Page List


Font:  

1

“You’ve gone the wrong damn way.”

Archer Miller tightened his hands around the steering wheel of his BMW.

Deep breath. Calm. You cannot kill him. One day you might need him. For a kidney. Or bone marrow. Or …

Okay, he was out of reasons for why he shouldn’t murder his asshole younger brother.

“Isaac—”

“Don’t call me that,” Isaac muttered back, glaring out the window, his arms crossed over his chest, looking much like he had as a petulant teenager. Except he was now closing in on forty, had bulked up and there were a few grays peeking through his dark-blond hair.

Archer didn’t like to think too closely about what had given his brother those gray hairs. Isaac’s time spent in the Navy had only hardened his already rough edges, until it was extremely rare to see him smile.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his brother laugh.

“I’m not calling you Doc,” he said with exasperation. It was what everyone on Sanctuary Ranch called him. Living there suited him. A quiet ranch nestled into the Montana landscape. A place where people who enjoyed relationships out of the norm were accepted and embraced.

Sanctuary wasn’t the sort of place Archer could live. While he was a Dom, he didn’t want a relationship where he was always in charge. Unlike Isaac. He wanted a Little. He liked to always be in control. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had a Little in a long time.

Archer worried he’d never take another one.

Living on a ranch in the middle of nowhere wasn’t for him. He liked civilization, thank you very much.

Which is why you’re driving along a dirt road to spend a long weekend in an isolated cabin? He sighed. The things he did in an attempt to heal the relationship with his brother.

“Why not?”

“Let’s see. Because I’m a doctor as well? Because I’m your brother and you have a perfectly good name?”

Isaac grumbled something under his breath. He hated his name, since it was one he shared with his father. To say they weren’t on good terms was putting it mildly.

“Would you rather I call you Issy?” he asked, using his childhood nickname.

“No,” Isaac bit back sharply. “Where the fuck are we even headed? Do you know where this place is? Are you sure you can drive in these conditions? No fancy streets down this part of the country.”

“Fancy streets? What constitutes fancy? Lights? Pavement? Signs?” Archer asked. It was getting increasingly hard to see. Dusk had hit and it wouldn’t be long until it was fully dark. He would rather have been at the cabin by now, but Isaac had insisted they couldn’t leave until after lunch. He had a thing about eating out. As in he refused to do it.

Archer had been a psychiatrist for over fifteen years and he’d never come across someone as difficult as Isaac.

Then after his brother had lunch, he’d gotten called away and Archer had ended up visiting with Ari, so they hadn’t left Sanctuary until late afternoon.

His brother just grunted. Archer ignored him, concentrating on his driving. “And I’m headed in the direction the GPS told me to take.”

“Fancy fucking machines can’t replace an actual map.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Isaac,” he muttered. His brother could make him lose his patience quicker than anyone else. “You’re thirty-nine not ninety-eight. GPS has been around for freaking years. Would it hurt you to at least pretend like you want to be here?”

“Might,” Isaac grunted back.

“You’re an asshole. This weekend is supposed to be about the two of us—holy fuck!”

He slammed on the brakes, turning the vehicle towards the right as a deer bounded out across the road in front of them. He hadn’t been going that fast, but the downpour of rain had turned the dirt road to mud and his tires slid across the surface. Fuck! The vehicle slammed into a tree, mak

ing him jolt against the seatbelt.

His breath came in fast pants, adrenaline racing through him. Shit. Shit.

Why hadn’t the airbags detonated? This was a rental vehicle, but they should still work. Maybe they’d been going too slow to set them off.

Fuck, Isaac!

He turned to check on his brother. “Isaac, you okay? Isaac?” He undid his seatbelt as his brother let out a low groan. “Isaac!”

His brother shifted around to face him. Archer turned on the overhead light.

“Fuck!” Archer swore. “Your head!”

There was a gash on the right side of the other man’s temple. Blood was dripping down his face. “I’ll get your bag out of the back.”

“It’s fine. Just a bit of a scratch.”

Bit of a scratch. Right. Archer shook his head as he reached into the back for his jacket, pulling it on then jumping out of the truck. His boots squelched in the mud.

And this is why he stuck to paved roads. Fancy, his ass.

He moved to the back, opening it up and grabbing Isaac’s medical bag. He never went anywhere without it. There was probably a first aid kit, but he knew his brother’s bag was better stocked. Rain pelted down. Icy cold. He grimaced as he saw the damage to the rental. Fuck. He wondered if roadside assistance would make it out this far. And in this weather. In the growing dark.

Shit. Fuck.

With a sigh, he stomped his way back around to the driver’s side door, climbing in. Isaac had his belt off and was pressing the sleeve of his sweater to his head.


Tags: Laylah Roberts Montana Daddies Erotic