Chapter 9
Asher
“It’s a big world out there, Asher,” Ella says. “A world full of cookies. And you’re not gonna try any of them?”
I drape my arm over the back of her chair and lean close. “Nope.”
“Come on!” she says, bouncing in her seat. “Why?”
I shrug. “There are so many dessert options. Why do I need a cookie? I have cake. Ice cream. Pancakes. Besides, Gable gets weird about cookies. It’s a good job I’m not interested in them; he’d kill me if I took any of his.”
She pierces her pasta with her fork. “By looking at Gable, I’d say that isn’t an exaggeration.”
We’re seated outside an Italian restaurant having lunch, our fifth date in eight days, and damn, this woman is charming.
I’ve tried to lure the conversations back to Barnaby’s deliveries, tried to gently ask about a hard drive or anything similar, but I fall off track the moment she smiles at me.
She’s disarming. Witty. Adorable. So fucking smart.
I’ve talked about my mom more, something I’ve only ever discussed with Gable.
I told her how I met Gable, and my life in and out of the foster homes, the good families and the bad.
Although I left out certain things, I found myself unearthing memories and sharing them with this woman I hardly know.
There’s something about her presence that’s wildly comfortable, like part of my chest was dislodged until I met her.
And I cannot for the life of me figure out why she has a bounty on her head.
People can hide things. I’ve met the sweetest, most endearing people who run criminal underworlds. But that isn’t Ella. She doesn’t have that edge, that darkness that even the most seasoned criminals can’t hide from me.
I don’t think I can kill her.
It’s easy enough to walk away from a job; the challenge is that someone else will inevitably take it.
I have no idea how I’m going to keep her safe, but I’ll have to come up with something and soon, because the client is getting impatient.
I’ve confirmed Barnaby’s death but requested extra time to kill Ella and find the hard drive.
It was granted, but judging by the curt message back, they aren’t happy about it.
I need to figure something out, because if I don’t work this right, the client will come for Gable and me—and if it boils down to protecting Ella or my brother, I’ll choose my brother every time.
So, for now, I’ll enjoy my time with her, get the hard drive back, and hopefully an idea will fall into my lap.
I can allow myself a few weeks of Ella Gibson, right?
“You should try my cookies,” she says and freezes, slowly sliding the pasta off her fork and into her mouth. “Not like that.”
I laugh. She does that a lot, says what she thinks is the wrong thing, but it’s cute.
I do really want to try her fucking cookies, though. While she’s cute, she’s also incredibly sexy, too. At the end of every date, she does this adorable thing where she looks up at me and sighs and fuck … how have I resisted her so far?
But the reality is, this could dissolve into a total mess. I can’t sleep with a woman I might have to kill in the end.
… But what if I don’t have to kill her? What if this is all a big misunderstanding, and she never has to even find out what I do?
What if this could be something?
Fuck me, this is confusing. It’s like a constant back and forth in my mind over what I have to do and what I want to do.
“Ella?”
“Hm?” She smiles brightly at me, that beautiful, disarming smile, and I push my plate aside to focus on her.
“What makes you happy?”
“My books.” Not a beat missed, an easy answer for her. “What makes you happy?”
Right now? “You.” A blush steals up her cheeks, and she smiles at her pasta. “Sorry, was that too much?”
“No, just … I write guys like you. I put guys like you on paper.” She finally looks at me, and fuck, I really am in so much trouble. “How are you real?”
I reach for her hand. “Believe me, I’m not perfect.”
“Hello, baby.”
My head snaps up.
Fuck. Standing by our table, in full uniform and blocking out the damn sun with his broad frame, is Guy Gibson.
“Hey, Dad.” She sits up. “What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by.” Guy is looking at me, or maybe he is; I’m not sure. He has his sunglasses on.
If someone had told me a few weeks ago I’d be dating the daughter of the chief of police, I’d have laughed my ass off, and so would Gable.
This really is the most reckless thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot.
Including thinking I could kill someone in a line at the opera.
That was messy and hard to get away from, but it’s a fun story to tell.
“Passing by? You think I believe that?” Ella asks.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Guy takes the spare seat without being asked.
He’s looking at me like he wants to either break my neck or interrogate me. I don’t blame him. From the few things Ella has told me, before RoboCop, she didn’t date much. She says she prefers working, so if a new guy suddenly appears on the scene, it’s understandable for her dad to be wary.
If only he knew.
“Eating?” Guy says.
“Yes, Dad, that’s what people do at restaurants.”
“Interesting.” Guy eyes me as if lunch is an offense punishable by death and he’d like to be the one to carry out that sentence.
I can charm anyone. It’s easy. Mirror them, laugh at their jokes, and don’t be overly smug.
Maybe that’s why me and Gable get on so well—I’ve never been able to bullshit him.
We were twelve years old when we met at a home with dozens of other boys, and I’d successfully cheated almost every other kid out of any money they had through a fake card game.
Gable had given me one look, eyebrow arched, arms crossed, and said, “You’re bullshitting me, blondey, and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out if you do it again. ”
I get the distinct impression that Guy Gibson is the same. Hard to charm, even harder to impress, but I’ll try my best.
“How’s work?” I ask.
Ella sighs. “Don’t bother. He’s already decided on one-word answers.”
“Untrue,” Guy says.
Ella waves her hand in her dad's direction. “See?”
I laugh. “I don’t blame you. I have kinda popped up out of nowhere.”
Have you looked me up, Guy Gibson? Not that you’d find much. On paper, I’m almost a model citizen. I made sure of that.
“Yeah. Long way from Seattle,” he says.
I’m not from Seattle, but I’ve been there enough to pretend I am.
“Not too long,” I say. “I like the city.”
And I like Ella, too.
That’d be overkill to say, even though it’s true.
Suddenly, Ella moves closer to me. Her attention shifts between her plate and the person waiting to be seated by the ma?tre d’—a blonde guy, clearly a frat boy in his heyday, and clinging to it.
He’s a similar age to us and hasn’t noticed Ella, but she’s definitely noticed him.
When she reaches for her glass, her hand shakes.
Guy notices too and looks over. He huffs.
“I’ll get him to leave.”
“No,” she says quickly. “It’s fine. He won’t do anything.”
I don’t ask what’s happening, because Ella is clearly shaken up.
But then Frat Boy spots her. They lock eyes, and he smirks before being led into the restaurant.
Hello, dead man walking.
I rest my hand on her back. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. Fine.” Her phone rings, and when she sees Matilda’s name, she visibly relaxes. “I’m gonna answer this; I’ve been missing her calls all week. I’ll be back. Dad, be nice!” She disappears to answer the call.
“Who was the guy?” I ask, eyes still on Ella.
“Asshole ex-boyfriend, Brent,” Guy says, fingers drumming against the tablecloth.
“What kind of an asshole?”
Guy is obviously considering how much he should say because this is Ella’s private life, and I’m just a new guy on the scene.
“Enough of an asshole to shake her confidence once upon a time,” he says finally. “And Ella isn’t easily shaken.”
I assume if it had been physical, Brent wouldn’t be around anymore—not with the way Guy is looking at him.
Emotional abuse, maybe?
Either way, I’m on my feet.
“Men’s room,” I say by way of explanation.
I head into the restaurant but not before kissing Ella quickly on the cheek to let her know I’ll be back. She beams at me, still talking to Matilda, and I stride inside.
Brent is heading to the bathroom, too. Bingo.
I don’t wait. I sweep by him, grab his collar, and pull him around a corner that likely leads to the kitchen before shoving him against the wall.
“What the fuck!”
“I’m going to give you one warning,” I say quietly. I’ve mastered the art of putting my point across without having to yell—something I learned from Gable. “You look at Ella again, you smile at her again, especially how you did just now, and it’ll be the last thing you fucking do.”
Brent smirks.
Big mistake.
“You think her daddy didn’t make the same threat?” Brent asks. “Fuck you and fuck him, too.”
I clear my throat. I have at least four inches on this asshole, and about thirty pounds of muscle, too. This is going to be fun. I pull Brent away from the wall and smack him back into it. He wheezes, his eyes rounding.
“The difference between me and Guy is that he has to follow the rules—I don’t.
So, believe me when I say that if you do go near her, I will end your life.
If you see her in the street, hell, if you see her on the other side of the goddamn street, you run in the opposite direction.
Do you understand?” Brent seems unsettled but not totally convinced.
“I’ve known that woman eight days, Brent, and this is how I’m reacting to a smile.
How do you think I’ll react a month from now?
Six months? A year?” Now Brent looks like he’s getting the hint.
“The more time I spend with Ella, the more pain you’ll be in if you go near her again.
Now, I’ll ask you one final time, and then I’m going to hurt you. Do. You. Understand?”
Brent swallows and nods. I let him go.
“Good man. And you don’t want to eat here anymore. Fucking leave.”