Page 8 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
I don’t know, but I do know that I’m also still angry. My first instinct is to push out the door and slap him silly, but I restrain myself.
Barely.
“You pat her down?” he asks immediately.
No hellos. No pretenses.
He only said four words, but I revel in the sound of his voice again. It’s rough and masculine and sexy. I want to drown in it, and then I want him to resuscitate me with those full lips.
Look at me.
I’m in a sketchy situation and am still horny. What’s even more embarrassing is, even after he left me hanging, he’s the one that’s making me horny. I need to take a page out of Aimee’s book and get laid. All the way this time. I add that to my mental to do list after I get out of this situation.
The scary guy nods and says, “Yeah, boss.”
Boss.
Scary Guy works for Blue Eyes?
I wonder what they do. From his stylish suit to his fancy watch, Blue Eyes looks like he’s dripping in wealth. Whatever he does must be lucrative.
The girl rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. There’s no indication that she was just being manhandled not even a minute ago. She doesn’t even seem to care. Instead, there’s a haughty air about her as she says, “Yes, Asher. Now, if you’re done treating me like I’m the enemy, can we begin?”
Asher.
That’s Blue Eyes’ name.
I remember what Zeke said about an Asher Black owning the club. Is this him? If so, it makes sense. He has access to the VIP area and looks like he has a lot of money to spare. And no one in the club seems to care that his “employee” was manhandling this girl.
; Damn it.
What have I done? I called the cops on what now appears to be a consensual business deal. Sure, a gun was involved, but everything looks fine and dandy now. Aimee is going to hate me. They’re totally going to blacklist me from Rogue for this.
This is bound to be the end of my clubbing days. Now, I have to meet men on Tinder. I don’t even have a phone that swipes.
Stupid, waterlogged flip phone.
And as if it can’t get any worse, one of Asher’s guards comes over and whispers something into his ear. Whatever he said makes Asher’s body go rigid.
He turns to the other two, eyes full of exquisitely restrained wrath, and growls, “Who the fuck called the cops?”
No one answers him.
Asher straightens himself, and his mask is back in place in an instant. Calm but also icy. The frustration on his face is quickly pushed aside, and he begins to bark out orders.
“Bastian,” he addresses Scary Guy, “take her out through the back. Don’t draw any attention to yourselves. No one can see the two of you together.”
He leaves abruptly after that, and his guards, the girl, and Scary Guy, who I now know is named Bastian, follow after him. I breathe a sigh of relief, happy to be alone.
Chapter Four
Courage is fear
holding on a minute
longer.
