Chapter Thirty-Six
The gun range Asher owns is in a repurposed factory.
Long and triangular, the building rises two stories high, with a hidden basement known only to a select few.
Inside, the brightly illuminated lobby features a granite counter standing before gleaming display cases filled with an array of firearms. More guns hang on the walls behind the front counter, their sleek exteriors glimmering under the bright, fluorescent light of the room.
The faint scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, a subtle reminder of the building’s purpose, while the industrial past of the space is hinted at by exposed beams and weathered brick walls.
Standing at the counter is a young man who looks to be high school age. He’s reading a porn magazine and loudly chewing gum. He looks up when Seamus and I walk in, quickly folding and putting away his playboy.
“You two have reservations?” he asks, powering on an ancient-looking computer.
“Nope, we’re walk-ins. I’m actually here to see Asher, the boss.”
The boy frowns. “You know Asher?”
It’s a fair question—Asher is a bit of an introvert. He doesn’t have many friends, though he does have endless connections.
“Yep. Tell him Mira Greene’s here, please.”
The boy smacks his gum. “Your funeral.” He disappears up a staircase in the corner of the room, one leading to Asher’s office and personal apartment on the second floor.
“Charming place,” Seamus drawls. “Not many people, it would seem.”
“It’s a weekday morning,” I point out. “Not a lot of people choose this time to visit the range. It crowds up on weeknights and weekends, though.”
Two sets of footsteps sound from the staircase. The boy working the counter comes down first, closely followed by Asher.
Asher’s dressed in army-green pants and a black shirt.
His hair has greyed since the last time I saw him, now a salt-and-pepper color.
He has a strong, stubborn jaw, piercing grey eyes overcast by bushy eyebrows, and a permanently severe expression.
Tattoo sleeves on his muscular arms show off several symbols with personal meaning, though the largest and most eye-catching is a stamp representing his time as a Recon Marine.
Asher stops on the bottom step, eyes narrowing as he gazes at me. There’s affection in his steely orbs, along with a great deal of worry.
“Mira,” he says, exhaling a long breath.
He shakes his head, as if in disbelief, and swiftly crosses the room to fold me into a warm, comforting embrace.
He’s a big guy, and he’s stayed in excellent shape after his time serving.
To most other people, I figure he looks intimidating; huge biceps, thighs like tree trunks, an eternally angry resting face.
To me, though, he represents the calm in the storm.
In another life, my mom might’ve ended up with him, and none of the bad shit that happened to me would’ve come to pass.
“Asher,” I respond, giving him a squeeze. After a long moment, I step back, looking him over. “It’s good to see you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, though I have to wonder what the fuck you’re doing back in this shit hole.” He folds his arms over his chest. “You got out. We agreed you’d stay out, sweetheart.”
Asher’s the one who bought me the plane ticket to Greywood. I didn’t have the money, and though I tried to refuse, he insisted. He said it was a gift with the condition that I make something of myself and stay the hell out of town.
“I’m not back permanently,” I assure him. “Not even for long.”
Seamus clears his throat, prompting Asher to turn a dark, threatening stare on him. I take a few steps back to stand next to Seamus. “Asher, this is my friend, Seamus.” I swallow. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
Asher glances at Counter Boy. “Go take your lunch break.”
Counter Boy pops his gum again. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“Then you’re off for the day,” Asher growls. “Go home and do some fuckin’ homework, kid. Or go to school for once. Ditching class may seem cool now, but it’ll make your life a lot more difficult than it should be.”
Counter Boy doesn’t need to be told twice. He picks up a backpack from behind the counter and strolls out, closing the front door behind him.
“How serious is this talk gonna be?” Asher asks me.
I glance at Seamus. “Pretty serious, and extremely private. Everything that’s said here needs to stay here.”
Asher gazes at Seamus for several moments, trying to get a read on him. Seamus folds his hands into his pockets and adopts a neutral expression, meeting Asher’s stare unflinchingly.
“You trust this posh boy?”
I nod. “Oddly enough, I do.”
“Fine,” Asher says. “Let’s go upstairs. You kids want coffee?”
“Please,” I say, following him up the staircase. We emerge into a hallway; he leads us to the first door on the left, which is a small sitting room connected to a kitchen. Asher disappears to make the coffee while Seamus and I take seats on a faded grey sofa in front of a coffee table.
“Evidently, you’ve been acquainted with quite a few dangerous men in your life,” Seamus says thoughtfully. He nods at the kitchen. “That one puts me to shame.”
“You have no idea,” I say grimly. Asher is brilliant, disciplined, and very good at killing people. He’d have killed Clyde and Carver years ago if he weren’t severely outnumbered. Unlike many vets I’ve crossed paths with, Asher’s emotions do not outweigh his common sense.
Asher stalks back into the room, holding a tray with a French press, several mugs, and a cup of creamer. He sets the tray on the coffee table, drags an armchair across from us, and takes a seat.
“What’s this about?” he asks.
“First I need your word that you take everything said here to the grave,” I request.
He nods. “You know I’d never betray you. You have my word of honor on your mother’s memory. Now talk, and kindly explain pretty-boy’s presence. You here to get my blessing or something?”
I spend about half an hour filling Asher in on my situation.
He takes everything I say in stride; doesn’t flinch when I gloss over my time as Dorian’s guest and the danger surrounding him.
The only time he shows any outward reaction is when I mention that Dorian works for Sergei Novikov. Then, he has plenty to say.
“Sergei fucking Novikov?” he repeats, disbelieving. He looks to Seamus. “The fuck does the Russian Bratva boss want with some American college students?”
“He’s expanding business,” Seamus responds smoothly. “He’d like a few footholds in America. My legion caught his interest when he was looking into some problems at Greywood for an old acquaintance of his.”
“Owning Russia isn’t enough? He needs to come here?”
“Of course Russia isn’t enough—he also owns Eurasia,” Seamus says with a charming grin.
In the blink of an eye, his expression turns serious.
“He has contacts and teams in every corner of this world. Of course he’d want to assemble a trustworthy force in the United States, as well. Are you truly surprised?”
“No,” Asher mutters, shaking his head. “Everything I’ve heard about the man suggests that he’s a power-hungry tyrant. Naturally, he wants to expand the empire he’s built. My question is what does that mean for the safety of American citizens?”
“The answer is quite simple: they’ll be safer.” When Asher gives Seamus an incredulous look, Seamus goes on. “My boss doesn’t condone some of the most harmful illegal activities going on in the underbelly of this country. Do you have any idea how many trafficking rings there are in America?”
Asher grunts. “A lot.”
“Quite right, and as Sergei moves forces here, he aims to dismantle every single operation—one by one. He will not accept the skin-trade in any of his territories. Carver is a partner to a rather large trafficking ring, so naturally, Sergei will use this opportunity to eliminate him and destroy his operation.”
Asher looks at me with a sigh. “You just had to get caught up with gangsters, didn’t you?”
The faint note of worry and condemnation in his tone makes me practically shrivel beneath his gaze.
His scrutiny is well-deserved, but it’s not like I had much of a choice.
I wasn’t asked if I wanted to be with Dorian.
I’ve settled and I’m finding that I’m quite happy with him, that I care for him deeply, but this lifestyle and these connections weren’t my choice.
“We aren’t gangsters,” Seamus says, his voice hard. “I’m part of an elite, small legion with stellar men who I’d trust with my life. Mira was pulled into it because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but she’s now dating the most exceptional man in our legion.”
“Your legion consists of three people, yes?” Asher says, challenge in his gaze. “That doesn’t sound like a legion to me, it sounds like a gathering of boys playing at being men. With a boss who’s giving them far too much fucking power.”
“My legion might be small, but it’s certainly not made up of boys,” Seamus says, quiet fury in his voice.
“It’s comprised of men who will die for each other, who have bled for each other, and who are committed to protecting innocents.
That’s how we banded together in the first place.
Now, instead of shaming Mira for something she can’t control and attacking me for my decisions, why don’t you tell us whether or not you’re willing to help.
If you’re not, I think we’re done here.”
Asher looks at me again. “Tell me the truth, sweetheart. Are you with your man of your own volition, or do you need a rescue? Don’t fear pretty boy over there—I can take care of him with both eyes shut.”
“I’m here of my own free will,” I say immediately.