Asher (10 page)

“That wasn’t like you.”

“And what am I like?” Harsh. Angry.

“You’re a good person.” I hesitate. “Something happened back then, didn’t it? Tessa said your mom passed away. I didn’t know.”

His breath hitches. “Yeah. But it happened long before that, even before Tyler left. When Mom first got sick, Dad... he started drinking and lashing out right and left. Whoever was in his way...tough luck. But I did the same, Auds. Exactly the same. I started swinging and took down whoever got in the way.” He shakes his head, his voice dropping low. “I’m not what you need. Never was.”

I step between him and the door—close, so close if I reach out I can touch him. “And how would you know what I need?”

“Dammit.” He grabs my arms. His eyes blaze. “I’ve done my best to keep away from you, and now...” He presses me against the door. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“But I want you here,” I whisper, too aware of his strong body pressed against mine, his musky scent. “Always have. Even when I thought you didn’t want me.”

“Why are you saying these things to me now?” His face dips toward mine, his eyes half-closing. “All this time I thought you loathed me.”

“I don’t. I...” His hands land on either side of my head, trapping me against his hard chest. His mouth looks luscious and I can’t think of anything I want more than to kiss him. “Ash...”

And then he’s kissing me, his mouth hard and hot against mine, stealing my breath. His tongue swipes over the seam of my lips, opening them, thrusting into my mouth.

My knees turn to water. I sag and he wraps a corded arm around me, holding me up, pulling me to him.

Still kissing me, his taste exploding inside me, making me ache to my core. I lift my arms around his neck, wanting more. Wanting him more. Closer. Wanting to feel his bare, warm skin against mine.

I bury my fingers in the soft hair at his nape while his slip under the hem of my blouse, inching up. I shiver when he finds the clasp of my bra and tugs.

“Want me to stop?” he whispers.

“No. Don’t stop.”

“Auds...” His voice is ragged, his breathing harsh. My nickname on his lips is sweet and hot, merging the past and the present.

But he’s a grown man now. His hardness presses into my stomach, a rod of steel. He’s aroused as much as I am, and I like that. I grind myself against him and he moans, a deep, throaty sound.

Suddenly both his hands are under my blouse, unclasping my bra and pulling everything off. I hold up my arms to help, needing to feel the touch of his skin on me. My blouse and bra land on the floor with a whisper.

God, his eyes smolder. His lips part and he draws a long breath. “You’re so beautiful.” His hands brush the sides of my breasts, sending bolts of heat down my spine. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you, touching you like this for so long.”

“Yeah?” I shiver.

His hands move under my breasts, cupping them, and I throb everywhere. “Since I kissed you in high school.”

A long time.

He slides his hands down my sides, under my legs, and lifts me. Gasping, I cling to him. He sure likes carrying me around. He groans, his hardness trapped between us, throbbing and hot like fire. Then he hefts me higher, nuzzling my neck, and strides to the sofa where he proceeds to lay me down on my back.

He climbs over me, this time trapping me with his legs.

Even in the warm air of the room, my skin pebbles and my nipples harden more. I want him to take off his shirt, his pants, I want to see his body, see if it looks as it feels, so firm and perfect.

Bending over, he props his elbow by my head and kisses a trail from my shoulder to my neck, and I turn my head to the side to give him better access. He nips at my earlobe, making me shudder and shift. I slide my hands down his ribs, down to his hips, trying to slip them under his shirt. It’s so tight I can’t.

Then his mouth closes over the tip of my breast and I forget what I’m trying to do. He sucks and licks until my back arches off the cushions and my breath comes out in a hiss. Electric shocks zip down my spine. Liquid heat surges low in my body, and a throb starts between my legs.

I need him. When he moves to my other breast, I let my legs fall open and scrape my hands down his lower back, dragging him closer.

He hasn’t been the only one to dream of this moment. I pushed it down but deep in me I’ve wanted him for all those years.

He sits back with a lazy grin. His eyes glint like silver. But then he slips his fingers into the high waistband of my stretch pants, tugging, and I start.

I grab his hands. “No.”

He stills, the grin slipping from his face. “Auds?”

“Please, don’t...” I hold his hands, fighting panic. “Don’t.”

He nods. “Okay. No problem. Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s not that.” I lick my dry lips, suddenly aware I’m lying half-naked on my sofa, my breasts exposed and tingling, Ash sitting between my legs. “I can’t.”

I let go of his hands and they land on his thighs. He’s still breathing hard, and his erection is trapped in his jeans, curving sideways.

“I knew this was a mistake,” he says and starts to lift himself off the sofa. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Ash.” He’s about to leave—
again
—and I’m letting the past and my fears govern me when all I want is him. I fight for a deep breath. “It’s the scars.”

That’s the reason I never wear low-slung jeans like other girls. I always make sure the hated scar on my lower belly remains hidden.

He closes his eyes, those dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones. “Scars aren’t ugly, Auds.”

Those are the exact same words he used when we were little; I’m sure of that. I cherish that memory and have held onto it like a lifeline since the accident.

“Mine are.”

“I don’t believe it. They’re part of you. They mean you survived something ugly, but you’re alive, and you’re beautiful.”

His words bring a knot to my throat. I sit up, covering my breasts with my hands. “I never show my scars to anyone.”

“I’m not just
anyone
.” A side of his mouth tips up, and his eyes warm up.

He has no idea how true that is. There was only him, always. But still I hesitate.

“If I show you mine,” he says, “will you show me yours?”

Another snippet of memory from our shared childhood. It serves to calm my racing pulse. “I know your scars.”

He sits there, his jaw set. He just stares at me, not a muscle moving, though a vein beats frantically at his neck. “I have new ones since I last showed you.”

Dread settles like lead in my stomach. I have a feeling I know what he’s about to show me. “Are they bad?”

“Bad. Ugly. Unlike yours.” He stands up, reaches back and pulls the shirt over his head, making the muscles on his chest stretch and ripple in a mouthwatering way. His tattoo is breathtaking—a black dragon curling on his chest, the wings spreading on his shoulder and up his neck.

His eyes flutter closed and he draws a long breath, as if bracing himself.

Then he turns around.

Oh god.
His back is a map of cruelty—vertical scars, old and new, some fading to white lines, some still purple and painful-looking, from his shoulder blades down to the small of his back, where yellow bruising spreads.

I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up. This has to have taken years and years. This was happening to him and I didn’t know. No matter if he was cold to me after the kiss, he was my best friend, and I just didn’t know.

The tears run down my cheeks, cooling my skin. By the time he turns around, I’m ready to throw myself into his arms and hug him like I’ve never hugged anyone before.

But he flinches when he sees my face and steps back. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have shown you. I’m sorry, Auds.”

He grabs his jacket from the chair and strides across the room before I manage to formulate a response.

It isn’t until I hear the door slam that I realize he’s left once more.

Chapter Ten

Asher

Standing at the entrance of her building, I pull on my shirt and jacket, then hurry out to the street. The cold bites every inch of exposed skin, but can’t compete with the ice filling my chest.

God, I was stupid, showing her my scars. Her scars may be beautiful to me, but that doesn’t mean mine would be to her. Just because she listened to me when we were kids doesn’t mean she feels the same way I do. I’m not a kid anymore, and neither is Audrey.

I swallow hard at the memory of her breasts. No, definitely not a kid. Why did I think it would be a good idea to show her my scars? I wanted to put her at ease, and it worked when we were kids.

Right. See again point one.
We aren’t kids anymore. Fuck, the devastated look on her face... The horror. I can’t stand it.

So okay, I lied. I do think scars are ugly. Mine are. Not hers. My scars are a mark of my inability to fight back, to win the fight between me and my dad. My weakness. My failure. I hate them. I never show them to anyone.

But Audrey isn’t just anyone, a little voice in my mind throws my words back at me, mocking me.

Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. Now she won’t look at me again like she did before my act of idiocy—with desire; with need.

All that’s left is horror. Pity. Revulsion.

I walk faster, jamming my hands in my pant pockets. God, she’s so pretty. Her face, her eyes, the freckles on her nose—and her body... Christ, her breasts! Full and fitting perfectly in my hands. They drive me crazy.

Stop thinking about her.

The town seems empty. Everyone is at home with family, celebrating.

Dammit, that sort of happiness isn’t meant for me. I can scarcely remember what it’s like. I felt so good for a while back there, in her apartment, in her arms, that I forgot this little fact.

Hell, I’d give anything to stay with her, be with her—not just today but every day.

Audrey doesn’t hate me. She said that. Can I believe it? And she kissed me back, this time I’m sure of it. The girl wants me. But would she hate herself come tomorrow if she made out with me? Today she might be lonely—but tomorrow with her friends at college, would she still look at me that way?

And when she finds out about my plans for the future...

Screw this.
Better nail this day in my memory for future reference with a step forward—a step toward my new life.

I cut through the quiet neighborhood toward downtown. Festive multicolored lights flash in the shop fronts. The Bulldog, the illegal fight club, is tucked in the basement of a run-down block of offices. A rusty sign sighs with the icy breeze. Dirty steps lead down to a massive metal door.

Nobody answers for a long while, long enough that I think about leaving. Maybe they closed for Christmas?

Then a lock unlatches and the door swings open. “Yes?”

I try to see who’s behind but there’s only darkness.
Damn creepy.
“I’m here to see Marty,” I say, nerves making my hands shake. “Name’s Asher.”

“Marty ain’t in today. He’s with family. No business on Christmas day. Come back tomorrow.”

Marty has a family.
Huh.
Who’d have thought? Even in this world of thugs and death dealers, I’m an oddity. “All right.”

“Who’s that?” another male voice asks from inside, and a pair of eyes glint in the opening.

“He says name’s Asher.”

“Asher?”

I nod, not sure what this is about.

“And you’re here because you wanna fight, is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“You look way too young for this.”

“I’m twenty-one,” I lie. “I’ve fought here before. Marty knows me.”

“This isn’t a place to fuck around, boy. Here’s the big fish. Men wanna see blood and a real fight.”

“Got it.” My heart is in my throat. “I can do this.”

“All right. Come back tomorrow evening. We talk then. If Marty’s not here, ask for Carl.”

And before I can speak again, the door slams closed.

Okay.
That went well. Probably.

This last guy sounded wary. I hope he isn’t going to throw a wrench into my plans. This fight club is my only real chance to get out of the rut of my shitty life. My last hope.

I suddenly feel very tired and old. Too old for my eighteen years. I set my head against the cold wind and head back to Zane’s apartment.

***

Next morning, I borrow Zane’s running shoes and go for a jog to calm my nerves. I always run when I can. Helps order my thoughts and let out some of my anger.

Loping through the town, I pass the entrance of the fight club. Closed and quiet. Business is done late at night. I know fighters can make good money in such clubs, if they manage not to get killed or get a debilitating blow.

I can do this. I’ve been trained by one of the best, both in clean and dirty fighting. But I’m not naive. I know what I’m getting into: illegal shit, underground mafia, drugs and violence. You sell your soul for money, beat up people you don’t know, people who are there because they’re as desperate as you for some money, some ray of hope.

It all comes down to this, doesn’t it? Time and again.
Hope.

As I run, I replay my time in Audrey’s apartment in my head—her gaze, her taste, her voice, her words. How warm I felt in her arms.

It doesn’t matter. I can’t see her again. I’d give anything to be with her, and that is the one person I shouldn’t be with. Not unless I want to drag her down with me.

So instead I run and run, eating the distance, punching the air, letting out steam. The cold clears my head.

I need to pass by Dad’s. I have to grab some stuff—clothes, shoes, my papers, my cell phone. And I’m ready for him this time.

I run, a stitch in my side, all the way to the house I used to call home. My stomach twists as I approach the familiar porch and see the familiar peeling paint of the front door.

Slowing down, I come to a stop at the front steps. Bracing my hands on my knees, I bend over, panting. Getting into the house may prove tricky, as my keys stayed inside with my wallet and phone, but I have my ways. I wonder if Dad is home.

I walk around the house, trying to see inside. No movement. No sound. Maybe my luck has taken a turn for the better just this once and he’s out, drinking with his buddies.

There. Tyler’s bedroom window is my usual way in. I’ve sneaked inside that way before, when I forgot my key. There’s a trick with the latch and I carefully push the frame to the side and up, until I feel it give.

The window slides open and I pull myself up and into the house. It’s dark and dusty. The air has a musty smell I know well, but also a subtle stench I can’t place.

No matter. I’m not planning on investigating, or staying long enough to find out. I tiptoe into my room, grab a duffel bag and stuff it with my clothes and some books. I snag my shaving kit, toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom, and head to the front door. The smell hits me again and I wonder if a rat died in the pipes. A cleaning lady comes in once a week. She’ll take care of it. I’m not sticking around any longer than I have to.

I stop in the hallway. Wincing, I stare at a small pool of dried blood on the floor. Probably mine, where I fell.
Christ.

My cell phone is there, cracked open. I hope to god I can put it back together. I also find my wallet, lying on the floor a few feet away.

My chest aches. My heart’s going into overdrive. I glance over my shoulder, fully expecting to see my dad standing there, fists raised to knock me out cold.

I’m so outta there.

Grabbing my stuff, I shove everything into the duffel and open the door. Wary, I look outside but see nobody. I step out and close the door quietly behind me.

Done.

I’m done with my dad and my life there. Time to turn a new leaf.

***

Night has fallen by the time I climb the stairs to Zane’s apartment, still jittery with nerves—from what happened at Audrey’s, then my visit to Dad’s house, and the thought I should get ready for The Bulldog tomorrow.

Other people dress up to go to their job interviews. I’ll have to look badass tomorrow tonight to receive the go and enter the cages to fight. I’ll cut my hair short. Maybe leave the top longer and spike it with gel. I’ll borrow Zane’s hair trimmers. He won’t mind.

I’m tugging on my hair with one hand, fishing in my pocket for the keys with the other, when I realize someone is sitting on the steps leading up to the next floor.

I stop still. That red hair, the wide green eyes... “Auds?” I swallow hard. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Looking uncertain, she stands up, smoothing her hands over her black stretch pants. God, she has great legs. “I was waiting for you.”

“Why?”

Her mouth goes flat and tight, and anger flashes in her eyes. She marches up to me, hands on her hips. “Why do you think? You showed me...” She huffs. “Showed me yourself and then left, just like that. I wanted...” Uncertainty returns to her gaze.

“You wanted what?”

She shrugs and her eyes fill up. But the expression on her face isn’t disgust or hatred. I can’t place it.

I have no clue what she wanted to do, but whatever it was, it made her come over to Zane’s apartment, wait for me here.

I look down at the keys in my hand. This is a bad idea. Another one on a long list of them. This girl makes me want things I shouldn’t, hope for things I can’t have.

And still I make the wrong decision, because I can’t help myself. “Come on in.”

She walks ahead of me into the living room, her hands twisting together. I draw the curtains shut and light the lamps around the main area with the sofa.

“I think there’s tea,” I say, and head toward the kitchen, because I’m not used to playing host and I need a moment to collect myself. “I’ll heat the water.”

Her footsteps follow me. “Why did you leave?”

“You were upset with me.” I fill the kettle with water and plug it in, but don’t turn it on yet.

“No, not with you.” She stands behind me and her hands slide over my hips. “I’m angry with myself for not knowing this.” Her fingers travel up my back and rest over the scars.

I shiver. “I only wanted to make you comfortable.”

“I know. You always did that. Always managed to make me feel good about myself.”

A knot forms in my throat. “Before I made you hate me.”

“That was why you left the previous time, isn’t it?” Her warmth seeps into the back of my body. She smells of something floral and sweet. “After you saved me from those guys at the campus and Tessa came.”

“You told her...” I bite my tongue. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I know what she said I told her. If you’d stayed, you’d know I replied that I never hated you. God, Ash, it’s the truth.”

I clench my jaw, still trying to wrap my head around that. Trying to believe it in my heart. It isn’t easy, after all this time.

“So what are you here for?” I’m not sure where we stand at this point. I only know my body is reacting to her presence, same like every time, and my jeans are getting tighter and tighter. Soon I’ll need to adjust myself and I still don’t know what she wanted back at her apartment. What she wants now.

“You showed me your scars. I’ll show you mine,” she says.

I still. “You don’t have to. It was a terrible idea.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Her hands slip down, to my lower back. “I’m glad you showed me. I needed to know.”

“No, you didn’t.” Anger flares inside me, a spark of heat. “You don’t need to know anything like that. You’ve had enough on your plate and I didn’t mean—”

“Ash.” She moves away from me, and I can’t help but turn.

I have to see her face, have to see...

Fucking hell.
She’s undressing. Right in front of me, in the dimly-lit kitchen, leaning back against the wall. She’s lifting the hem of her long blouse, revealing her lacy black bra. The lace hugs her breasts and they threaten to spill over, round and soft, white skin like silk. I can see her nipples through it, faintly darker circles, and I step toward her, unable to stop myself.

She lets her blouse drop to the floor. The pants are the same ones she had yesterday, elastic, hugging her curves all the way up to her waist.

She pushes the pants down to reveal matching black panties.

I’m aware of my breathing, growing more ragged by the second. My dick throbs desperately, and I reach into my jeans to adjust it. Just one touch and I’m so close to bursting.

“Auds...” I want her. Desire crashes into me like a wall, almost bringing me to my knees. “Fuck.”

“Here,” she says and I take a step closer, my hands fisting. I don’t know if I can control myself and not grab her and slide into her, feel her all around me.

My dick twitches.

“What?” Even my voice sounds strange, hoarse and breathless.