Page 59 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
“I’m taking these to Goodwill for donating.”
“You’re what?!”
I know I have all these wonderful new clothes, and Asher said he’ll let me keep them after this is over, but I can’t help but feel attached to my old clothes. They’re mine. I worked my butt off during high school to afford a lot of what Tommy is so ready to give away. I didn’t have a family to buy these things for me. I worked for them, and because of that, I’m atta
ched. At the very least, I want to keep my little black dress.
Tommy shrugs. “Asher’s orders.” He eyes the clothes, packed like sardines beside one another. “You don’t seem to have any more room, too.”
He’s right. I should be grateful for these new clothes. No way should I want to get rid of some of them to make room for the old, but I can’t help myself.
“But I—”
His eyes dart towards Xavier, who’s sitting on a chair in the center of the closet, purposely minding his own business. “I have strict orders to give these away. Sorry.” And then he runs off quickly.
I let him, because I don’t have another choice. I can’t chase him down the elevators when the stupid biometric lock won’t allow me access.
“This is your fault,” I tell Xavier.
He finished his rounds a few minutes ago and has been sitting in the closet since.
“How?!”
“If I had access to the elevator, I could have chased him down.”
“I can give you access now.”
And he does.
For the first time in a month, I’m free.
Chapter Eighteen
Courage is to never
let your actions be
influenced by your
fears.
Arthur Koestler
The freedom almost eases the burn of losing all of my clothes, but the pain of the loss isn’t quite gone. I can feel a heaviness settling in my chest, overpowering the excitement of liberty. Am I overreacting? Probably. I can’t help it, though. Those tatty clothes are the only damn things I’ve kept from my past.
I send Aimee a text, asking her to meet me for an early dinner at Carmen’s Cantina, a Mexican bar and grill near campus. Courtesy of Tommy, I’m dressed in fitted dark blue jeans, a skintight black long sleeved turtleneck shirt, and velvet black thigh high stiletto boots that make my frame tower four inches off the ground.
I look good.
It’s almost weird.
Last time I saw Aimee, I was wearing my own raggedy clothes. Now, I’m wearing handmade, one of a kind creations. Is this what Julia Roberts’ character feels like in Pretty Woman? Two parts princess, one part whore?
Xavier and I take one of the many town cars parked in the private garage. Apparently, all the identical cars do belong to Asher, but they’re assigned to an employee during their tenure working for Asher. The employees leave the cars parked in the garage for security and practicality purposes.
The town car we’re in is black, roomy and filled with cream colored leather seats. I’m not focused on the softness of the seats, though. My nose is pressed against the window as we exit into the streets. I’m wide eyed, body humming in anticipation, as I catch sight of New York from ground level for the first time in almost a month.
I feel like a prisoner being released. The experience of freedom is almost too overwhelming. When I move to roll down the window, Xavier rolls it back up and locks it, saying something about a potential security risk.
