Page 19 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
My social worker even got me an emergency protective order against him, but that didn’t stop Steve from trying. It’s why I never bothered with a restraining order. I just left once I got the chance.
Once I turned 18, my social worker agreed to seal my file and help me change my name, which used to be Elena Lucy Reeves. Now, it’s Lucy Ives. I changed it to my middle name and my biological mother’s maiden name. Then, I hightailed it out of the country.
For two years, I was gone. And now, here I am, in danger again and wearing the shirt Steve got me.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Asher laughs again. It’s a lifeless sound. “You’re a damn ghost, but I don’t think you’re connected to the mafia. I wasn’t sure before, but after meeting you again, I don’t think so.” His eyes peruse my body, causing me to shiver. His full lips curl up in disgust. “I mean look at you. You’re shaking, for fuck’s sake. It’s pathetic.” Those chilling blue eyes narrow on me, and he takes a menacing step closer. “Why’d you call the cops?”
I take a step back and occupy myself by eyeing the floor.
It’s a really interesting floor.
Looks like a floor.
Feels like a floor.
Floor.
Floor.
Floor.
Floor.
Floo—
Asher interrupts my beautiful ode to the floor. “You’re going to have to answer me eventually.”
I keep my eyes trained on my dirty friend, the floor. “I-I… I thought that b-big guy was h-hurting that girl.”
“He was.”
I look up at him, surprised that he would admit it.
He continues, “But that was the point. She knew it. I knew it. He knew it. Everyone that passed them knew it. Everyone but you.”
He takes a step closer, and I try to take one back, but I’m already pressed against the wall. He’s so close now, I can feel his breath on my forehead. I can even smell the mint in it, as cold as the indifference in his eyes.
The look of indifference is replaced by mirth. “Lucy, did you call the cops because you were mad I didn’t finish you off?” His hands trail down my body, resting below my hips. “We can fix that easily.”
When his fingers brush against my jean-clad ass, I shout, “No!” I’m not sure if it’s a reply to his question or a response to his touch.
I can’t believe I ever had the courage to touch this man, though that was before I learned that he’s in the mob. It’s as if the second I found out, my fear extinguished my bravado in its entirety, ensconcing it like a solar eclipse. I can only hope the world will continue to rotate, and one day, the sun will reveal itself—along with my nerve.
The amusement in his face is gone, and he leans down and whispers in my ear, “So, what are we going to do with you?”
Is this where I’m supposed to beg for my life?
I’ll do it if it means I’ll live. I’m building a future for myself at Wilton, and that’s worth begging for. I don’t care if that makes me pathetic or weak. I know my strengths and weaknesses enough to know that I will never get away from this man unless he lets me.
“Don’t kill me.” I look up at him.
Gosh, he’s so close right now.
“Please, don’t kill me,” I beg again, the pleading in my voice so unfamiliar to my own ears.
His smile is patronizing. “I won’t kill you. You’re an innocent. You stepped wrong, but you’re still an innocent.”
