Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“What is the reason?”
“The purpose was for you to put it all in context, everything you’ve experienced with me, so you could finally answer the journalistic question of, “Why?” Now you know.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I can never be locked up again. It’s as simple as that. I have guys that depend on these runs to support their families. They’re men no one else will hire. Men like me. From the streets. But I trust the ones on my team because they’re both hungry and grateful. They all have someone they care about. I’m picky about everything and everyone in my life, and I’m a survivor. I can never not be around to fight another day, Honey. I couldn’t allow you to do that… to turn me in by posting a story of my warehouse. And I can’t let Bannon go without punishment. Okay, I’m done talking now.”
He calmly picked up her camera equipment, and motioned for her to follow him. She did as such, and when they reached the bedroom she’d been occupying, she walked inside. He set her equipment down and turned to leave.
“I’ll bring the computers back in here so you can send that Michael Silver guy the photos.” She nodded. “Ring the bell if you need me.” He opened the bedroom door to walk out.
“Hold on. What if I need you right now?”
He turned back around and faced her, his brows ruffled. She stepped up to him. Gazed in his eyes.
And then, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth against his…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Archer gently grabbed Honey’s shoulders and shoved her off him. He looked down at her, and her face reddened.
“What?” she asked.
“What are you trying to do?” His heart thumped faster. He hoped his desire for her didn’t betray him. She seemed to hesitate for a bit, then nodded.
“I want to talk to you. Just like you spoke to me. We have some things to discuss.” She ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes wide. She then blinked slowly.
“I told you I don’t want to talk further about what I shared with you in the kitchen. I’ve said all I have to say about it.”
“I’m not asking you to talk about that. This has to do with me.”
He glanced around, then dragged a chair from the desk to the center of the bedroom. He turned it around and sat on it.
“Talk then.”
She sat on the foot of the bed, crossed her legs, and leaned back on her palms.
“Okay.” She took a long, deep breath. “Here I go… First of all, I understand you better now. Thank you for, uh, the chat in the kitchen. Now it’s my turn, I suppose.”
“I’m not going to turn down additional information about you as long as it’s factual.”
“It is, though of course some of it is strictly from my perspective. I know you think you know everything about me, but there are parts of me you don’t know because they are my secrets. They aren’t researchable. Not written down. There are no articles, video footage, or online diaries.” She placed her hand across her heart. “This information you’d have to receive from the horse’s mouth.”
“I don’t think I know every single detail of your life, but enough to recognize how to handle you. Some of my knowledge comes through observation. It has nothin’ to do with reading something online. You’re more transparent than you realize.”
“I thought my poker face was stellar.”
He wasn’t certain if she was kidding or not.
“It happens when you’re alone. The real you emerges when you forget someone is watching. Or when you’re asleep. You’re strong—with the type of strength that comes from something corrupt. People aren’t born that way. None of us are born that way, Honey. Something happened. I suppose you’re going to disclose that now?”
“As usual, you’re one step ahead of me.” She offered a half-smile, tinged with what appeared to be apprehension. “But yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. Spill the truth about myself.”
“Why? Do you want to garner some sort of sympathy? Is this a ploy? If so, you know better by now. You must have a clue how this’ll end up.”
“No, it’s not a ploy. We’re beyond that.”
“Continue then.”
“I am risking a lot by telling you this, but I feel it may help you understand me better, too.”
He leaned slightly forward and ran his hand across his arm. Waiting.
“When I was a child, my father died. His name was Malik Antonio Brooks. His gang name was ‘The Prophet.’ He was a member of the Eight Tray Gangster Crips, just like you mentioned to me, proving you were aware of my background. I had done an interview five or six years ago detailing that. It’s not hard to find, as you know. My father loved me, despite his associations, Archer. He took care of me. I never missed any meals. I had clothing—nice clothing. He was affectionate with me, and everyone knew I was his little girl. I was spoiled by him, actually. He had another child before me, from a prior relationship: my older brother Tony. He was four years older than me. Tony died when he was sixteen due to gun violence. His murderer was his cousin, from his mother’s side of the family. Anyway, we were often together when Dad would have us for the weekend.