Page 20 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
“What are you going to do to me?” I wince.
That sounded more suggestive than it was supposed to.
The smirk on his face tells me he heard it, too. He leans even closer, dipping his head so we’re almost eye level with one another. He lifts his finger under my chin and tilts my face up. I let out a shaky breath, and he breathes it in. It’s the most intimate thing I have ever experienced, and I’m not a virgin.
When he speaks, his lips brush lightly against mine. “You’ll owe me a favor.”
My eyes drop to his lips. “A favor?”
Each time we speak, we’re practically kissing, stealing the air from one another but not quite giving it back. I don’t fight it. Frozen in fear and lust and s
tupidity, I can’t, and that’s frustrating.
What am I doing?
This is a man who has killed before. Hell, a couple hours ago, he was about to kill me. Yet, here I am, brushing my lips against his, stealing his breaths like they’re mine to take. But other than going along with this, I can’t see any other options that don’t end with my body floating in the Hudson River.
A part of me sees this for what it is. A fear tactic. A power play. He’s letting me know that he controls me, reminding me how afraid I am of him. And he’s right. I’m too scared to put up a fight, but I value my education at Wilton too much to run.
He backs away. “A favor. I take it you have a new phone?”
When I nod, still dazed, he holds out his hand. I point to my backpack. He grabs my phone from the front pocket and enters something in. A few seconds later, I hear his phone ringing. He returns my phone to my backpack.
“You have my number. I have yours.”
And then he’s gone without a goodbye. Though he left the door to the stairwell propped open for me, I stand there for an hour, pressed against the wall. Shocked.
I owe a favor to a mobster.
How the Hell did that happen?
Chapter Seven
He who is not courageous
enough to take risks will
accomplish nothing in life.
Muhammad Ali
Asher isn’t just a mobster. He’s a fixer, which is “so damn hot.” At least, that’s what Aimee just told me when she confronted me in our dorm room. She had pounced as soon as I opened the door. I just finished telling her what had happened, starting from the night we went to Rogue and ending with me in a top secret lab on campus. Of course, I left out the part about hooking up with Asher.
“So, let me get this straight.” She’s currently lounging on my bed in pajamas, because her half of the room is an absolute pigsty like always. She couldn’t even find a seat on her bed before she gave up and laid down on mine. “He held your hand as he walked you to class? That is soooo cute!”
“No, it’s not.” I cross my arms. “It was to make sure I didn’t escape! What’s cute about holding someone against their will?!”
I purposely ignore all the romance novels I like to read, where it’s more than okay to be kidnapped so long as the kidnapper is rich and handsome. I would be lying if I say I haven’t swooned while reading a book where a rich, hot guy stalks a pretty girl and is a major jerk to her, yet they fall in love anyways.
But that’s all fiction.
Having it happen in reality is completely different.
And scary.
Very scary.
She shakes her head. “No way was it against your will. I don’t believe for a second that you can hold hands with someone that hot and not want to be in that position.” Aimee is clearly someone who suffers from Romance Stalker Syndrome.
