Page 112 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
I see what’s happening.
Wherever we’re going, they’ll be disguised as movers, and I’ll be hidden in a box they’ll move. Lucky me.
“Fine,” I say, hopping down from the box and lifting its lid.
The box may look like it’s made of cardboard on the outside, but the inside is sturdy and made of plush leather. Asher stops me for a moment and presses a button, causing wheels to descend from the bottom of the box. A handle even pops up, which I assume is to help move me easier. The whole set up is fancy, and it leaves me to conclude that this isn’t the first time they’ve moved people this way.
Asher helps me into the tall, rectangular box. I sit down, shifting until I’m comfortable. When Asher leans in to kiss me, I glare at him but let him anyway. He’s smirking when he closes the lid on me.
My fingers latch onto the wall to steady myself as I’m rolled down a plank. There’s less than a minute of darkness before the lid of the box opens, and I’m standing inside a fashionable brownstone.
“Where are we?” I ask Nick, as Asher and the guards head back out to bring in more moving boxes, which are actually just empty.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I roll my eyes but don’t ask again. The drive didn’t take very long, so given the New York City traffic, we’re probably still pretty close to Asher’s. My guess, considering how fancy this place is, is that we’re in one of those expensive brownstones by Central Park.
When Asher returns, he hands me the bag I packed. I packed light with only the bare essentials—a phone charger, toiletries and two changes of clothes. Asher, on the other hand, stuffed his bag with an insane amount of weapons and ammo and all black clothing. He only has two changes of clothes in there, too, which gives me hope that he doesn’t think this will take too long.
We’re led into a room with a bunch of high tech computers and screens, and until nightfall, I watch as Asher, Nick and the guards sift through René’s life, unveiling everything from the semi-fascist article he wrote for his high school paper to the pregnant mistress he paid off a few years ago. She walked away with a sizeable chunk of his net worth and still receives a massive monthly check, which might explain René’s desire to acquire Black Enterprises for himself. There’s even a deleted email on René’s private server, connecting him to my invitation to the Wilton networking event.
I’m unable to look away as the guys sift through all of René’s secrets, hardened and horrified by the violating realization that René must have done the same to me at one point.
The moon is in clear view again by the time Asher informs me that it’s time to leave for Vaserley. Instead of leaving in the moving truck again, we take a town car that’s sitting in the garage. As we get in the back and Nick draws the curtains on the black tinted windows, I realize that it’s for us.
Or maybe it’s just me he doesn’t want to know where he lives.
Either way, I can’t see the road as we drive out of the garage and onto the street. In some ways, it’s like being moved in the box again, except I have Asher sitting beside me this time. About half an hour passes before we pull up to Vaserley, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, since Asher’s place is less than a minute from Vaserley, and the drive to Nick’s place yesterday only lasted ten minutes at the most.
I assume the driver must have taken a long route or driven in circles. I’m not sure whether that’s to confuse me or someone that may be trailing us. Regardless, I’m extra wary of Nick’s cloak and dagger routine, though to some extent, I recognize these moves as similar to the protocols Asher has put into place.
When I get out of the car, I notice that we’re in the private parking lot for Vaserley employees only. The cars that usually park in this lot mostly belong to the dining hall staff, housekeepers, R.A.s, P.C.s, and resident living administrators. So, it’s pretty empty right now, considering it’s a weekend and the only staff that sleep at Vaserley are R.A.s and P.C.s.
There’s a door to enter the staff area of the hall, but it’s guarded by a fairly young campus security guard. He looks to be about in his mid-twenties. I’m surprised when Asher approaches the guy, and they bump fists.
“Ash, long time no see!” the guy greets with an easy smile.
“Hey, Mark.” Asher gestures to me. “This is my fiancée, Lucy.” He turns to me. “Lucy, this is Mark. We used to train together at my neighborhood’s UFC gym.”
Mark adds, “That was before Princess Asher got swept away by Prince Charming and pushed i
nto a life of prep schools and Ivy leagues.”
Asher rolls his eyes. “He’s still bitter that he’s never won a fight against me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mark becomes serious, his eyes cutting to Nick and the guards before returning to Asher. “I let Bastian up a few minutes ago. Is everything good?”
“Yeah, Lucy’s hiding out here for a few days with these two,” he gestures to the guards, “and Bastian. We have surveillance on Vaserley, but I’d also appreciate your eyes and ears, too.”
“Of course. Same phone number?”
Asher nods, then Mark opens the door, and we’re ushered inside through the back entrance. Vaserley is a ghost town as we make our way to my old hall, which makes sense given the late hour. We stay quiet, though, being sure not to wake anyone up.
One of Asher’s guards sent a message to Aimee ahead of time to find somewhere else to stay, so we won’t be waking her up by going inside the room. Using my old key, I open the door into my former dorm room and turn on the lights. I roll my eyes when I see that Aimee’s mess has found its way onto my old bed. Typical.
Even Asher’s brows raise when he takes in the scene. “Was it ransacked?”
I’m not sure if he’s joking or not, so I answer anyway, “This is 100% Aimee.”
