Chapter 18 Asher
Chapter Eighteen: Asher
"London. Target acquired." Jace’s voice.
Jinx sits across from me in the hotel room, earpiece in, eyes closed. Listening. Waiting. His hands rest on his thighs, fingers still, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. The coiled readiness of a man about to walk into war.
"Copy, London." Jagger's voice comes through clear. "Dubai, status?"
A pause. Then Marlee says, "In position. Target is in the penthouse. Two guards in the main room, one in the hallway. We go in three minutes."
The hotel room is quiet around us. Geneva at night, the city sleeping, unaware of the violence unfolding across two continents. Unaware that the world is about to change.
"This is it," Jinx says without opening his eyes. "After tonight, it's over."
"After tonight, it starts." I reach across the space between us, take his hand. "The cleanup. The rebuilding. All the work that comes after the killing."
"Sounds exhausting."
"Sounds like a future."
His eyes are dark and steady, fixed on my face. "Weird thinking about it like that."
"Well get used to it."
"Fuck, it’s just… I have you." He turns his hand, laces his fingers through mine. "I have Lily. I have brothers who are going to survive this. That's more than I ever expected."
The comms crackle again.
"London. Target down." Jace's voice, still flat. Still professional. "Clean kill. Exfiltrating now."
"Copy, London. Good work." Jagger's voice. "Dubai, you're clear to execute."
"Moving." Marlee's voice goes quiet. We wait.
The seconds stretch. Jinx's grip tightens on my hand. Somewhere in Dubai, Marlee and Thiago are breaching a penthouse, putting down guards, closing in on Oswald.
The man who sourced the children. The man who worked with traffickers and corrupt officials to fill the Foundry's cells. The man who looked at kids and saw bags of flesh instead of people deserving of a life.
"Contact." Marlee's voice is strained now, gunfire crackling in the background. "Guards are down. Moving to the bedroom."
More gunfire. A crash. Then silence.
"Dubai. Target down." Marlee, breathing hard. "Took longer than expected. Oswald had a panic room. Thiago's hit but mobile."
"How bad?"
"Through and through, left arm. He'll live."
"Get out. Medical team is standing by at the extraction point."
"Copy. Dubai out."
Two down. One to go.
Jinx releases my hand, stands, crosses to the window. The city spreads below us, lights glittering against the dark water of the lake. Peaceful. Beautiful. Completely oblivious.
"All targets eliminated," Jagger continues. "Teams, begin extraction. Jinx, Asher, you're clear to move on the Board. Song is standing by to release the documents."
Jinx turns from the window. His face is calm, composed, but his eyes are blazing.
"Let's go end this."
The cathedral is ancient, its stone walls blackened by centuries of candle smoke and prayer.
We enter through a side door, and head down narrow stairs worn smooth by generations of feet. Through passages that smell of mold.
Jinx moves ahead of me, silent as shadow. He's dressed in black, weapons concealed beneath a tailored jacket. He looks like what he is: a killer walking toward his destiny.
I follow close behind. My weapons are a reassuring weight against my ribs. Whatever happens in that chamber, we're walking in armed.
The passage opens into an antechamber. Stone walls, iron torches, a single heavy door carved with symbols I don't recognize. Old magic, maybe. Or old money pretending to be magic.
Jinx stops. Turns to face me.
"Before we go in," he says. "I need something."
"What?"
He closes the distance between us. Takes my face in his hands. Kisses me, deep and desperate, like he's trying to memorize the taste of me.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
"I needed that," he breathes. "I needed you. Before I walk into that room and become something else."
"You're not becoming something else. You're becoming what you always should have been."
"A Custodian. A shadow king. The very thing they wanted me to be." His laugh is bitter. "Poetic, isn't it?"
"Fuck poetic." I grip the back of his neck, hold him close. "You're a work of fucking art."
He's quiet. Then his hands slide down my chest, fingers working at my belt.
"We have time?"
"We have three minutes, so you better suck good."
He drops to his knees.
The stone floor must be cold, must be hard, but he doesn't seem to notice. His fingers free my cock, already half-hard from the adrenaline and the proximity and the sheer intensity of him.
"I want to taste you," he says, looking up at me with those dark eyes. "I want something good in my mouth before I go in there and spit poison. I want your cum splattered on this floor, desecrating everything they are."
I don't have words. This is fucking insane and yet I’ve never wanted something more. I thread my fingers through his hair and let him take what he needs.
His mouth is hot. Wet. Skilled in ways that still surprise me. He takes me deep, swallows around me, sets a rhythm that's designed to undo me. His hands grip my thighs, steadying himself, anchoring us both.
I watch him. The way his cheeks hollow. The way his eyes close in concentration. The way his throat works as he takes me deeper. He's beautiful like this, on his knees, giving pleasure instead of pain.
"Jinx." His name comes out rough, wrecked. "Fuck, you're destroying me.”
He hums in response, and the vibration makes my knees buckle. I brace myself against the wall, let my head fall back, let the sensation wash through me.
This man. This impossible, infuriating, incredible man. On his knees in an ancient antechamber, sucking my cock like it's the last thing he'll ever do.
The pressure builds. My fingers tighten in his hair. He moans, the sound muffled by my cock, and the vibration pushes me closer to the edge.
"Close," I warn him. "I'm close."
He doesn't pull off. Takes me deeper instead, throat relaxing, letting me slide all the way in. His nose presses against my stomach. His eyes open, meet mine, and the look in them is fierce. Possessive.
I come. Hard. Spilling into his mouth with a groan as he opens it and lets it drop to the ground in a fat blob.
The orgasm washes through me, leaving me shaking, staring down at the man I love.
Jinx pulls off slowly, deliberately. Licks his lips. Grins.
"Better?"
"Christ, what a time to get a blow job, but hey, now I’m focussed." I haul him to his feet, kiss him, taste myself on his tongue. "You're going to kill me someday."
"Probably." He kisses me again, soft this time. "But not today."
I tuck myself away, straighten my clothes. He does the same, composure falling back into place like armor.
We're ready.
The heavy door waits. Beyond it, the Board. The Custodians. The reckoning.
Jinx takes my hand and pushes the door open, and we walk into the lion's den.
The chamber is exactly as Jagger described.
Circular. Ancient. Ten seats arranged in a semicircle around a central floor. Torches burning in iron brackets, casting flickering shadows across stone walls carved with symbols and names. Centuries of history pressed into every surface.
The Custodians are already seated.
"Jinx Harrison." Sterling's voice echoes in the chamber, resonant with authority. "You were not invited to this session."
"The Harrison family holds a seat on this Board." Jinx's voice matches Sterling's, cold and commanding. "We're claiming it."
"The Harrison seat has been vacant for years. Your father—"
"My father is dead. I'm not." Jinx walks forward, toward the empty chair that bears his family's name. "I'm taking what's mine."
Brooks leans forward. "You can't simply walk in here and demand—"
"I'm not demanding anything." Jinx stops beside the chair, rests his hand on the carved back. "I'm telling you what's happening. The Harrison seat belongs to my family. I'm here to sit in it."
"This is highly irregular." Holloway, annoyed. "There are protocols, the Directors need to be here. Ceremonies. You can't—"
"Director Webb won't be joining us tonight," Jinx says, cutting him off. "He's dead."
The chamber goes silent.
"Abernathy is also dead. London. Oswald is dead." Jinx's smile is razor-sharp. "Helena Cross, as you may have heard, died in Singapore. Which leaves four empty seats and a great deal of reorganization to discuss."
"You're claiming responsibility for these deaths?" Sterling's voice has gone dangerous.
"I'm informing you of facts. What you do with that information is your choice."
Christian Rose laughs. The sound is unexpected, bright against the ancient stone.
"I told you," he says to the other Custodians. "I told you the Harrisons would come eventually. You all ignored me."
"You knew about this?" Brooks, sharp.
"I knew something was coming. The signs were everywhere, if you bothered to look." Rose stands, crosses to stand beside Jinx.
“We have everything documented.” Jinx grins.
"What documentation?" Holloway, alarmed now.
"Every financial record. Every authorization.
Every memo and report and internal communication related to Project Omega.
" I step forward, stand at Jinx's other side.
"In about thirty seconds, that documentation goes to every major news outlet on the planet.
Every government agency. Every law enforcement body. "
"You're bluffing."
"Check your phones."
Holloway pulls out his phone. The color drains from his face.
"The story's already breaking," I say with a smirk. "Global coverage. Investigations launching. The Silent's secrets, exposed for the entire world to see." He looks at the remaining Custodians with something like pity. "It's over. The only question is how you want to handle the transition."
Sterling rises slowly. His face is a mask, but I can see the calculation happening behind his eyes. The desperate search for leverage, for options, for any way out.
"You think you've won," he says. "You think you can destroy three centuries of work in a single night."