Chapter 5
Asher
Well, fuck.
I smile and lean against the elevator wall. I’d planned on grabbing some food, but seeing Ella in the elevator had, yet again, stolen any rational thought. I’d somehow charmed her, and she’d charmed me, and fuck it’s all so goddamn charming.
The way she’d gotten so excited when she’d spotted an ice cream place was fucking endearing.
She’d grabbed my hand to pull me over to the vendor, and my throat had gone dry from the contact.
She’d teased me for taking so long to pick a flavor, but I only couldn’t decide because I was hyper focused on how close she was to me.
I’d stared at vanilla, the letters seemingly jumbled, because I could smell Ella’s perfume.
She’d touched my arm, leaned close, and playfully whispered, “Want me to choose for you?”
I’d almost proposed.
Then she’d asked me questions, and I’d asked her questions, and I’d tattooed every answer on the inside of my brain.
Ella Gibson. Twenty-five. Writer. Loves bubblegum ice cream.
Believes that unicorns do exist, but they’re actually violent.
Blood and gore is her thing. Once accidentally stole lipstick from a Walmart and cried for two hours before confessing to her dad.
Deliberately stole lipstick from the same Walmart a year later because she believed then she had a solid reputation as an innocent civilian so no one would question her if she got caught.
Has twice (twice) chased a mugger, caught them, and got her purse back.
“The first time, I did it out of instinct and was so mad at myself for not saying something cool,” she’d told me. “So that’s why I made sure to say something kick-ass the second time.”
Yep, proposal incoming.
I open the door to the apartment, mind still firmly on Ella.
Gable sits up and eyes my empty hands. “No food? You’ve been gone nearly two hours!”
I close the door and let myself fully smile. “I got distracted.”
“Oh, good God,” Gable says. “The brunette? Seriously?”
“Her name is Ella,” I say, grabbing two beers from the fridge and handing one to Gable.
Barnaby might have been messy, but he bought good beer and lots of it.
It was the only likable thing about the creep.
When Ella had told me about the drone incident, I’d wished I’d kept Barnaby alive a little longer to hurt him a little more. “And she’s … fun.”
“She’s annoying.”
“She’s the opposite of annoying.”
Gable gags. “Fuck me. What do you always say? Motor, what does he always say? ‘Focus on the job, Gable. Stop dragging out the killing, Gable.’ You’re breaking your own rules. You can’t fuck her. You have to kill her. In fact, why don’t I just do it right now?”
He stands.
“I think she has the drive.”
Gable pauses, eyes narrowing. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, it isn’t here, and she says she took in deliveries for Barnaby and sometimes kept some to piss him off.”
Gable slowly takes his seat again and sips his beer. “That’s mail fraud. We should tell her dad.”
“The drive means more money. I can get it.”
“Yeah, and fuck her at the same time.” Gable scoffs and looks at Motor. “Asher always gets the best bits.” The dog huffs as if in agreement.
“I thought you said she was annoying.”
“She’s still hot,” Gable says. “A hate-fuck wouldn’t be terrible. Anyway, I thought she was with the detective?”
“Nope.” I grin, sipping my beer. “She says it’s over. And we just had ice cream at the park.”
“You are the dullest man in existence,” Gable says. “You killed someone earlier, which gives you cool points, and then you take a woman out for ice cream at the fucking park. Minus cool points. Did you at least kiss her?”
“Nope. It’ll take a lot more than that; she’s smart. And she’s a writer, so she’ll want all that romantic shit.”
Gable scoffs again. “You love all that romantic shit!”
“I know,” I almost dancing in my seat with excitement. “It’s gonna be fun.”
“Until we have to kill her.”
My stomach sinks a little at the thought, and I shrug before swallowing another mouthful of beer. “Maybe we can delay it.”
“Or we can torture her, ask about the drive, and be gone in an hour. I like that plan.” He looks at Motor. “Do you like that plan?” The dog wags his tail.
We could do that. I’m not a fan of torture, quick deaths are more my thing, but if Ella knows where the drive is, Gable will have her talking in minutes.
“No,” I decide. “I have a feeling she doesn’t even know she has it, or if she does, she doesn’t know its importance. We kill her, we might never find it. I’ll do it the old-fashioned way.”
“Great,” Gable says. “Motor and I will starve to death, you and the brunette can boink until her dad arrests us, and dead boy can stay in the tub. Happy fucking Friday night.”
I take the bottle away from my lips. “Speaking of. Rock, paper, scissors, loser dismembers the creep?”
“Fuck you, you know that game is against me!”
I hold out my fist and Gable sighs.