Chapter 4 Asher
Chapter Four: Asher
Jinx Harrison is a Goddamn liar. A good fuck, but a terrible liar.
"This changes nothing." That's what he said. Then he kissed me like I was everything, washed my back like it meant something, and walked out of my room with his walls rebuilt and his heart locked up tight.
Bullshit.
I've been lied to by professionals. Handlers, Custodians, men in expensive suits who promised purpose and delivered cages. I know what lies look like. I know how they taste.
Jinx's lies taste like fear.
I don't blame him. I get it. Caring about someone is dangerous when you've spent your whole life being used. When every attachment becomes a weapon someone can turn against you. When the last time you loved something, they probably made you watch it burn.
But watching him pretend last night didn't crack him open the same way it cracked me? That's going to get old real fast.
I didn't sleep after he left. Just lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment. The way he touched me. The way he looked at me when he thought I couldn't see. The way his voice sounded as he came inside me.
That wasn't nothing. That was everything. And he knows it, which is exactly why he's running.
The sun is barely up when I hear the van pull into the yard. My people. Right on time.
I pull on clothes, wincing at the scratches on my back that pull with every movement, and head downstairs. I pass Jinx's closed door without slowing. If he wants to hide, let him hide. I've got work to do.
The kitchen smells like coffee and bacon.
Elliot is at the stove again, because apparently the man can't stop feeding people, and Jace is sitting at the table cleaning a truly impressive collection of knives.
Jonah is slumped over a mug like he's waiting for the caffeine to resurrect him from the dead.
"Your friends are here," Jagger says from the window. "Four of them, just like you said."
"They're not my friends. They're my people."
"There's a difference?"
"Yeah. Friends are optional. People are the ones who bleed with you."
I head outside to meet them.
Marlee is first out of the van, all six feet of her barreling out the door. She sees me and her face does something complicated, relief and wariness and affection all tangled together.
"You look like shit," she says.
"Missed you too."
"I'm serious. You've got bags under your eyes, you're moving stiff, and—" She stops. Stares at my neck. "Are those bite marks?"
"No."
"Those are absolutely bite marks. And scratches." Her eyes narrow. "Asher. What the fuck did you do?"
"Nothing worth discussing."
"Bullshit. You've been here a few days, and you've already let someone chew on you? Who—" She stops again. Looks toward the farmhouse. Looks back at me. "No. Tell me you didn't."
"I didn't."
"You're lying."
"Yes."
"The one who almost killed you." She runs a hand over her cropped hair, disbelief written across her face. "You let the man who almost beat you to death put his mouth on your neck."
"To be fair, I put my mouth on him first. He also put it on my ass."
"Asher!"
"Can we discuss this later? Preferably never?"
Thiago has climbed out of the van, followed by Kira and Dom. They're all watching the exchange with varying degrees of amusement. Thiago's shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.
"Shut up," I tell him.
He raises his hands in surrender, still laughing.
"Inside," I say. "Briefing in ten. And nobody mentions the bite marks."
"Oh, I'm definitely mentioning the bite marks," Marlee mutters, but she follows me toward the house.
The kitchen gets crowded fast.
Too many people in a space built for four.
My people take up positions along the walls, eyeing the Harrison brothers with the wariness of animals meeting a new pack.
Jagger stands at the head of the table, tablet in hand, looking exactly like the cold strategist he is.
Jace flanks him, knives put away but hands never far from his belt.
Elliot hovers near the stove, offering coffee to anyone who'll take it.
And Jinx is in the corner.
He came down ten minutes ago, hair wet from a shower, jaw tight. He hasn't looked at me once. Won't meet my eyes even when I stare directly at him.
Fine. Let him pretend. I've got six years of patience stored up.
"Introductions," Jagger says. "For those who don't know everyone. Marlee, Thiago, Kira, Dom—these are my brothers. Jace, Jinx. Elliot is Jace's partner. Jonah is mine. I am Jagger."
"Charmed," Marlee says flatly.
"The facility," Jagger continues, pulling up the schematic.
Blue light washes across his face. "Geneva.
Forty-odd children inside, security detail of twelve.
We breach at midnight. Two teams. East entrance and west. Jinx and Asher take east with Marlee and Thiago.
I coordinate from the van with Jonah monitoring comms. Kira and Dom handle extraction vehicles at the rally point.
Elliot stays here and sets up triage for when we bring the kids back. "
"And Jace?" Kira asks.
"Jace is with us. Floater. He goes where he's needed."
Jace nods once, expression unchanged. The Reaper, ready to reap.
"Security response time?" Marlee asks.
"Four minutes to local backup, fifteen to anything substantial. We need to be in and out in under ten."
"That's tight."
"That's the job."
Jonah raises his hand like a schoolkid. "Question. What happens if the kids are, you know, not super cooperative? Because I've read the files and some of them sound pretty murder-y."
"Elliot handles psychological triage when we get them back here. During extraction, we keep them calm however we can. Tranquilizers as a last resort."
"Cool. Cool cool cool. Just checking that we have a plan for tiny assassins."
"They're not assassins," Jace says quietly. "They're children. Scared, conditioned, probably violent, but still children."
"Who may try to stab us."
"Who may try to stab us," Jace agrees. "Don't let them."
"Solid advice. Very helpful. I feel extremely prepared."
Kira shifts against the wall. "What about facility staff? Medical personnel?"
"Neutralize anyone who sees us. We can't leave witnesses."
"They might be civilians. People who don't know what they're really working for."
"Then they picked the wrong employer." Jagger's voice is flat. "This isn't a clean operation. It was never going to be."
The room goes quiet. Dom clears his throat, he rasps, voice rough from the old throat damage. "Twelve guards, forty kids, ten-minute window. That's a lot of variables. Going to be hard."
"Hard like Jinx was last night," I say.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Jinx's head snaps up. His eyes meet mine for the first time all morning, blazing with fury and want he can't quite hide.
Jonah chokes on his coffee. Jagger closes his eyes like he's praying for patience. Jace's expression doesn't change, but his hand twitches toward his knife, reflexive rather than threatening. Elliot makes a small sound that might be a laugh or might be horror.
Marlee stares at me. "You did not just say that."
"I absolutely did."
"In front of everyone."
"Seemed relevant."
"I'm going to kill you." Jinx snarls.
"Get in line."
Jinx pushes off the wall and stalks toward me. For a second I think he actually might throw a punch, might start a brawl right here in the kitchen. Instead, he stops inches from my face and speaks low enough that only I can hear.
"You think you're funny?"
"I think I'm hilarious."
"You're going to pay for that."
"Promise, sweet pea?"
His jaw works. His hands clench at his sides. He wants to hit me. He wants to kiss me. He can't decide which, and the indecision is beautiful.
"Later," he growls, and turns back to the briefing like nothing happened.
I catch Marlee's eye. She's shaking her head slowly, the look on her face somewhere between disbelief and grudging respect.
"You're insane," she mouths.
I shrug. Probably.
But Jinx is looking at me now. After a whole morning of avoidance, I finally have his attention.
Worth it. So fucking worth it.
Marlee corners me in the barn an hour later.
She's got that look on her face, the one that means she's about to say things I don't want to hear. I've seen it before, usually right before she tells me I'm being an idiot. We've known each other too long for bullshit, which means she's going to give it to me straight whether I want it or not.
"Talk to me," she says.
"About what?"
"About the six-foot-five murder machine you're apparently fucking."
I set down the rifle I'm cleaning. "It's complicated."
"No shit it's complicated. He almost killed you, Asher.
I was there when they brought you back from that fight.
Three broken ribs, fractured skull, blood everywhere.
The medics didn't think you'd make it through the night.
I sat by your bed for two weeks waiting to see if you'd wake up or if I'd have to bury another friend. "
"I remember."
"Do you? Because it seems like you've forgotten what he's capable of."
"I haven't forgotten." I meet her eyes. "I remember every second of that fight.
I remember what it felt like when he had me down, when he could have finished it.
The crowd screaming for blood. The handlers betting on how long it would take for my heart to stop.
And I remember what it felt like when he didn't. When he looked at me. .."
"So, what, you've got some kind of survivor's bond? Trauma kink? Help me understand, because right now you look like a man walking into a fire and pretending he can't feel the heat."
"It's not a trauma kink."
"Then what is it?"
I don't answer right away. The barn is quiet around us, the odd bird chirping as it flies in and out of the rafters. Outside, I can hear the others preparing, the clink of weapons being loaded, the murmur of voices running through the plan one more time.