Chapter 265

A low growl emits from the back of Archer’s throat. I wonder if he even knows he’s doing it. I still haven’t told him my plans, but he must be suspecting I want to leave the Pyramid.

Surely, if I explain it, he’ll understand, right? No. I know better than that. Archer’s more liable to tie me up in his bedroom than he is to understand why I need to leave.

Typically, I wouldn’t be opposed to being tied up, but I really do need my books.

“I want to ask Steven to escort me to the penthouse,” I say. I hear a grinding noise. Is Archer grinding his teeth? His jaw does seem to be twitching. “I need a few things.”

“We’ll get you what you need,” Archer says.

“I need my notebooks and my books, and my dagger, and a few unmentionables.”

“Make a list,” Archer says.

“I’m going,” I say more firmly. “You guys won’t know what I need.”

They grew up having everything. They’d likely skim through my list and make subtractions here and there. Chloe doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need that. We’ll buy her new this. And they’d likely purposefully leave my dagger behind.

No. I am going myself. I don’t care what anyone says.

I try to rip my arm from Archer’s grasp but he holds on firmly.

“Then I’ll go with you,” Archer says.

“Steven is perfectly capable –”

“Steven is busy,” Archer growls. He’s mad again, but this time I don’t think it’s at me. He looks away, glaring twin holes into the floor.

My heart leaps into my throat a little. “Did something happen?”

“What hasn’t happened?” Archer grumbles.

That is a non-answer. One that I won’t let him get away with, no matter what kind of Alpha bullshit mood he’s in.

“Tell me what happened.”

His gaze snaps back to me and we have a staring contest. He doesn’t like when I give my own demands. Normally I play into that, because it’s fun and usually ends with me climaxing. But right now, this is serious. I don’t want to play games, I just want answers.

Archer eventually gives in. “Someone has been hacking into his security software. The Pyramid is safe, but…”

“My penthouse…”

“It went dark a few hours ago. Steven’s been trying to get it back.”

I do not like the sound of this. If the security systems at my penthouse are down, then anyone could have gone inside and we wouldn’t know.

I guess I can understand why Archer wants to keep me away from there.

“Whatever they were doing, they’re probably out of there by now, right?” It turns my stomach, thinking of some stranger pursuing around my home. Were they sitting on my furniture? Eating my food? Gods, they could throw my toothbrush in the toilet and then put it back, and I wouldn’t know.

And that is only the nicer of the things they could have done. I don’t want to think of the more destructive, more repulsive ideas.

“Chloe,” he says, tight. I’m starting to recognize that tone. That’s what he sounds like when he doesn’t want me to do something but recognizes I’m probably going to do what I want anyway, so it’s better just to go along with it.

This time, he’s spot on right.

“Come with me, then,” I tell him, a compromise. Archer is a better fighter than Steven, and Steven does sound busy.

“In and out. Five minutes,” Archer says. “Make a list so we don’t linger.”

“Okay.”

An hour later, Archer pulls up into a staff-restricted parking spot. He doesn’t even blink twice as he exits the vehicle. It’s the closest spot so I don’t bother correcting him. He at least left the handicap spot clear.

Together, we go into the building and the elevator. He pushes the button for the top floor, then steps in front of the doors, blocking me into the back of the elevator. I don’t know what kind of attackers he thinks are just lying in wait in the narrow hallway, but he’s in full Alpha protective mode right now.

Any arguments I try to put forward at this stage will be met only with dissatisfied grunting.

The elevator dings as it stops. The doors slide open. Archer tenses. I glance down between his hip and arm to see into the hallway. It’s barren.

But that’s not what has Archer so tense.

The lock on my front door is busted, and the wood is bent, like it’d been kicked open.

“We’re leaving,” Archer says, and pushes the first floor button.

“Archer, I have to see.” I try to sneak out in the space between him. He catches me around the waist, but he has to move to do so. This puts us both out into the hallway.

“We are leaving.” His voice is a growl, but the elevator is already closing behind us.

“If someone was here, you’d be able to smell them,” I say.

He doesn’t rebuke that. So I know the penthouse is empty.

What he’s doing here is a kindness in his own way. He just doesn’t want me to see inside.

Maybe he can smell that too, how much my place is trashed.

“Let me see what I can salvage,” I say, and I’m proud of myself for not letting my voice break.

I know the moment he gives in because he steps back and gives me room. He stays close behind me, as close as a second-skin, as I walk to the front door.

I don’t have to unlock it. All I have to do is push it open. So I do.

And then my heart drops down to the floor.

My penthouse is totally trashed. My bookcases have been knocked over. My couches slashed. My television has a big hole punched through the screen. All of my dishes are shattered on the kitchen floor.

“Careful,” Archer says as I step on the shards.

I cross the room into my bedroom, and it is no better.

My sheets and blankets are torn into long ribbons. My pillows have been imploded, nothing but feathers now.

I moved to the nightstand and checked underneath it. Fortunately, my secret stash has been untouched. There, I find my knife in good condition. I’m lucky they didn’t flip the table. As I’m kneeling there though, I see my pictures smashed down on the ground, my own face smiling up at me through broken glass.

Odd.

I grab a frame, careful not to touch any piece of the shatter glass. Slowly, I lift it as I stand.

“What is it?” Archer asks.

In the frame is a picture of me, but the image is torn down the middle. Originally, I wasn’t the only one in this photo. The other half, and the person in it, is totally gone.

Archer comes to my side. His boots crunch on the grass in the carpet, smooshing it down farther.

It doesn’t matter really. This whole place is trashed. It would have to be entirely gutted and rebuilt before it could be livable again. Especially with all the holes punched in the walls.

Archer looks over my shoulder, down at the photo I’m holding.

“Who else was in this picture?” he asks.

With a sinking feeling, I reply, “My mom.”