Chapter 8 Asher #2
"He pulled a gun on me. Told me if I came near his family again, he'd kill me." She laughs again, that hollow sound. "Can't blame him. I killed his sister. I don't get to ask for forgiveness."
I don’t know what to say. There is nothing to say. We'd both done things that couldn't be undone. Taken lives we couldn't give back. Made choices under conditions that weren't really choices at all.
"Jinx reminds me of her sometimes." Marlee's voice is quieter now.
"Elle. The way she looked at me before... before I did it. Like she couldn't understand why this was happening. Like she still believed someone was going to save her. He’s not weak, he’s just…
confused. Scared. Like Elle was as she died. "
"Is that why you hate him? Because he reminds you of someone you killed?"
"I don't hate him." She turns to look at me. "I hate what he represents. The Foundry, the pits, all of it. He's proof that what they did to us wasn't unique. That there's a whole system out there and it runs everything.”
"He got out. Same as us."
"Did he?" She takes another drink. "Or is he just running on a longer leash? The conditioning they put those Protocol kids through... it's deeper than anything the pits did to us. They didn't just train him to fight. They rewired his brain. Literally changed his brain chemistry.”
"I think he's undoing a lot of the shit they did to him."
"Maybe." She looks away again, back toward the dark field. "Dom thought so too. Said he saw something in Jinx that reminded him of you. Something worth saving."
“He talked to you about Jinx?"
"Before. When we were planning the op." Her voice softens. "He was worried about you. Said you were getting too attached too fast. Said it was going to get you killed."
"He wasn't wrong."
"He was wrong about one thing." She stands, brushes off her pants. "He thought I'd be the one to save you if things went sideways. Instead, it was Jinx. The asshole who wasn't supposed to feel anything took a bullet for you."
"What's your point?"
"My point is that maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe the conditioning isn't as permanent as I thought." She picked up the whiskey bottle, held it out to me. "Or maybe I just want to believe that. Because if Jinx can break free of what they did to him, then maybe there's hope for the rest of us."
I take the bottle but don’t drink. "There's always hope."
"That's a pretty sentiment. Not sure I believe it." She heads for the door, then pauses with her hand on the frame. "For what it's worth... I'm glad you're still alive, Asher. Dom would have been devastated if he'd lost you."
"He lost himself instead."
"Yeah." Her voice cracks, just slightly. "He did."
She goes inside.
I rinse out my glass and head back upstairs.
Jinx is awake when I slip back into the room.
He's propped against the headboard, one hand pressed to his side, his face tight with pain he's trying to hide. The light through the window catches the angles of his jaw, the dark fall of his hair, the shadows under his eyes. He looks like shit, but the most beautiful shit I ever did see.
"Where'd you go?"
"Kitchen. Couldn't sleep."
"Marlee?"
"Yeah." I cross to the bed, sit on the edge. "We talked. About Dom. About... things."
"She still want to kill me?"
"Little bit. But she's coming around."
"Progress." He shifts, winces. "Help me up. I need to move."
"You need to rest."
"I've been resting for four days. My muscles are atrophying."
"Your muscles are healing. There's a difference."
"Asher." His voice goes hard, the stubborn edge that I've learned means he's going to do something stupid whether I help or not. "I'm getting up. You can either help me or watch me fall on my face."
I sigh and offer my hand. He takes it, lets me pull him upright, and we stand there in the dark, his weight leaning into mine, my arm around his waist.
"Better?" I ask.
"Getting there." He takes a few experimental steps, grimacing. "Fuck. Everything hurts."
"That's what happens when you get shot, sweet pea."
"Thanks for the medical insight, doc." But there's no heat in it. He's too tired for heat. "Walk with me. Just to the window and back. And stop calling me sweet pea. Makes me sound weak."
We shuffle across the room together, slow and careful. His breathing is labored by the time we reach the window, and he has to lean against the frame to catch his breath. The view outside is dark fields and darker sky, stars scattered across the void like scattered diamonds.
"Jagger got new intel," Jinx says.
"I know. He told me earlier."
"Singapore. That's where they moved the kids." His jaw tightens. "Shipped across the world like cargo. Because we weren't fast enough. Because we walked into an obvious trap like fucking amateurs."
"We walked into a trap. There's no way we could have known. Their intel was airtight. Someone on the inside fed us exactly what they wanted us to see."
"We should have known. But who the fuck was it?” He stops, shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. What's done is done. Beating ourselves up over Geneva won't bring Dom back. Won't unfuck the mission. What matters is what we do next."
"What we do next is wait for you to heal."
"I'll heal faster if I have something to focus on.
Sitting in bed staring at walls is making me crazy.
" He turns to look at me, and even in the darkness, his eyes burn with that familiar intensity.
"I'm not sitting out the next mission, Asher.
Those kids are out there because we failed.
I'm going to be there when we get them back. "
"Jinx—"
"No. Don't." He grabs my shirt, pulls me closer.
The motion makes him wince, but he doesn't let go.
"I know what you're going to say. I'm injured.
I'm a liability. I'll slow the team down, get someone killed.
But here's the thing—I almost died in Geneva.
I should have died. And the only reason I didn't is because Dom told you to choose me over him. "
The words hit like fists. Because he's right. Because we both know what that choice cost.
"I can't waste that," Jinx continues, his voice rough.
"I can't sit in a safe house playing victim while you go into another facility, another trap, another situation where you might not come back.
Dom died so I could live. I'm not going to live by hiding.
That's not living. That's just existing with a pulse. "
"I'm not asking you to hide. I'm asking you to heal."
"Same thing."
"It's not." I cup his face in my hands, force him to meet my eyes.
The stubborn set of his jaw, the fire in his gaze—this is the man who almost killed me six years ago.
The man who walked away from everything he knew to save a stranger.
The man I'm falling for, hard and fast and without a regret in the world.
"Listen to me. You're not a liability. You're not a burden.
You're the reason I'm still standing. But if you go into Singapore half-healed and get yourself killed, everything Dom sacrificed means nothing.
You want to honor his memory? Stay alive long enough to see this through. "
His jaw works. The stubborn set of his shoulders doesn't change, but his eyes soften.
"How long?"
"A week. Maybe two. Let the stitches come out. Let the internal damage heal. Then we plan Singapore."
"Fucking hell, that’s a long time to make those kids wait."
"Yeah." I lean in, press my forehead to his. "But it’s my requirement for you to come with."
He's quiet. His breath is warm on my face. His hands have found my hips, holding on like I'm the only thing keeping him upright.
"Partners," he says finally.
"Partners."
"Fine. Two weeks. But if you try to leave me behind after that, I'll shoot you myself."
"Noted."
A smile flickers across his face. "You're annoying, you know that?"
"I've been told."
"Pushy. Stubborn. Completely unwilling to let me self-destruct in peace." He strokes my chin as he speaks.
"Also accurate."
"I hate that I like it."
"No you don't."
His smile widens, just a fraction. "No. I don't."
I kiss him. Gentle, careful of his injuries. His mouth opens under mine, warm and willing, and the grief and the guilt and the weight of everything we've lost fades into the background. There's just this. Just us. Just the fragile, impossible thing we're building in the wreckage of our lives.
When we break apart, his eyes are soft. Unguarded in a way I've rarely seen.
"Take me back to bed," he says.
"You need to rest, if that’s code for ‘let’s fuck’, my answer is no."
"I know." His hand slides up my chest, over my heart. "Rest with me."
I help him back to the mattress, ease him down, stretch out beside him. His head finds my shoulder. His hand rests on my chest. His breathing slows as exhaustion pulls him under.
"Asher?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For not letting me push you away."
"Couldn't if I tried. You're stuck with me now."
"Worse fates." His voice is slurring, sleep claiming him. "Could be stuck with someone who doesn't know how to make coffee."
"My coffee is excellent."
"It's adequate." A pause. "Don't tell anyone I said that."
"Your secret's safe."
He's asleep within minutes, his body going heavy against mine, the tension draining out of him as exhaustion finally wins. His breathing slows into the deep, even rhythm of true rest. His hand twitches against my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt even in sleep.
I lie awake a while longer, listening to his breathing, feeling his heartbeat against my palm. The moonlight has shifted, casting new shadows across the room. The farmhouse settles around us, old bones creaking in the cold.
Two weeks. Then Singapore.
And somewhere out there, the people responsible for all of this. The Silent. The branches of the shit show that runs the world. All the Ministries, the Foundry… all of it. They knew we were coming, which means there's a leak somewhere, someone feeding them information.
We'll find them. All of them. The traitors and the monsters and everyone who profits from the suffering of children.
Dom believed in this fight. Believed in it enough to die for it. The least I can do is see it through.
I press my lips to Jinx's hair, breathe in the scent of him. It instantly calms me. The smell of the man I'm falling in love with. The man who took a bullet for me. The man who's slowly, stubbornly learning how to let someone in.
We're coming for them.
All of them.
And this time, we're not going to fail.
I close my eyes and let sleep take me. For the first time since Geneva, the dreams that come are not of blood.
They're of him.