Chapter Fourteen. Ember #6
“I’ve warned you about playing with me. Thinking I won’t do you dirty because you pushed me out that ran-through pussy is where you got me fucked up.
Now this my last time. Shut the fuck up if you want to stay here, and heed Ember’s warning about finding something safe to do.
And that doesn’t include being around me or talking shit to her.
Besides”—he bends his head and says this close to her ear so only the three of us can hear—“we both know the only murdering bitch standing here is you.” He abruptly releases her, and she stumbles back several unsteady steps on her heels.
Whipping out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he wipes his fingers on it without removing his hooded gaze from his mother. “Now, Ember, she staying? Yeah or nah?”
I swallow, a little disturbed but a whole lot turned on.
And awed. And humbled.
I peer at Michelle. “She can stay.”
“The announcement about our engagement is at midnight. You might want to fix your face if you intend on staying.”
Like, literally fix her face. Her formerly flawless makeup looks like somebody has … well … jacked her up.
Michelle’s chest rises up and down on quick, loud pants.
Humiliation, fear, and fury stain her face and gleam in her eyes.
I have zero doubts if she could kill her son right now and get away with it, she would.
That anger carries a sharp, deadly cold edge, and without realizing it, I take a step toward Asad, the surge of protectiveness propelling me forward.
Her gaze shifts to me, and her eyes darken more.
But in the next second, her expression clears, all traces of emotion gone as if the altercation with Asad never happened.
A strained but cool smile curves her lips, and she dips her head.
“You’re right. Now isn’t the time or place for this discussion. If you’ll excuse me.” Head held high, she leaves, the nosy-ass crowd swallowing her up.
Stage whispers and loud murmurs pepper the air, but as Asad turns around to face me, he doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck that these people witnessed him yoke his mama up.
His I don’t give a fuckness is both worrisome and hot as fuck.
Worrisome, because if he ever tries that with me, I’m with the shit, too.
We would be like a hurricane, fucking everything up in our path.
And hot as fuck, because in a world where lies are a universal currency, that kind of brutal honesty where everyone can get it, with no respect of persons, is addictive.
I can no longer deny that Asad has fast become an addiction for me. Like I’m one of the fiends hitting a drug supplied by Cross, I crave a hit of him.
But fear holds me back. Fear of losing myself. Fear of him turning into Marcus and me becoming my mother. Fear of being … nothing to him.
“What the fuck just happened here?” Sam hisses, joining us, his furious scrutiny landing on us before scanning the partygoers.
As if suddenly remembering they have something else to do, they disperse, leaving the three of us in relative privacy.
“I heard about a commotion and then your mother just flew past me. Without her broomstick. What the hell is going on?”
Before Asad or I can reply, Kareem stalks up to our small group, a fierce scowl marring his handsome face.
“I just bumped into Mom, Asad, and she looked terrible. She told me to ask you what happened. What the fuck? Did something go down with her?”
“Yeah.” He arches an eyebrow. “Me.”
“Prince, are you okay?” Aryn appears next to Kareem and lays a hand on Asad’s forearm and the other on his chest.
The fuck? There’s no stopping the killing fury surging like a raging tide. Where did she come from? And why is she touching Asad as if she has the right? The ho was at the dinner, so she understands who I am to him.
“Here’s where you got me fucked up.” I reach over, wrapping my fingers around the ones splayed over his chest, and squeeze.
Then bend them back. She gasps and tries to snatch her arm away, but I continue to arch those fingers back until one of them snaps.
One down, three more to go. “Maybe no one ever taught you to keep your hands to yourself. Allow me.”
“Ember,” Kareem gently says, settling his hand on my bare back and covering my fingers with his. I instinctively cringe from his touch. “Let her go, sweetheart. People are looking.”
“Get your hands off her,” Asad snaps at his brother, and the menace infused in those five words has both him and me dropping our arms to our sides. “Get the bitch you came here with and leave my woman to me.”
“Prince—” Aryn whines.
“Okay, okay.” Sam steps forward, glancing around with a frown darkening his expression.
“This is a fucking sideshow, and we’re not here for that.
Kareem, take your”—he sneers—“date and go get a drink. Prince and Ember, there are a few people who I’d like you to meet,” he says, playing peacemaker and directing everyone to their respective corners.
After a hard, enigmatic look at his older brother, Kareem cups Aryn’s elbow and leads her away, getting swallowed up by the crowd.
The question of why in the hell he’s here with his brother’s ex–fuck buddy gets lost in the buzz that grows louder and louder in my head.
This—his emotional confessional, Michelle, Kareem, Aryn—it’s too much, and I need a moment.
“Excuse me for a second. I need to use the bathroom.”
“I can take you—”
“No.” I shake my head, interrupting Asad, and hold up a hand for added emphasis. “I’m fine. I’ll be right back.”
“Em…”
“I’m good, Sam.”
Not waiting for any further argument from either of them, I wind my way through the thick throng of partygoers, offering polite, meaningless smiles to people but not stopping to talk.
Some of them I just met while on Asad’s arm and others I’ve never seen before in life, and they only want to speak because of my connection to him.
My patience level has hit zero fucks given, and if I don’t get to a people-free area, I might scream.
Finally, I push through the entrance and into the airy hall and farther still, out onto the courtyard.
The cool night breeze greets me, and I gulp it down like it’s red, sweet, and fermented grapes instead of air.
I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, and allow the relative quiet, compared to the ballroom, to wash over me. But it’s not enough.
Needing more space, more distance, I walk deeper into the shadows, past the gurgling fountain and under the opposite walkway.
Once I prop a shoulder against the cool stone column, I exhale and relax.
All I need are a few minutes away from all the noise—from the drama—and I’ll be okay to return and continue this circus of an evening.
The whole evening—the fairy-tale makeover, Sam, Michelle, and Asad’s display of heroism that leaves me breathless and confused—has me reeling and almost overwhelmed.
Right now, I’m warring with myself. Stand my ground and resist making another mistake that will land me with my heart torn in pieces?
Or take a chance and trust Asad again? Trust that maybe he’ll let me fall … but not by myself.
I’m not ready to make that decision.
No.
I’m scared to make that decision.
“Ember.”
Sighing, I open my eyes and glance at Kareem, leaning against one of the columns. Irritation flashes inside me like dry lightning. So much for those few minutes of solitude.
“Kareem, I don’t mean to be rude, but I came out here for a few moments of bullshit-free silence. So, if you don’t mind…”
The corner of his mouth quirks, and he slides his hands in the front pockets of his tuxedo pants.
The moonlight casts half of his face in sharp relief, and for a second, he reminds me of that guy from the Batman cartoon.
The one whose face is split in two—one half fucked and the other normal.
I don’t know why that image pops in my head right now, but I can’t shake it.
I straighten, stepping away from the column.
“I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is intrude, but I saw you walk out of there”—he jerks his chin in the direction of the ballroom—“and wanted to make sure you’re okay. You looked a little upset.”
I wave a hand. “I’m good. I just needed some air.”
“And you’re not one for all the drama. And between Asad and my mother, we’re nothing but drama,” he drawls.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to agree, but … speaking on Asad behind his back, even if it’s to his brother, feels shady and disloyal. Now Michelle, fuck her.
“It’s fine,” I say, wanting to end this line of conversation. Well, wanting to end the conversation, period. I ventured out here for peace and quiet. Kareem is preventing me from having both.
“Is it though?”
“Is it what?”
“Is it fine?” He tilts his head, and his scrutiny roams over my face. “Because you can be honest with me, Ember. You’re safe with me.”
I frown, genuinely confused. “Kareem, what’re you talking about?” And why are you still here forcing me to have a conversation when I clearly said I’m good and I just want to be alone?
He looks down at my bandaged hand and nods toward it.
“I tried to talk him out of picking you up. Mom showed me the same video, but I couldn’t believe you would kill Marcus.
There had to be some kind of explanation.
But we both know my voice holds little weight around here—especially with Prince.
So I couldn’t stop him. And I’m so sorry you were hurt. ”
I cradle the hand with the injured finger in my other, holding them both to my stomach.
“You’re wrong,” I correct him. He stares at me, and I shrug a shoulder, uncomfortable at this line of discussion.
Why can’t he leave it and me alone? Like.
I. Asked. “I could’ve killed Marcus. I just didn’t.
And trust, if it had been me, the manner of death wouldn’t have been as pedestrian as a drug overdose. ”