Fake (Madison Kate #3) - Tate James Page 0,98

target on your back. I never want my loved ones to be used as bargaining chips, to be kidnapped and ransomed or beaten and raped as punishment for gang world bullshit. I want better than that for you, Kate. I want you to have a normal fucking life away from all of this." He paused, breathing heavily. I could hear my own pulse racing in my ears, and suddenly the rain and cold may as well have been a million miles away.

Archer didn't take his eyes from mine for even a second, but something shifted in his expression. It became harder, more resolute. "But I'm fast coming to the realization that if anyone can handle themselves in my world, it's you." His lips tightened, and his brow furrowed. "Which is a relief. Because as hard as I try to push you away, I keep drawing you back again. You're an addiction that I never want to quit, Kate. I'm tired of denying my own heart. Aren't you?"

My chest was tight to the point of physical pain, and I needed to force myself to breathe. He was staring at me, waiting for my response, and I wasn't capable of forming the words he so desperately needed to hear. Instead, I just jerked a nod. That was the best he was getting from me, so it'd have to do.

Archer let out a long breath, swiping his hand over his hair and sending a spray of water flying.

"Kate, I'm not sorry." He spoke the words with total sincerity, stopping my heart completely. "I'm not sorry for marrying you behind your back. If I was given the same option tomorrow, I'd do it again, even knowing how much it hurt you to find out."

My heart cracked in two. "You're a piece of shit, Archer D'Ath."

The insult came out weak and broken, full of pain and desperation, and that prick just smiled.

"I'm not sorry for saving you, Kate. But I'm sorry for everything past that point. I treated you badly, worse than badly, because you manifested my worst fears for my poisoned soul. Every day that I looked at you, I saw Ana. I saw my unforgivable sins, and I wasn't sorry. For that, I'm truly sorry." His eyes had lost all traces of arrogant pride, and all I could find in his searching gaze was a desperate plea for forgiveness.

It was something I couldn't give him. Not yet. Not unconditionally.

I took a step backward, ducking my gaze away from his. "Thank you for being honest," I replied. It was all I had to offer. "Your apology is accepted, but I'm not even remotely ready to forgive the bad blood between us."

From my lowered line of sight, I saw his fists tighten at his sides.

"Fair enough, then," he said in a voice woven with disappointment and hurt. "Just get in the car. I'll take you home."

Panic swept through me. I wasn't ready to forgive and forget yet, but that didn't mean it wasn't an option in the future. But I could see how he'd just taken my words as a blank rejection, and I needed to rectify that before this fragile bond was broken for good.

"And if I refuse?" I taunted him, raising my chin back up with stubborn defiance. "What will you do about it?" Rain lashed against my face, blurring my vision, but I still caught the flicker of an evil smile tugging at Archer's lips.

He closed the gap between us, his formidable height and stature towering over me. "If you refuse, I'll be forced to bend you over the hood of my car and spank that luscious ass until it glows. Your choice, Princess."

Hope bloomed in my chest once more, mingling with a healthy dose of victory. All wasn't lost after all.

"You've got to the count of three to get back in the car," Archer growled, and my lips curved in a sly grin.

"One..."

I folded my arms under my soaked breasts.

"Two..."

I batted my water-logged lashes at him.

"Three."

I accepted my fate.

33

Excited anticipation rippled through me as Archer grabbed me around the waist to throw me over his shoulder and storm back to his car. My wet hair hung in heavy ropes, almost dragging in the mud under his feet, and I gave zero shits. That was what shampoo was for.

Except instead of bending me over his hood and smacking my ass like he'd promised—uh, I mean threatened—he set me back on my feet and clasped my face between his palms.

"What are you doing?"

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