Chapter 37 Asher
ASHER
The pitch blackness of this Nevada night wanted to swallow me whole.
I stood outside, puffing smoke into the chilly air.
Each exhalation looked like a ghost, fading away into the dark after a few seconds.
Peering upward, I saw nothing but ambient light and haze.
Fucking Vegas and its nonstop neon; I couldn't see a single damn star.
The cold penetrated my bones, seeping through the thin fabric of my white tee, but I didn't care enough to go back inside and grab a jacket.
My sleeves were rolled to the shoulders, gray sweats hanging low against my hips.
My boots were untied, laces trailing on the gravel. I was a fucking mess.
The night was still, save for the faint rumble of cars somewhere in the distance.
I felt restless; I needed something to torch.
Though setting something on fire would settle my brain and body, I didn’t pursue relief.
It wasn’t that I had no target—I’d settled on a new one recently, a condemned building set to be demolished in a few weeks—but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the compound.
Why? Because there was a useless, weak Omega in the house.
My mind drifted to Lucy, the delicate, pale creature who’d so recently walked into our den of chaos.
She looked like she’d rarely seen sunlight, her alabaster skin almost translucent.
I wondered what it would take to bring some color to her cheeks.
How quickly would a scorching summer day in Nevada affect her?
I guessed mere minutes. She’d probably never even had a sunburn.
I couldn’t shake the image of her with pinked skin turning redder and redder.
But the sun isn’t the only thing that burns.
That thought sent a surge of reckless desire through me and a delicious shiver down my spine.
I flicked the ash from my smoke into the gravel at my feet, then lifted the cigarette for another puff. Now, the building I’d chosen to torch fell away, replaced by Lucy.
She had an inner fire too—the way she’d pounded on the door to shut us up, the way she’d tried to hold her ground against me and Nitro, the way she’d glared down at those fucking buckets this morning.
Oh, she could push back forever and never win against us, but that wasn’t her fault.
She had backbone, beneath that fucking dumb suit.
A backbone for breaking. An inner fire to douse.
A woman who wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.
I tried to think of something else, but curiosity continued to tug. Lucy unsettled and intrigued me.
My hand holding the smoke dropped to my side. What did I want? Right this very second, what should I do?
I stamped my feet against the gravel, fighting against the cold seeping deeper.
But it was marrow deep now. Nevada was the kind of place that should always be hot.
These low temps felt all kinds of wrong; I still wasn’t used to the winter months after all these years.
Thirty-four tonight, which might as well be a fucking freezer.
My thoughts kept spiraling, the only things keeping me somewhat warm.
I took one last drag, letting the ember burn down to the filter before tossing it to the ground. I crushed it under my heel, grinding it into the gravel.
Wonder how she’s sleeping?
The question was unwanted. I didn’t want to know if she was comfortable.
Wonder if she’s cold too?
Who the fuck cares if Lucy’s cold!
She couldn’t stay here, I realized with sharp, sudden clarity. If she was already dicking with my head like this, then she was a problem. And I needed to do what I did to solve all my problems—turn them to ash.
I turned back toward the house, its dark welcome waiting for me.
Each step closer made a knot form in my damn gut and my frown deepen.
It was too bad Xander had been a relentless prick about the gas cans earlier.
If they were still inside, I’d finally burn the house to the ground.
I’d been saying I would for a long damn time. It was high time I made good.
Inside the house, I trudged through the darkened living room, feeling unmoored and alone. Why wasn’t I going straight to Lucy’s room? Why wasn’t I ripping the bandage off?
Taking out my lighter for comfort, I moved to sit on a barstool.
Facing the kitchen, my gaze fell on the gas stove.
That would do it, no fuel cans needed. Absentmindedly, I began flicking the lighter.
Its flame was no doubt licking the underside of the bar counter, but I didn’t care.
There was already several scorch marks hidden there, where the others hadn’t found them.
They’d eventually see and one of them would bitch.
If it was Nitro, I’d shove his face against the numerous knife gouges in the butcher block.
I missed my brothers, though we were all still under the same roof.
We just didn’t spend a lot of time together anymore unless it was for work.
Stunt planning. Test runs. Venue rehearsals.
All work and no fucking play. When we were together, things often ended in a bloody fight.
Not that I minded that. In the ring or out of it, I’d happily throw a punch.
Where were they all right now? I kept flicking, making the serrated wheel strike the flint, depressing the red tab, releasing it, starting over again.
I had to really concentrate to remember that Kane jetted to Otto’s, probably digging for parts like his life depended on it.
Nitro left soon after Kane, zero clue where that asshole went.
Xander had gone to ‘bed’ hours ago and hadn’t reappeared.
He wasn’t sleeping; I knew him too well.
Fallon… the memorabilia room, working on new stunt ideas, because Cirque called around noon and wanted to push the envelope more.
DemonX always pushed the envelope, as far as it would go, until it wasn’t even a fucking envelope anymore.
The Cirque production team was really getting on my nerves.
Maybe I’d burn them down instead. Screw some building already on the demolition slate. Where did Cirque du Sang store their shit? A quick google search would probably give me an address.
But then I’d have to leave the house.
I turned in the barstool, hand holding the lighter going still.
My eyes clamped on Lucy’s bedroom door.
A fresh-as-hell memory bled in from the corners of my brain.
The monitors cycled, endlessly. Many different scenes to watch, but only one screen held my attention.
Lucy undressing.
To use those motherfucking buckets we’d given her.
Nitro loomed beside me, his sharp gaze also locked on the feed, his mouth twisted into a smirk.
She moved slowly, movements hesitant, hands making adjustments until she could finally work the zipper around her waist, separating the top of the suit from its lower half.
And, fuck me, her legs were as pale as her face. White like paper. And paper… it burns beautifully. Browning then blackening. Hole slowly spreading above the flame. Any charred remains brittle and flaking after the fire cooled.
My breath caught in my throat. When was the last time I had something so pure to burn? Something so untouched?
The suit pants were down.
Dark leggings beneath stripped away.
Lucy stood, both bottoms pooled around her ankles, wearing nothing but a pair of cream panties to hide her lower body. I wanted the helmet off too. I wanted to see how her face looked as she suffered this humiliation. At least, I thought I wanted that.
I don’t fucking know why, but both Nitro and I wordlessly walked out of the security room when Lucy began shuffling closer to one bucket, not bothering to try and pull her feet free. She would have slipped down the underwear next…
I’d sat on the sofa after, staring into the unlit hearth, while Nitro had carved fresh wounds into the counter.
Lucy.
Her named rolled through my mind so smoothly. It had been a long time since something non-flammable captured my attention this way. I wasn’t sure if it was a bad thing or a fucking terrible thing.
I looked down at my hands, still mechanically turning the lighter off and on. Every time the flame sprung to life, I wanted to slide off the barstool and move towards the barebones room that held Lucy. Every time the flame died, I once again rooted my ass to the stool.
On. Off.
Hot. Cold.
Burn. Don’t burn.
Go to her. Stay the fuck where I was.
It was a perverse game of ‘love me, love me not,’ only I was controlling the outcome. This wasn’t a matter of chance, picking petals off a damn flower.
On.
Hot.
Burn.
Go to her.
I slid off the seat, another memory of Lucy invading. Why was she flooding my brain? She’d only been here for a hot damn minute.
“Knock, knock,” Kane didn’t actually knock. He just said it as we barged into her room.
“It’s food O’clock,” Nitro added. Fucking terrible attempt at rhyming, but the only thing truly sharp about that asshole was his blades.
Her expression shifted, for a heartbeat hope washed over her features, but then Kane shoved the battered mixing bowl at her.
She cradled it in her hands, eyes staring down at the undercooked pasta smothered in cold sauce. Nitro leaned over, dropping a stale hunk of bread into the marinara.
“Orange light means you can take that shit off long enough to eat, or at least that’s what the ‘how to care for your medical freak Omega’ manual said.” This from Xander, who held back, leaning against the doorframe with his muscled arms crossed.
Lucy nodded slowly. Then, like an afterthought, whispered, “Thanks.”
“What was that?” Nitro leaned down, voice mocking. “Didn’t quite hear you.”
She took a deep breath and then tilted her face upward, eyes locking on Nitro.
“I said, “thanks.” This looks great. I can’t wait to eat.” It was obvious the words cost her, but Lucy kept her voice steady and her face neutral.
“Eat every bite,” Xander ordered. “Not everyone gets to taste Fallon’s food.”
“I only cook for people I hate,” Fallon said, coming up behind Xander and looking over his shoulder. “That list is short.”
Lucy flinched. For some reason, Fallon implying he hated her was worse than the bullshit food.
“Room service is closed for the day.” Nitro reached out, rapping his knuckles against her helmet visor.
She leaned away from him, eyes going wide. For a fleeting second, a ripple of guilt cut through my gut. I hadn’t said anything; I’d just watched. But that didn’t mean I was better than my brothers giving her hell.
When we’d left Lucy to eat, Nitro had elbowed me hard in the side and told me to, “Wake the fuck up, Ash. We’ve got to work as a team. She can’t see a chink in the armor.”
Was I the flaw in our pack? The one who was already wavering, like a fire too weak to withstand one gust of wind?
When the memory faded, I found myself stopped just outside her bedroom door.
One hand still held the lighter, but I pressed the other against the dark wood.
It felt normal, neither hot nor cold. When a house is burning, everything warms incredibly fast. The knobs can sear your palm once a fire blazes.
This wood would feel different if Lucy was burning on the other side.
I don’t want her to burn.
Another thought I didn’t want slipped through my mind, oiled by some feeling I couldn’t pinpoint. It made no damn sense to feel anything for her. She wasn’t forever. Fuck, she shouldn’t even be temporary. A woman like her could never survive us. Not for a week, let alone a lifetime.
My hand drifted to the knob, fingers curling around it. It was turning before I consciously decided to open the door. When there was enough of a gap, I crept inside.
She was sitting up on the mattress, back against the wall.
Her arms were crossed, head lolled forward.
Sleeping peacefully despite how we’d treated her so far.
The smell of piss hit me as I grew closer, and I glanced at the buckets.
Whatever the guys said tomorrow, those needed to go.
I couldn’t live in a house that reeked of urine. Gasoline, yes. Human waste, no.
At the edge of the mattress, I squatted down. My gazes roved the length of her body, hating how the suit hid what I knew was milky pale skin. The orange light on her wrist still shone orange. I wondered if it would shift to green soon. Then the suit would be off for good.
My earlier curiosity circled back—was the suit flame resistant?
The lighter was still in my hand.
Muscle memory took over, following the singular intrusive thought taking my entire body over.
Burn. See if it burns.
The lighter glowed to life.
I lowered it.
And held it to the mattress until it caught fire.
I was a match. Lucy was a tinderbox. I wouldn’t mind if we both went up in flame.