Chapter 2 Asher
Chapter Two: Asher
Jinx Harrison is a coward.
Not in the physical sense. The man could tear apart a room full of trained killers without breaking a sweat. I've seen him do it. I've been on the receiving end of those fists, and trust me, there's nothing cowardly about the way he fights.
But when it comes to wanting things? When it comes to admitting he's human underneath all that rage? The man runs like his ass is on fire.
I watch him cross the yard from the barn to the farmhouse, shoulders tight, hands shoved in his pockets.
He doesn't look back. Doesn't need to. We both know I'm watching.
We both know what just happened on those mats, the way our bodies fit together, the way he ground against me like he was trying to crawl inside my skin.
Thirty-six hours. That's what I gave him. Thirty-six hours to stop running.
I don't actually expect him to use them. But I'm a patient man. I've waited six years. I can wait a little longer.
The farmhouse door slams. I let out a deep breath and sink down onto a hay bale, running my hands over my face.
What the fuck am I doing?
I came here for answers. That's what I told myself when I came here, when I showed up on the doorstep of the man who almost killed me. I wanted to understand why he let me live. I wanted closure.
I did not want to end up pinned against a barn wall with his cock pressed against my ass and his breath hot on my neck.
Liar, a voice in my head whispers. You wanted exactly that. You've wanted it since you were nineteen.
I tell the voice to shut the fuck up.
The barn is quiet around me. Late afternoon light slants through the gaps in the wooden slats, turning the dust motes into tiny galaxies. I can still smell him. Sweat and soap and underneath, musk and heat that makes my blood run hot.
I need to get my head straight. There's a mission coming. Kids to save. I can't afford to be distracted by a six-foot-five disaster with commitment issues and a body built for sin.
But fuck, what a body.
I stand, roll my shoulders, and head for the door. The farmhouse is right ahead, warm light spilling from the windows. I can hear voices inside. The others are back from town.
Time to pretend none of this shit just happened.
The kitchen is chaos when I enter.
Jonah is perched on the counter, waving a baguette like a sword while he argues with Jagger about something involving supply routes.
Elliot is at the stove, stirring a pot that smells like actual food, while Jace hovers behind him, one hand resting on the small of his back.
The Reaper, domesticated. Never thought I'd see that.
And Jinx is in the corner, arms crossed, jaw tight, very deliberately not looking at me.
I almost chuckle. Let him stew.
"Asher." Jagger sets down a map and turns to face me. He's the oldest of the Harrison brothers, all sharp angles and calculating eyes. The Architect. The one who builds the plans and watches them play out. "Good timing. We're about to go over the final briefing."
"I'm all ears."
"First, job introductions." He gestures around the room. "You've met Jinx."
"Intimately," I say, and watch Jinx's jaw go even tighter.
"Jace is our tactical lead. Elliot handles medical and psychological support. And Jonah is..." Jagger pauses. "Jonah."
"I'm the comic relief," Jonah supplies helpfully. "Also the moral compass. Also the guy who almost got shot two weeks ago, so I'm basically invincible now. That's how it works, right? You survive one bullet, you're immune to the rest?"
"That's not how it works," Elliot says without turning from the stove.
"Let me have this, Elliot. I've earned delusions of grandeur."
I like him already. There's an energy to Jonah that cuts through the tension in the room, makes the whole thing feel less like a war council and more like a fucked-up family dinner.
"The mission," Jagger continues, pulling everyone's attention back to the table. "Geneva. There's a facility disguised as a fertility clinic. Inside are approximately forty children, ages three to fourteen. They're being processed for the Foundry."
My gut clenches. The Foundry. Where they take kids and destroy them. Where they strip away everything human and leave behind nothing but violence.
I know that process. I lived it. So did every person in this room, in one way or another.
"Security?" I ask.
"Twelve guards on rotation. Private contractors, not Foundry-trained.
Medical staff on site, mostly civilians who don't know what they're really working for.
" Jagger pulls up a schematic on his tablet, projects it onto the wall.
Blue light washes over his sharp features.
"We breach here and here. East and west entrances.
Converge on the children's wing. Extract and exfil before anyone can call for backup. "
"Extraction vehicles?"
"Two vans at the rally point, three clicks south. Kira and Dom will handle transport." I see Jagger clock the unfamiliar names. "My people. They'll be here by morning."
"And the children?" Elliot turns from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. "They'll be traumatized. Conditioned. Some might be violent."
"That's where you come in." Jagger nods at him. "You stay here, set up triage. When we bring them back, you assess. Figure out what they need."
Elliot's face goes tight. He knows what those kids need. He was one of them, in a different way. Owned. Used. Broken down until there was nothing left but compliance.
Jace's hand finds the small of his back, and Elliot instantly relaxes.
"How long for your crew, Asher?”
"Day after tomorrow. My people need time to get into position."
"Your people?" Jinx speaks for the first time, his voice rough. "What people?"
"Four fighters. Pit survivors, like me. They'll be here tomorrow morning." I meet his eyes across the room. He looks away first. "Marlee, Thiago, Kira, Dom. They know how to move quiet and kill quieter. We can trust them."
"We don't know them," Jinx says.
"You don't know me either. But here I am."
"That's not reassuring."
"Wasn't trying to reassure you." I hold his gaze when he looks back. "I'm trying to get those kids out. You can trust me or not. Either way, I'm going."
The room goes quiet. Jagger watches the exchange with those calculating eyes. Jace has gone still, hand drifting toward the knife at his belt. Even Jonah has stopped waving his baguette.
Jinx breaks first. "Fine. Your people, your responsibility. They fuck up, it's on you."
"Fair enough."
"And you're with me on the breach. East entrance."
I raise an eyebrow. "Thought you wanted me to stay out of your way."
"I want a lot of things. Doesn't mean I get them." He pushes off the wall and heads for the door. "Briefing's done. I need air."
He's gone before anyone can respond.
Jonah lets out a low whistle. "Well. That was intense. Is it always like that with you two, or is today special?"
"Today's pretty standard, actually."
"Fascinating. It's like watching two wolves circle each other, except the wolves are horny and also want to impregnate each other.
" Jonah hops off the counter, tearing a chunk from his baguette.
"I give it three days before you're either fucking or killing each other. Possibly both. Simultaneously."
"Jonah," Jagger says tiredly.
"What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking. The sexual tension in here is thicker than Elliot's stew, and that's saying something because Elliot makes a mean stew."
"It's not stew," Elliot says. "It's ratatouille."
"Even better. The sexual tension is thicker than Elliot's ratatouille. I stand by my assessment."
I can't help it. I laugh. It's been so long since I laughed that the sound surprises me, rough and rusty like an engine that hasn't been turned over in years.
Jonah grins. "See? He likes me. That's a good sign. Jinx hated me for the first three weeks."
"Jinx hates everyone," Jace says quietly.
"Not everyone." Jonah's grin turns knowing. "Just the people he's scared of liking."
I file that information away. It tracks with everything I've observed. Jinx Harrison, terrified of his own wants, lashing out at anyone who gets close enough to matter.
I've known men like that. Hell, I've been that man. The pits didn't leave room for softness. Caring about someone meant giving your enemies a weapon to use against you. So you learned not to care. You learned to keep everyone at arm's length, to turn your heart into a fortress.
But fortresses can be breached. I'm living proof.
The difference between me and Jinx is that I got tired of the walls. Somewhere around year four, watching another kid bleed out on concrete because I'd hit him too hard, I realized that being empty wasn't the same as being safe. It was just being dead while your heart still beat.
I want more than that now. I want to feel things again, even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts. Pain means you're alive. Pain means you still have something left to lose.
"I should go talk to him," I say.
"Probably a bad idea," Jagger warns. "When Jinx needs space, pushing him tends to end in property damage."
"I'm not pushing. I'm just not letting him run."
"Same thing, where he's concerned."
Maybe. But I've spent six years waiting for answers. I'm not about to let him hide in his room until the mission forces us together. If we're going to do this, if we're going to work side by side and trust each other with our lives, we need to get whatever this is out in the open.
Or at least out of our systems.
"If you hear screaming," I tell Jagger, "don't intervene."
"And if we hear other noises?" Jonah asks innocently.
"Definitely don't intervene."
I leave the kitchen to the sound of Jonah's laughter and Jagger's long-suffering sigh.
Jinx is out on the back porch, staring at the tree line like it personally offended him.
He doesn't turn when I open the door. Doesn't acknowledge my presence at all. Just stands there, hands gripping the railing, shoulders a rigid line under his black t-shirt.