Page 226 of Satan's Spawn
On literal paper in one of my notebooks. Which is still in my hand as I blow out an anxious breath.
Because everything that can potentially go wrong has to do with me and Crayton.
When the doorbell buzzes I leap with relief, tossing the book on my dresser before running like a bat out of hell into the hallway.
“Where’s the fire?” Roman jokes as he sips his coffee on the couch.
Mom is already using her worried voice when I reach the door, swinging it open, revealing a very uncomfortable Archer in a pair of sweats and a hoodie.
Oh, this can’t be good.
Archer never leaves his house before going all Dapper Dan.
“Hey…” I breathe, ushering him inside with my hand.
“Sup, Bex?” He can barely look at me.
Inhaling deep, I link arms with him toward my bedroom, ignoring Mom and Roman as they offer their welcomes.
Archer greets them with a “Hello Mrs. Dawson and Mr. Tripp” and a “Hope you both had a Merry Christmas” as I drag him further into the hall.
“Huh.” He huffs. “I just realized your mom didn’t take Roman’s name.”
Yeah, because she knew how much it’d kill me if she did.
“Seriously?” I give him a look as we both enter my room. “You go all ominous and shit then comment about my mom’s last name?”
He laughs nervously. “Yeah, I guess that was kind of stupid.”
I close the door with a careful click. “What’s going on, Arch?”
It’s his turn to blow out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to say this.”
“You can start by using your freaking words, man!” I collapse onto my bed. “I’m dying here.”
Archer placates me with both hands raised. “I’m sorry about all the ominous shit. None of this was intentional on my part.”
“None ofwhatwas intentional?”
Reaching into his hoodie pocket, Archer pulls out a few papers before sitting next to me on the bed.
“Let me start by saying the second you told me to stop digging into Crayton’s past, I did.”
My eyes flutter closed with trepidation.
I hate this already…
“Okay.” I manage to say before he continues.
“We were at Grandpa’s house for the holiday, you know, I told you.”
“Uh-huh.” I urge him.
“Well, he asked me to grab some papers from his office as he argued with one of my brother’s over some client he had back in his attorney days.”
“Okay…?” I shift my body to face him, crossing my arms.
“Well, he gave me a key and told me where to look, which was in a locked storage drawer. One I particularly wanted to pry my way into when I was hunting down dirt on Shaw.” Swallowing, he adds, “As I rummaged through it, I found a folder all the way in the back.”
