Page 12 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
I leave through the back door in a rush, hoping to avoid Minka. I make a mental note to leave through the back door from now on. It’s cowardly, but the last time I tried to be a hero, I ended up calling the cops on the mob. I still can’t sleep comfortably at night. The bags under my eyes are a testament to that.
I was maybe an eight before the Hallway Incident, but now I’m more like a six. I catch a glimpse of my reflection on a window and wince. It’s more like a five and a half. I look really exhausted. Between the stress of retaliation, my upper division coursework, and the long hours at the coffee shop, I have reason to be.
Miraculously, I arrive to class on time. The lecture is almost starting, so all of the good seats in the center and back rows are filled. As if my day can’t get any worse, I have no choice today but to sit in the splash zone. I take a seat in the center of the front row. I’m sitting in the splash zone anyway, so I might as well get the best view of the board while I’m at it.
I jump in surprise when someone sits down next to me. I thought I was the last person in here. At maximum capacity, only one person has to sit in the splash zone. That’s me, so who is this? I turn to whoever it is, ready to warn him or her about the splash zone, when I’m met with familiar blue eyes. I realize who it is immediately.
Asher Black.
Oh, God.
I feel the panic instantly kicking in.
Is he here to kill me?
I must have said that aloud, because the serious look on his face is replaced with one of amusement. It cuts through his frosty demeanor like the ultimate icebreaker but does nothing to ease my concern.
“Am I that scary?” he asks, a brow arching in doubt.
I swallow and nod.
If this was a cartoon, there would be an audible gulp coming from me.
His brow returns to its normal position. “Serves me right.”
Asher’s eyes darken, the icy blue transforming to navy in a heartbeat, and I see the hint of danger there. It’s always been there, but the shadows accentuate it until I can’t focus on anything else.
“In all honesty, I was here to…” His eyes dart around the room, probably looking for eavesdroppers.
It’s a fruitless effort. We both know everyone will be paying attention as soon as they realize he’s here.
He glares at someone and lowers his voice until I’m straining to hear it. “… take care of you.”
I turn away from him, so he can’t see the horror etched into my tired face. If there’s one thing the gazillion mob movies and books I’ve watched and read during my post-Hallway Incident research has taught me, it’s that “take care of” is code for:
I’ll kill you and hide your body six feet under a construction site, where they’ll build a Section 8 housing complex over you and won’t find your body until fifty years later when some rich, Trump-wannabe billionaire buys the complex, evicts the poor, knocks it to the ground and builds an apartment tower over it.
He’ll even further desecrate your memory by not allowing minorities to rent there.
Oh, and Shawn Spencer will come in to solve your murder case, so at least they’ll figure out who did it, and it’ll be funny.
Scratch that.
Psych was cancelled.
So, Reese and Harold will get your social security number from their AI machine, and they’ll find your body and bring your killer to justice.
Scratch that, too.
Person of Interest was cancelled…
Why are all of my favorite shows always cancelled?!
I hate T.V. networks. They always cancel my favorite shows and leave me with a cliff hanger. What am I supposed to do with that? Write my own damn ending? Nobody has time for tha—
Fuck me, I’m rambling.
Actually, I’m mentally rambling, which is worse, because when I mentally ramble, I have a tendency to mouth the words I’m thinking. Like a
