know where we moved. Or maybe he can’t go there for some reason.

I only realise I’ve fallen silent when Archer comes back to the table, supporting himself on those nice arms as he talks. “I think I’ve given enough warnings for you to know what’s up there. You’ve seen for yourself what it can do.”

I have. Kind of. But I need to know a whole lot more. “Those ghosts last night…”

His brow dips, but his eyes stay clear, concerned, like he’s prepared to delve into this. Like he’s been waiting for me to start.

I can’t tell him all the details. He knows I saw my brother. He knows he’s missing. He doesn’t need to know the why or the how, or imagine I’m any part of the world that took him away from us.

“Were they really there?”

He holds eye contact for several more seconds, as if he’s trying to decide what to tell me. And that worries me. Because why wouldn’t he just drop the truth if he knows it?

Eventually, he settles on, “I’m not sure.”

First red flag of the morning. Last night he wanted to tell me none of it was real. And if I hadn’t seen Jem, I might have believed him.

The creature said my name. It knows who I am. I might have figured it followed me from this house, which could have explained that. But not Jem… How could it know about him?

I check the first explanation that leaps into my brain. “Can it read my mind? This thing?”