Chapter 13—
Ash
“ S o, what did she say?” I ask Mason when I finally find him in the shop’s locker room.
We share the same DNA, but we’re not attached at the hips. Other than living together, we don’t crowd each other. We keep our own schedules, and he left the house before I got out of the shower this morning. I never found out what happened when he took Emily home after her shift at the diner.
Flicking the latch on the metal door next to his, I pull it open to drop my backpack inside. “Is she interested or not?”
“I think she’s considering it,” his smug voice reports from the other side out of my view.
My hackles raise, and my fingers slowly unclench from the backpack’s strap as I straighten. “What do you mean with ‘you think’?”
I don’t like the sound of that. “You didn’t ask, did you?” I deduce.
He pokes his head around the slim metal door and grimaces. “Kinda. ”
“Kinda?” My eyebrows shoot up with my volume. “How do you ‘kinda’ suggest a threesome to someone?”
“I told her she’d look better with your dick in her mouth as I was railing her, and she didn’t disagree.”
My expression falls. “You didn’t,” I mutter.
Mason’s face lights up, and I don’t miss the proud edge in his tone on his nod. “I did.”
A bold grin stretching his lips, he has the nerve to wink at me before he slams his locker shut and rounds me to walk away.
I don’t know what comes over me. I’m still wearing my leather jacket when I wrench him around by the front of his shirt and slam his back into the locker wall.
“You son of a bitch!” I growl, my breaths heaving as my chest swells with rage.
My fingers clench his shirt in my fist, but he just smiles back coldly, unruffled. His voice is dead calm. “Relax, man. I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me to. She was very willing.”
The smug edge in his tone and sadistic glimmer in his eyes remain. I’m not the slightest bit relieved by his words. I’m familiar with his manner of persuasion.
My fists twist at his front, and a soft snicker ripples from him. “Is that what you’re pissed about?” he probes. “That I had her all to myself… and she liked it.”
I shake my head in disbelief at his tactics… his brazenness. I knew I’d regret letting him do the talking. I should’ve handled it myself .
Mason isn’t like me. He had it worse and never got over what we’ve been through as kids. He’s a hidden time bomb in my basement. “You’re really fucked up, you know that?”
A flare ignites in his eyes. “I know what I am,” he sneers. “I’m not hiding it.”
Grinding my anger between my teeth, I give him another shove against the lockers, making the metal groan, then release my grip to let him walk.
—
I avoid my brother for the rest of the day. I have a drop to make after work for Mr. DeMarco, one of the bosses who control Castle’s underground businesses.
Mason and I ran away from home at 16. We had already been through hell, and living on the street, surviving on scraps wasn’t new to us. But we were older now, and new opportunities presented themselves through connections we made.
Before we had bikes, we made deliveries for Mr. DeMarco on foot. We quickly developed our free running skills and memorized shortcuts; no one could match us. We gained a reputation. Respect. Trust. We made a name for ourselves. For the first time in our lives, we felt invincible.
It became addictive.
We would chase each other, betting on who’d be the one to make the drop. More often than not, we’d show up with a busted lip or a black eye. We were always competing.
After putting the code into the keypad, I enter the gentlemen’s club through the back .
The bouncer there gives me a nod, already expecting me, I assume. He doesn’t bother with patting me down, either, and lets me go about my way.
I don’t see much of the club itself as I take the narrow and dimly lit hallway to the back where the boss has his office.
Two burly guys stand guard, one on either side of the door, their hands clasped in front. Mr. DeMarco’s men all wear pressed suits and com pieces visible in their ears; unlike the guns they hide under their jackets.
I stop, facing them, and wait, but neither of them moves, their expressions stoic.
My eyes flick from one to the other. Pulling my hands from my pockets, I gesture lazily between them. “So, which one of you ordered the lap dance?”
Neither of them cracks a laugh, but the one on the left finally gives the door a sharp knock—probably afraid I might actually hump him.
Christopher’s voice answers from inside. “Let him in.”
The same guy unlatches the door and opens it wide, jerking his head in a motion for me to enter.
“Thanks fellas,” I chirp on a light note as I brush past.
Christopher, Mr. DeMarco’s personal assistant, sits at the massive mahogany desk, flipping through paperwork.
His slim frame is dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, reminding me of a department store mannequin.
He’s a few years younger than me, and from what I’ve heard, eager to handle all of the boss’s needs.
I watch his manicured hands make annotations next to the printed text in front of him before flipping another page.
He’s efficient, alright .
My eyes shift to the large padded envelope on the desk. A smaller, fat one with my name on it lies on top.
“214 Arlington Drive.” He barely looks up as he pushes the stack toward me.
The address is one of the more frequent ones, which makes the drop-off easy. They know my brother and me.
Pocketing my payment, I swipe the package off the desk. I don’t know what it contains; it’s not my business. All I know is where to take it, and I don’t ask questions.
I swerve the Hayabusa through the late rush hour traffic and make the drop all the way across town before checking the time.
It’s 8:30.
I know Emily is at the diner by now. I need to talk to her and do some damage control. We exchanged numbers that morning after Mace and I pulled the switch, but this is something I need to do in person.
I park my bike in the alley. Helmet in hand, I swing the backpack over my shoulder and walk around to the entrance of the diner.
A chime above me goes off as I push through, causing several glances to drift my way. It’s busy.
I scan the dining room for one familiar face and freeze when I see her. She’s gorgeous. Her cheeks have a rosy flush that sings of excitement and exertion in equal measure. A look I’ve seen on her before.
A heatwave hits me. Blood rushes to my groin at the vision, and I feel my dick throb behind my fly.
I watch her address an elderly woman at the table she’s clearing. Her mouth curls into a smile .
Those full lips…
As if suddenly sensing my stare, her view lifts and slides my way. Her expression changes.
Oh no.
The moment her sight locks on to me over the crowd, she flinches back a step, probably thinking I’m Mason.
The plates balanced on her forearms slide off, and a shatter of dishes explodes in my ears.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and groan before rushing to her side to help her pick up the shards. It’s my fault she dropped them, after all. Well, technically my twin’s fault.
She’s kneeling in front of the mess, and I squat down, dropping my helmet to free my hands.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter low when she doesn’t look up at me. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I just wanted to apologize for Mason’s behavior.”
I don’t know the specific details, but judging by her reaction and her trembling hands lifting the ceramic pieces, I figure they’re pretty bad.
Her lashes flick up, her eyes finding mine at last. “Ash!” my name leaves her lips like a revelation.
I only manage half a nod of affirmation before a boy comes up behind me with a broom and a small tub, practically shooing me away.
She gives him a soft smile. “Thanks, Jake.”
We drop the broken dishes into the tub as the kid cleans up the rest.
Emily pushes to her feet. I reach for my helmet, doing the same, and follow her toward the kitchen .
“Can we talk,” I prompt. “Just for a minute.”
“What makes you think I even want to talk to you after how you tricked me?” she fires back with a hiss.
God, how did I ever let Mason talk me into that?
“You’re right. I’m really sorry. That was wrong on so many levels, but you and I, we had something. Just hear me out, please.”
“Ash…” The sound of my name is laced with a sigh I recognize as rejection, and I can see the drop of her shoulders confirming the notion. She keeps walking without looking back at me. “I don’t know. I—”
“Please.” I cut her off by taking her hand and whirling her around to face me before she can disappear through the set of double doors.
I can be bold too when I’m desperate.
My breath stalls for a second while simply taking her in. My eyes flit over her features and catch on her mouth again. I want to kiss her, feel her soft lips press to mine, and my arms holding her against me.
I back her into the wall. “What we did was fucked up, I know,” I start, lowering my voice to a whisper only for us to hear. “I’m sorry for tricking you. We thought you’d be into it—the scaring, the adrenaline rush, the thrill of being with both of us. But we were never going to hurt you.”
My lips hover mere inches from hers, and the warmth of her breath sends a need through my body.
“And Mason isn’t bad,” I explain, holding her stare. “He’s just… Mason .” I give her a shrug, not knowing how to put it into words. But I can’t bad-mouth my brother. “I don’t know what he said, or did last night… all I know is that I still want this.”
My thumb circles the soft skin of her hand I’m still clasping, and she doesn’t flinch away from the gesture. Her gaze flicks to our tangled fingers, then back up to me. I don’t dare move.
We stare at each other for several long seconds, locked in our bubble. I see her chest rising and falling heavily, her lips slightly parted, and I physically ache to be inside her. To sink into her soft, tight heat.
I want her. I can’t give her up.
“Can I pick you up later?” I ask, a pleading edge to my voice.
Her eyebrows twitch, and I can see the uneasiness forming there, so I tag on, “I don’t expect anything, I swear. I just want to talk.”
Emily’s features relax, and I know I have her.
“Okay.”