"Why?" he demanded with a small frown line forming between his brows. Fuck me, he was drunk.
I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Are you joking? Why do you fucking think, husband? Maybe it was the bullshit on Riot Night, which I still think you had a hand in, even if Kody and Steele don't believe it. Or gee, maybe it was just the fact that you purchased me like a fucking broodmare and married me without my knowledge or consent. Maybe, just maybe, it was the secrets on lies on more secrets. Maybe I just think you're a despicable human being who isn't worth my time or energy. Take your fucking pick, Sunshine."
He didn't immediately respond but sipped another mouthful of pinot gris while seeming to consider what I'd said.
"Alright," he eventually said, leaning forward and placing the half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. "That's fair. Let's talk some of this shit through, shall we?"
I blinked at him in confusion. "Sorry, what? You want to... No. This is a joke or something. I'm not fucking talking it through with you. If you need therapy, go and pay a professional. You've burned this bridge so hard there's not even any ash left. Go to hell, Archer."
Deciding to take Cass up on his offer after all, I started to stand up from my armchair. Archer moved shockingly fast for such a drunk bastard, though, grabbing my wrist and yanking me onto the sofa beside him.
"Running scared, Princess?" he mocked with a sneer. "I'm so shocked. It's not like that's your signature move or anything. Oh wait. Yes, it is."
Outrage heated my cheeks. "Excuse me? What the fuck would you know?"
Archer just shrugged. "Get some bad publicity, run to Cambodia for a year. Find out you're wrong about your hate campaign, run away to a hotel. Finally get the answers you want, run off to Aspen. You run so much you should invest in some proper sneakers or something. You'll break a damn ankle running in those high heels you wear."
He was rambling. Totally rambling. But it was hard to focus on his words when his hand still gripped my arm, his thumb stroking little lines over my inner wrist.
I let out a shaky laugh but couldn't seem to pull my hand away. "You're a piece of work, D'Ath. You know that? I didn't get bad publicity. I was accused of violent crimes I didn't commit, then got sent away. That was not my choice. In fact, it was probably yours, considering how you're pulling Dad's strings now." I leveled an accusing glare at him, but he just shook his head.
"Nope, nothing to do with me," he murmured. His gaze dropped away from mine, his eyes falling to where his fingers still circled my wrist. "I did know those cops would pick you up on Riot Night," he admitted in a quiet voice. "But I didn't plant that key on you."
Drawing a deep breath, I extracted my wrist from his grip and counted to five in my head to keep from punching him in the teeth—only because I knew it'd hurt me more than it'd hurt him.
"You planned to have me arrested? Why?" It was taking all my self-control to keep my cool. But I was smart enough to recognize alcohol had loosened Archer's tongue, and this might be my only opportunity for real answers.
He dropped his head against the back of the couch, exhaustion leaking from his pores as his eyelids drooped. "Because it would have kept you safe. If you were trapped in the back of a squad car or in a holding cell, you wouldn't be on the streets that night." His voice was rough and... sincere. What the hell?
"You knew what was going to happen that night?" I bit my lip, running through it all in my mind. Violence and death at the Laughing Clown when the Reapers and Wraiths clashed were just the tip of the iceberg. All across Shadow Grove, damage had been done. Arson, vandalism, assaults... It’d been a total mess.
Archer just yawned and nodded. "Bullshit between Zane and Charon, sorting out some border disputes and balancing the power. Your dad took advantage, though, and cashed a few insurance claims out of it."
I drew a deep breath. Of course my father was neck deep in that whole mess. And yet Archer had tried to keep me safe?
Reaching out, I snagged the bottle of wine and quickly drank the remainder of it. I was way too sober for this kind of conversation. When it was empty, I got up from the sofa and went back to the fridge to find something else. There were a couple of pear ciders tucked into the back, so they'd have to do.
Returning to the sofa, I pulled my phone out and shot off a text to both Steele and Kody, letting them know Archer was at my place. Drunk.
"You need to drop this shit with Demi Timber," Archer announced after I sat back down. For some inexplicable reason, I’d sat back on the sofa beside him, rather than returning to the armchair where I'd have some physical distance to buffer the attraction between us. Idiot.
I unscrewed the top of my cider and shook my head. "Hell no."
Archer blew out a breath, like I was testing his patience or something. Poor dear, he'd learn sooner or later that I didn't play games. When I consulted a divorce lawyer, I fully intended to divorce his sorry ass.
"You can't divorce me, Madison Kate," he said, sipping his own cider, then screwing his face up in disgust. "What the fuck is this shit?"
"Pear cider," I informed him, my expression flat. "Bree loves them, and you are an uninvited and unwanted house guest. So you'll drink it and you'll fucking love it, or your next beverage will be drain cleaner. Clear?"
One of his black brows raised at me, and his bloodshot eyes turned wary. "Yeah, alright then." He took another sip, and this time only cringed a little bit.
Oh look, he can be trained after all.
"As for divorcing you, I'm absolutely making that happen. Unless you'd like to give me a seriously good reason why that wouldn't be in my best interests?" Like... a prenup?
He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his short beard. Once again, I found myself reconsidering my general distaste for beards... On the right face, they weren't so bad.
"If you divorce me, Princess, then you'll lose everything. Your entire inheritance from your father—paltry as it is now that he's nearly broke—but more importantly, your mother's trust will be transferred to me. You'll have nothing left." He delivered this news without emotion, like it was just a fact that was due no remorse or regret.
"What the fuck?" I hissed at him, my fury spiking to nuclear levels as I leapt to my feet. "Are you kidding me right now? Why would you do that? What the fuck did I ever do to you to deserve this?"
My breathing was heavy and hot and angry tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but Archer just looked up at me, impassive and unapologetic.
"Because I forked over a shitload of money to free your father from his bad debts, Princess. No one in their right mind does something like that without an iron-clad contract. Spare me the theatrics too. It was a smart business move and you know it." He let out a harsh laugh, colored by his intoxication. "Hell, you'd have done the exact same thing in my shoes; that's what pisses you off more than anything. You understand the why of it, but you just hate that it was done to you."
My fists curled at my sides, my fingernails digging painfully into my palms. I couldn't argue with him, though, because he was right. From a purely business point of view, of course he’d safeguarded his investment. From a personal point of view, though? I wanted to make him fucking bleed.