Chapter 6
Chapter Six
ASHER
She looked through everything.
I can still see the evidence in the way her pupils dilated, how her breath stuttered when I stepped into the room. She tried to play it off—bathroom, wrong direction, some dumb little excuse that maybe someone else might’ve believed. Not me.
She found my fucking shrine.
I should be furious—any other time, I would be. That room is private. Sacred. My altar of obsession, of study and worship. But instead of anger, all I feel is this strange, humming heat under my skin. A kind of twisted joy.
She wants to know me.
Even if she did it to plot some stupid little escape attempt, even if she’s terrified and defiant and sharp-tongued—I’ve got her curiosity. And curiosity, in someone like Sloan, is an invitation.
It means she’s paying attention. She’s starting to understand that it doesn’t matter what she does, there's no getting out of this. No getting away from me.
I lean against the counter, watching her from the corner of my eye as she eats. She holds the fork like she might stab me with it if I get too close. Cute. Still, she’s eating. That’s something.
I watch her mouth wrap around the metal, slow and hesitant, like she knows I’m watching. Her lashes flick up and catch mine. She freezes. Just for a second. Like she’s been caught thinking about it.
She remembers.
What it felt like to have me inside her. Over her. Owning her.
She’s scared, sure. But she’s remembering. And that means I’m winning.
I set the second mug down in front of her—extra hot, black.
Exactly how she used to order it. Back when she thought no one was watching.
Back when I sat two tables behind her and her friend Cara at that overpriced café near the salon.
Pretending to read. Pretending not to notice the way her chipped red thumbnail tapped against the counter when they took too long with her drink or the way she flirted with the barista behind the counter.
I noticed everything.
And now she’s sitting here. In my kitchen. Wearing my hoodie. In the exact damn chair I always pictured her in.
Like fate handed her over.
Like this was always the endgame.
“I thought maybe I could show you around,” I say, casual as hell. Easy. Like we’re just two people figuring out how to live together. Like I didn’t slaughter my brother and drag her into a snow-glazed cage dressed up like a cabin.
She looks up at me. Wary, sharp-edged. But the way she sets her fork down? That’s a yes. She doesn’t say it at first—but I feel it.
“Sure,” she mutters. “Why not? Might as well see the rest of the prison.”
I smirk. “That’s the spirit.”
I guide her through the place like I’m hosting a damn Airbnb walkthrough. Point out the wood-burning stove I installed with my own hands. The generator I wired before the first frost hit. The paneling. The water lines. The insulation.
All the ways I made sure this place could keep her warm, fed, and completely mine.
I feel her eyes on me the whole time. Not the way she used to look at Alex—with that innocent, dopey admiration—but deeper. Unsettled. Like she’s trying to figure out what kind of monster I really am.
“This is all your family’s land?” she asks, staring out the big front window.
I nod. “Twenty-seven hundred acres. My grandfather bought it after the war. Place is a ghost on the map. Locals don’t even remember the access roads to get here.”
She presses her lips together.
I grin, stepping in closer, letting my voice drop into something darker. “Good luck calling for help.” And just like that—I see it. That flicker of panic. Quick, instinctual.
So fucking beautiful.
God, I could drown in that look.
She hates giving me reactions. Which makes them all the sweeter when they slip out anyway.
We reach the small mudroom off the back where I keep the supplies. Extra firewood. Fishing gear. A deep freezer. I open the pantry doors and gesture to the shelves.
“Stocked for the season,” I say, cracking the fridge door just to show her how serious I am. “Everything you like. I even got that weird vitamin powder you mix into your smoothies.”
She stiffens at that. Eyes narrowing like I’ve just confessed to something worse than kidnapping.
“You think this is comforting?” she mutters.
I just smile and close the fridge slowly, turning to face her full-on. “It should be.”
I don’t mention the brand of shampoo sitting on the shelf upstairs, or the way I bought two of those dumb fleece blankets she clings to when she sleeps—just in case one wears out.
I don’t tell her I ordered the entire backlist of her favorite author in hardcover, or that I memorized the snacks she bought every Tuesday like clockwork.
I don’t need to say any of that. She’ll see it all for herself.
“There’s more upstairs,” I tell her, nodding toward the stairs. “Spare bedroom, if you want it. Not that you’ll need it.”
I say it softer. But I know she hears me. I see it in the way her shoulders go rigid. In the way she won’t meet my eyes.
I don’t miss anything about her. Not the twitch of her lip when she’s about to argue. Not the bite behind her silence. Not the way she keeps looking for exits she knows don’t exist.
We step outside onto the back porch. The snow crunches under our boots, thick and untouched. The cold wraps around us, crisp and clean, and I breathe it in like it’s mine.
“This is where we’ll do most of our work once spring hits,” I tell her, watching the wind pick up her hair. “Garden. Maybe a greenhouse. I’ll teach you how to skin a deer. Gut a fish.”
She scoffs. “I work in a salon.”
“Worked,” I correct, voice gentle but firm. “You don’t anymore.”
Her jaw tightens, like she wants to punch me. Maybe she does. But she doesn’t get it yet.
“So I’m just supposed to play house out here while you treat me like a pet?”
“Not a pet,” I say, the warmth draining from my tone. “A partner.”
She snorts. Dry. Bitter. Like that word is an insult coming from me. “Right. Partners usually get chained up and kidnapped.”
I look at her then. Not angry. Not even defensive. Just… real.
“Can you just give it a chance?” I ask, voice dipping low. “I mean, you don’t really have much of a choice… but I’ll make you happier than Alex ever could’ve.”
That gets her attention.
She turns, eyes sharp now. “What happened between you two?”
The question stops me cold.
Not because I don’t have an answer—but because of who’s asking.
Because she still cares.
Because she’s still thinking about him.
My jaw clenches, hard enough to ache. The fury rolls in like a tide, thick and sharp, drowning the careful balance I’ve been trying to keep since she got here.
“You want to know what happened?” My voice comes out low, dangerous. “After everything I’ve done—everything I’ve given you—you’re still worried about him?”
She takes a half-step back, but I follow.
“I’ve done everything I could to make this perfect for you. To give you something safe. Something real. And you’re still wasting your breath on the piece of shit who couldn’t even be bothered to notice when you were hurting.”
I pace once, forcing myself to breathe, but it’s no use. I’m too far gone now.
“You think Alex ever saw you?” I hiss. “Really saw you?”
I shake my head, eyes burning into hers.
“He didn’t see the way you cringed when the romance movies got too cheesy.
Or how you’d pull your hoodie up to hide your smile when a book made you laugh.
He didn’t notice that you reapply your lipstick halfway through a shift even when it hasn’t faded, or that you tap the side of your glass twice before you drink.
You think he gave a fuck about any of that? ”
Her mouth opens, closes again. I can see the war behind her eyes—denial colliding with the sick, slow realization that I’m right.
“I noticed, Sloan,” I growl. “I noticed everything.”
I step closer, my voice breaking at the edges now—rough with emotion, sharp with something deeper.
“I memorized your routine. I watched your mornings, your nights. I know how you like your coffee. I know the shampoo that doesn’t irritate your scalp. I bought the vitamin powder you mix into your smoothies even though it smells like seaweed, because you said it makes your head feel clearer.”
She’s staring at me like I’ve cracked wide open. Maybe I have.
“I stocked the cabinet with your favorite gum. I got the exact blanket you sleep with—twice, just in case you ever needed a spare. I even bought books you haven’t read yet but always looked at twice in the store before you walked away.”
Her lips are trembling now. Not from fear.
From knowing it’s true.
“I watched you live, Sloan. And I loved every fucking second of it. Because you were real. You weren’t pretending. You weren’t performing like the rest of them. You didn’t even know I was watching, and you still smiled like that.”
She turns away fast, shoulders stiff, spine locked tight.
But I don’t let her escape.
I grab her wrist gently, my voice dipping softer. Rawer.
“You were the one good thing in his entire fucked-up life, and he didn’t even see it. He was going to destroy you. So I ended it.”
She swallows. Hard. Doesn’t speak.
And I don’t need her to.
I already know.
We head back inside.
She walks ahead of me now, stiff and silent, her shoulders curled inward like she’s trying to disappear—but I see the flick of her eyes, the twitch in her jaw. She’s memorizing everything. Still planning. Still looking for exits I haven’t thought of yet.
I let her.
Let her hope a little. It makes breaking her easier when she realizes the walls don’t have weak points, because I built them for her.
But then something clicks. An idea. A way to soften the tension coiled in her spine without saying another word.
She mentioned the salon like it was oxygen. Something that kept her alive. Not a job. Not something to pass the time. No, that place meant something to her. I heard it in the way her voice softened when she said it. The pride. The ache. The loss.
And yeah, it lit a fuse in me.
Because I don’t want to take that from her. I don’t want to rip apart the things that made her… her. I just want to be part of it. To give her something back.
So if she can’t go back to that life—then fine. I’ll bring it to her.
She deserves something that feels like home, even if it’s inside the one I built with my bare hands.
I’ve seen the way she moves, the way she tilts her head while she talks about hair texture, color, angles.
The way she lights up when she’s passionate right before she catches herself and dials it back like she’s not allowed to enjoy anything anymore.
I’ll change that.
“I forgot something,” I say casually, catching her gaze.
Her jaw tightens when I cross the room to the coat closet and pull out the soft-lined leather cuffs. The long chain dangles from my fingers like a leash.
She stares. “You’re seriously chaining me up.”
I tilt my head, amused. “You seriously tried to break into my office yesterday.”
“I got bored.”
“You got bold.”
She folds her arms across her chest, defiant. “What if I said no?”
“I’d still do it. Just with less foreplay.”
Her eyes narrow, that fire sparking again—God, I love that fucking fire. But it’s not enough to stop me. Nothing would be.
“You want me to trust you,” I say, stepping closer, voice low, “but I can’t—not yet. You’re still looking for a way out. And until I know you won’t run, I have to make sure you stay put.”
She scoffs. “So I’m your dog now?”
“No.” I crouch beside her, clip the cuff gently to her ankle, then to the thick loop I bolted into the baseboard weeks ago. “You’re my sweet doe.”
She tugs at the restraint, testing it.
“And if I escape?” she mutters.
My grin is slow, dark. “You won’t, but knowing you’ll try already has my dick hard.”
Her breath catches—just for a second.
I lean in close, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “So behave yourself, or don’t, either way, I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of it.”
I rise and grab my coat from the hook.
“You’re actually going out?” she asks, watching me with narrowed eyes.
I shrug one arm into the jacket, still smiling. “Yes. There's another storm headed our way and I need to grab a couple things before it does. Never know how long you could end up snowed in out here.”
Her brow furrows. “More supplies? I saw your stockpile, what else could you possibly fucking need?”
I toss her a wink. “You’ll see.”
She scowls. “If you think candles and bath bombs are gonna make me fall at your feet—”
“I don’t need you to fall, baby.” My tone drops to something thicker. Deeper. “I just need you to stay. Besides, you know what happened last time you tried to run. This time, I wouldn't be able to get to you in time.”
She opens her mouth to fire something back, but I’m already turning for the door. I step outside into the cold, lock the door behind me, and head toward the truck.
She thinks this is about control.
My sweet doe has no idea.
This is about devotion.
And I’m going to prove it—one fucking detail at a time.