Chapter 9

NINE

"Two beers!" my best friend yells to the bartender, holding up two fingers.

She nods without uttering a word and digs two bottles from the cooler in front of her, pops the tops, and sets them on the small, square napkins in front of us.

Archer tosses her a twenty before turning around and leaning against the counter. He takes a sip of his beer but keeps his attention focused on the two couples playing pool on the other side of the bar.

"You know, I never learned how to play," he mutters, with his mouth against the edge of his bottle as he swings his gaze to mine, but I avoid it, taking another swig of beer.

I'm annoyed. Archer hasn't been in town for months and I don't know why he insisted on meeting here of all places. Every single time he's in town, we end up meeting at these shithole dive bars. It reminds me of Harley's Club, but this one is impossibly worse, called Traver's Back Hole, or some shit like that.

As soon as I stepped inside, I quickly understood why Archer picked it, aside from its name. Like Harley's Club, Traver's is dimly lit, with only a handful of unassuming customers. Plaster peels from the walls, and nearly all its neon signs are either turned off or broken. Old country music plays from a jukebox in the corner, and the smell of stale beer fills the air. Stains dot the carpet underneath two tilted pool tables.

This bar looks like garbage, and Archer sticks out like a flashing red light. His designer black suit, chrome watch, and the chain draped around his neck are dead giveaways he doesn't belong in a place like this.

I shove the sleeves of my forest green crewneck sweater up the length of my arms, thankful I don't look as strikingly out of place as Archer does. Still, my association with him doesn't help.

"Soren should be here any minute," Archer mutters against his beer in a hushed voice, as if the cracked-out couple practically fucking against the wall in the back corner of the bar can hear him from this distance.

"I'm getting fucking nervous, man." He blows out an anxiety-fueled rush of air and twists to place his bottle on the counter. "Soren is my largest supplier. I've been a little behind on getting his cut of the profits to him."

Instinct has my muscles tensing and my palms sweating. I hate that I'm even here, but if there's one thing I'm guilty of, it's supporting my best friend even when he's found himself in deep waters. Waters he often drowns in.

This time, I'm hoping I have enough strength to help keep his head above water.

Archer's green eyes dart to the metal door of the bar just as a customer steps in. I hold my breath, waiting to see if this is the man we're waiting on. Soren McGovern is well known in the drug trade. While keeping his profile relatively low, he and Archer have been in business for years, maintaining their relationship that has been watered down to one of convenience and money.

Soren provides a supply of prescription drugs. Archer sells them in exchange for extra profits.

I have yet to meet Soren in person. My heart hammers in my chest, knowing this is most likely more dangerous than Archer is perceiving it to be. He's visibly nervous, but he's downplayed his relationship with Soren for years.

Looking at my best friend, I try to pinpoint a time when it all changed.

I hardly recognize him.

"This meeting shouldn't take long." He spins around and swallows down the rest of his beer. "At least I'm hoping it won't so I can get the fuck out of here as fast as possible."

I narrow my eyes and ask him a question I already suspect I know the answer to. "Have you even seen your sister since you've been in town?"

"Not yet." He presses his mouth into a thin line. "I told her I was in town, but I was leaving tonight. We're supposed to meet for coffee later before my flight heads out."

"Didn't you just get in?" Irritation brews under my skin.

"Yesterday." He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and waves to the bartender, for another beer. "But I'm not interested in staying long. I need to get back home."

By home, he means Austria. Archer landed a huge marketing deal for the tech company I helped invest in here in Boston, only to move its headquarters to Vienna.

I think about Adeline living in my house. I still don't know the reason for her returning to Boston, but I'm not an idiot. I see the loneliness in her eyes. I hear the sadness in her voice. She plays it off, pretending it doesn't exist, or I won't notice, but I do. Every conversation we've had over the past week, I've found myself wanting to learn more. She's easy to talk to, and something about her is comforting, like a bright, warm glow in this shit world.

Every day I'm at the house, I search for something to repair. I know I could easily call my brother Jude and his crew to help with the renovation, but until I feel it's out of my realm of expertise, I plan on helping Adeline myself. She hasn't yet begun to work on the structural parts of the house, but she's shaken off the cobwebs that once littered the walls and ceilings. She's started to breathe life back into the house in a way I wasn't expecting.

The work around my place has been a pleasant distraction from my reality, and the break Lennon forced me to take has been a little easier to swallow when I'm able to channel all my frustration into blowing out all the damaged walls and prying off broken floorboards.

Every day I'm there, I find it more difficult to leave than the day before.

"Don't you think you should have set aside a little more time to see her?"

"Why?" he asks, turning his head in my direction but keeping his arms resting on the edge of the bar. His eyebrows pinch together as he looks at me. "Is something wrong with her?"

"Well, no." I frown, avoiding his stare. "I just thought you'd want to see her for longer than an hour, considering she left Los Angeles in a hurry."

"I don't know why she did." He shrugs. "Adeline has always had this impulsive streak."

I don't know how accurate Archer is when he says his sister is impulsive. For as long as I've known her, she's dreamed of becoming a model, and she's done just that. She wasn't plastered on every billboard or magazine, but there were times I found myself scrolling through social media or on a news website and I'd come across a makeup ad with her gorgeous face on it.

"She didn't tell you why she left?" I'm careful with my questions. I've never pried into Archer's relationship with Adeline, and I've never brought her up with him. With their twelve-year age gap, I saw her very little compared to her brother. But getting small glimpses of her personality these past seven days has me curious now.

"Nope." He darts his attention to the front door again. "I didn't ask. She asked if there was a place she could stay, and I told her you might be able to help. That's when I messaged you."

"Oh." I frown, picking at the label of my beer. More curiosity eats away at me. The mystery surrounding Adeline's sudden departure from LA deepens. It's clear I won't get any answers from Archer, though. He appears to be as distant from Adeline as he's always been. I don't hold it against him, considering he moved out before Adeline even started kindergarten.

"Hey, but thanks for taking her in, man." Archer slaps me on the back. "I know she's in good hands at your place. I don't like to dig too deeply into my sister's life, but I know she's safe with you."

"She is." I raise my eyebrows. "I wish my house was in better shape, but I'm getting it there."

"I feel guilty for not being there as much when she was growing up, but she's done well for herself," he confesses with a distant look in his eye. "Her modeling career seems to be going well, and pretty soon she'll probably be more famous than either you or me."

He laughs, and I smile. He may be right, but from the look in Adeline's eyes, it doesn't look like it's happening as soon as Archer believes it will.

Either way, I hope he's right. Or I at least hope it's what Adeline wants.

"Don't worry, though," Archer adds, finishing off his second beer already. "She probably won't need to stay for long."

The squeak of the blue metal door swinging open has Archer and me darting our heads toward the front of the bar as a man dressed in a charcoal gray suit stops in the doorway. The door shuts behind him, and he surveys the room. None of the patrons inside bother to look up from their pool games, and the couple in the back corner are clearly not focused on anyone other than themselves. The man and woman are a tangled mess of limbs as the man grinds against the woman, pinning her in the corner.

I follow Archer's lead when he pushes off the bar top and turns around.

"Is that him?" I lean toward Archer, though I already know the answer when the man in question turns to look in our direction.

He lifts his chin in recognition and makes his way toward us. My stomach flips, and goosebumps dance their way down the back of my neck.

I don't have a good feeling about this. I tell myself Archer doesn't seem bothered, so neither should I, but this wouldn't be the first time Archer has pulled me into a situation I have no business being involved in. This entire thing reeks of the shit my father used to pull. Men like Soren played a hand in my father's death, taking advantage of those with addictions.

Memories and trauma from my past make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I have no business being here.

"We don't have to do this, Arch," I rush out before Soren and his men get close enough to hear.

"It'll be fine, Micah." Archer turns his head, his green eyes begging me to have his back just one more time.

"That's what you always say, and the outcome always takes a turn. We can leave right now. We can put all of this behind us."

"Stop," he warns, his eyes narrowing. "I can't. I'm in too deep, and I need you on this. I need my best friend to have my back."

"I can help you," I offer. "Let me help you."

"Fuck, Micah. Please, stop."

I sigh and close my eyes. I've always had his fucking back. My teeth practically crack as I grind my jaw.

Alarm bells ring in my mind. I shouldn't be here. Archer shouldn't be here.

I see my oldest brother's eyes staring at me in disappointment. I see my father looking at me with admiration and pride.

"You've always been there for me," he adds. "And Adeline."

"Right." I turn so Soren can't read our lips. He hasn't reached us yet. "Think of her. How do you think she would feel if she knew what you were doing right now? Who you were meeting…"

"I can't. Not now." He immediately shuts me down, barely moving his lips. "He's almost here."

I turn back around to face the room.

Soren smiles in our direction, his silver tooth glinting in the light. The shamrock tattoo in the corner of his left eye scrunches when he holds out his hand to Archer.

"Archer Mayfield," he greets. Grasping onto Archer's hand, he wraps both around his as they shake.

"Good to see you, Soren," Archer replies.

While Archer and Soren greet one another, I find myself eyeing the two men standing behind Soren. They're each dressed in similar suits. If I were to guess, they could be twins. The only distinction is the snake tattoo wrapped around one of the men's necks, the head dipping below his Adam's apple..

Despite the snake tattoo, the men are clean cut and crisp. Clearly, all of us stick out in this bar, but when I glance over my shoulder, the bartender appears unfazed. She dips a glass into soapy water, keeping her eyes trained on the boxing match playing on the small TV mounted in the corner.

Archer's hand claps my shoulder. "This is my best friend, Micah Harding."

"Holy shit, Mayfield." Soren beams, his twinkling eyes dancing between Archer and me. "I didn't realize you cozied up to corporate fuckers like the Hardings."

I stiffen, straightening my back and holding my breath. I'm not unfamiliar with the hate that is tied to my name, but I certainly don't want to hear it from a man as intimidating as Soren.

"Hey, hey." Archer holds his hand up, grinning. "Micah is all good, man. He's a family friend."

"Is that so?" He raises his eyebrows. "If he has the reputation of his father, I don't think it was wise for you to bring him with you."

My throat swells. Soren must not be aware of my past. If he is, he doesn't mention it. What situation has Archer gotten himself into? This meeting with Soren is more dangerous than anything we've done in the past.

"Micah isn't anything like James Harding," Archer reassures him.

"For your sake"—Soren leans in, his voice deepening as he lines his sharp, harsh glare at Archer—"you'd better hope to fucking hell he isn't."

"Hope isn't necessary when I've known him all my life," Archer reassures him. He's attempting to portray confidence, but his neck bobs as his hands shake. He stuffs them into his pockets, attempting to hide his nervousness.

"Good." Soren claps his tattoo-covered hands. "Now, down to business. What's the status of my supply?"

"Business is good." Archer nods, a small smile playing on his mouth. "I've got a few of my connections set up for transactions this week."

I don't like hearing about Archer's business dealings and how he's gotten himself into this mess. Years spent trying to get ahead or come up with other means of earning money has landed him in a web he can't seem to get out of.

"What about the money you owe me?" Soren asks, bringing his fingers to his mouth. "I give you my largest inventory for you to resell, and I have yet to be paid for any of it. You see, when it comes to this type of business, time is money."

"I told you I'd have it to you by next week." Archer straightens his back and tries to appear casual and relaxed, but the pulse in his temple rapidly speeds up. "You have my word."

"You know…" Soren's face transforms. His mouth straightens, and it's clear the pleasantries are gone. He doesn't take his eyes off Archer. "Here I was worried you'd brought a Harding with you, but it's clear I was mistaken. Your word doesn't mean shit to me, Mayfield. You told me you would have it to me two weeks ago."

"We've been doing business for years, Soren," Archer argues. "You know I'm good for it."

"Hmm." He lifts his hand and scratches at his clean-shaven chin with a sneer as he steps closer to Archer, bringing his nose in line with his. "If your word is as good as you say it is, I'm going to need some reassurance."

My stomach twists into knots. Like an anchor dropping into the sea, I feel sick.

Soren nods his head to the man flanking him on his right. The large man moves around Soren, sliding between him and me. In the time it takes me to blink, he clutches Archer's lapels, fisting the silky fabric, and pulls him to his chest, rearing his ring-laden fist back. Driving his fist into Archer's face, he delivers a solid, quick blow, knocking him to the floor. The broken barstools fall back as Archer topples against them and lands on the sticky tile.

I stuff my balled-up fists into the pockets of my jeans, even though instinct tells me to intervene. I want to fight back and defend my best friend, but I'm outnumbered. The other man behind Soren side steps, closing in on me in silent warning to not get involved. My heart leaps out of my chest when I watch Soren step forward and hover over Archer. He's curled into the fetal position on his side, covering his nose as he groans. Blood spills onto his hand and drips onto the floor.

The patrons in the bar appear unfazed. The bartender continues cleaning glasses. Her eyes lift only briefly to see what's unfolding on the other side of her bar, but she doesn't intervene. One country song ends, rolling right into the next. A happy tune starts playing, drowning out Archer's moans and groans of pain.

Soren pulls something from his pocket. It doesn't hit me right away what it is until I hear the sharp click of a blade popping out from the handle. He grips Archer's jaw, tugging his face to look up at him.

Archer groans again, looking up at Soren with hooded eyes as Soren brings the blade to Archer's throat and presses it against his skin. He kneels lower, pushing his nose to Archer's. Archer writhes under Soren's firm grip, twisting his head from side to side.

Clicking his tongue, Soren disapproves, seething with anger. Veins bulge and pulsate from his thick neck. I don't dare move knowing the bodyguard standing in front of me won't hesitate to put me in the same position as Archer.

"Brave and bold Archer Mayfield," Soren practically sings, teasing. "Son of a district attorney. Tech millionaire. Let's get one thing straight." He smooths his hand over Archer's face, pushing back his brown hair. Fear spreads across Archer's broken face, and my heart cracks. Soren adds pressure to the knife he's wielding. One quick slip, and I'll be witnessing my best friend's murder. "If I don't get my fucking money by the end of the month, it'll be more than your little pussy Harding friend over here who will suffer. One by one, I'll take out every single person you care about."

"You'll get your money," Archer tries to reassure him.

"I'd better." Soren soothes his hand over Archer's face once more before clasping his jaw again. "Or else that sweet baby sister of yours will unfortunately never be able to model again."

Archer grunts as blood spills from his nose. He kicks under Soren, anger building behind him. "Don't you fucking touch her," Archer spits, blood spraying from his mouth.

My heart pounds, clawing to jump out of my chest. I tighten my fists at the mention of Adeline. I want nothing more than to lunge forward and take down Soren for even mentioning Adeline's name. She doesn't need to be brought into this.

"Oh," Soren says, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head to the side. "You didn't think I knew about that baby sister of yours. Hard to ignore a sweet cunt like that one."

Archer grunts again, his eyes flaming with anger. "Fuck you."

"No, no, no." Soren shakes his head in disapproval. "I'd watch that mouth of yours if I were you." He slowly drags the sharp edge of his blade across Archer's lip with a sneer. When he's satisfied with Archer's silence, he slaps Archer's cheek in approval and stands. He closes his blade and drops it back into his pocket. Fixing the ends of his sleeves, he steps back and smooths down his dark brown hair. "Have a safe trip back home to Austria, Archer. I look forward to hearing from you by the end of the month."

Soren's bodyguard moves to stand behind his boss again.

Soren glances at me. "Harding." He nods. "It's been a pleasure. For your sake, I hope we don't need to meet like this again."

I stay planted where I am, panic slithering down the length of my spine. Soren's threat to me isn't what has me worried. It's the one he's put on Adeline.

Once they leave the bar, Archer moves to stand. He rolls onto all fours, taking a moment to catch his breath. I don't help him stand, too angry to do anything. I've tried to help Archer for years. He's the best person I've known and has been there for me in times I needed him, but I don't recognize him now. Not anymore.

I don't recognize the man in front of me—the one willing to put the safety of his sister and everyone he cares about at risk.

And if Archer can't protect Adeline…

I will.