Chapter 13 Asher
ASHER
Through the grainy feed of the security monitor, I watch Zane crouch in the backyard with Emma and Ella.
He’s demonstrating some basic self-defense moves, dressed up as ninja training.
His scarred face softens as he shows them how to “strike fear into the bad guys.” The girls giggle, their little fists punching the air with exaggerated grunts.
I should be out there. It’s usually my job to keep them entertained.
But after last night… I can’t do it. Not after seeing Mia and Damon on the floor like that.
Just the thought of it, their clothes shoved down below their hips, Mia’s legs around Damon as she comes down from the last throes of pleasure, makes my stomach twist painfully.
The image of them together is seared into my brain. The way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world. Like she belonged to him.
Jealousy? Is that what this is?
I don’t get jealous. That’s not me.
I rub the back of my neck, watching the screen as Zane crouches down to let Emma climb onto his back. She wraps her arms around his neck, giggling, and for a moment, I manage a small smile.
Zane’s good with them. Better than I gave him credit for. Maybe too good.
A flicker of movement on another screen draws my attention—a car pulling into the next block, pausing for just a second too long before driving away.
My jaw tightens, the familiar surge of protectiveness kicking in. But when I glance back at the monitor showing Zane and the girls, that protectiveness twists into something else.
It’s not just Damon.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The door creaks open, and Damon steps into the room, his usual calm demeanor in place. He nods toward the monitor. “Everything clear?”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Zane’s got the girls.”
His gaze flicks to the screen, lingering on Mia as she steps onto the porch to call the kids inside for lunch. “She’s doing okay. Better than I expected, given the circumstances.”
I grunt in response, not trusting myself to say more.
Damon glances at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “You good, Asher?”
“Fine,” I say quickly, turning back to the monitors. “Just tired.”
He doesn’t push, which is a relief, because I don’t have any answers. He’s always been good at reading people—one of the reasons he’s the boss. But I keep my eyes trained on the screens, not giving him an inch.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Damon remarks.
“Just focused on the job.” I keep my voice even. Distant. “Like we all should be,” I add quietly.
The silence stretches between us. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s not buying it.
“Right,” he finally says. The way he says it, like he’s letting it go but not really, grates on me more than it should.
The truth is, I am focused. I’m focused on the car that passed too slowly on the last rotation. On the possibility that Jason’s not acting alone. On keeping Mia and her kids safe.
What I shouldn’t be focused on is how Damon looked at her last night. Or how she looked back.
I clench my jaw, fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. This is getting out of hand. Whatever I think I feel, whatever tension’s winding tighter between us all, I need to shut it down.
“You sticking around the safehouse today?” I ask, changing the subject.
“For now,” Damon says. “But I need to dig deeper into Jason’s contacts. If we don’t figure out who’s backing him soon, we’re just waiting for the next move.”
Damon’s hand is on the doorframe when he pauses, his back to me. I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
“I did know her from before,” he says, his voice low.
I blink at him. “What?”
“When you asked before if I knew Mia… I did.”
I don’t move, don’t react. Just watch him from my chair, waiting. He’s never been one for personal confessions, so if he’s offering this now, it’s calculated. Controlled.
“Go on,” I say, keeping my tone even.
Damon exhales sharply, turning back to face me. His expression is carefully neutral, but I know him too well. There’s something under the surface.
“We crossed paths on base,” he says finally. “She was stationed there as a nurse. I was... around.”
“Around,” I repeat, unimpressed. “That’s vague as hell. You don’t do vague, Damon.”
His jaw tightens, and I see the internal battle playing out in real time. Finally, he relents.
“She was in a bad situation. I helped her out.”
“Bad situation,” I echo, my fingers tapping against the desk. “You mean Jason.”
Damon’s silence is all the confirmation I need.
“And now here we are,” I say. “Jason’s back, and suddenly you’re the one keeping her safe again. What are the odds?”
His shoulders stiffen. “I didn’t plan this.”
“But you sure as hell aren’t walking away from it, either.”
His eyes flash. “Would you?”
I don’t answer, because we both know the truth.
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. “So what’s the real story here? You two hooked up back then, and now it’s all coming back to bite you?”
Something flickers across his face, gone too fast to catch. “It’s complicated,” he says.
I laugh under my breath. “Yeah, no shit.”
Damon rubs a hand over his face, frustration creeping in. “Look, I care about keeping her safe. That’s all that matters right now.”
“Right.” I push off the desk, standing toe-to-toe with him. “So that look you give her? That’s just from professional concern?”
His gaze sharpens. “Watch yourself, Asher.”
“Why? Because I’m calling it like I see it? We’ve worked together for years, Damon. I’ve never seen you like this. And don’t tell me it’s just the job.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to. The silence between us says everything.
I fold my arms. “You’re not telling me the whole story. But fine. Play it your way. Just don’t expect me to pretend I don’t see what’s happening here.”
I don’t bring up what happened yesterday because that would be a low blow.
“You don’t have to like it, Asher,” Damon says quietly. “But you’d better keep your head in the game. We’ve got bigger problems than whatever you think is going on between me and Mia.”
And with that, he turns and walks out.
The dining room is warm with the scent of grilled cheese and tomato soup, remnants of lunch still scattered across the table. Sunlight filters through the blinds, casting soft lines across the floor where the twins sit cross-legged, flipping through a book about spies.
I lean against the kitchen counter, sipping black coffee and trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that’s been sitting in my gut all morning.
Zane’s outside, running a perimeter check.
Damon’s in the office, probably drowning in security footage.
And me? I’m supposed to be watching the monitors, keeping my head in the game.
But the second the twins came bounding in, demanding a “Secret Agent Story,” I found myself staying put instead of brushing them off.
Emma tugs on my sleeve, her wide eyes full of mischief. “Pleeease, Secret Agent Asher. Just one story.”
Ella stands beside her with her arms crossed, ever the serious one. “A real one this time. Not the one about the spy who turned into a pancake.”
I smirk. “Hey, that was a great story.”
They don’t look convinced, and against my better judgment, I feel myself caving. Maybe I should say no, keep my distance, remind myself this is a job. But their eager little faces make it damn near impossible.
I’m about to give in when movement at the doorway catches my eye. Mia.
She looks… flustered. Her lips are slightly parted, her cheeks warm. She’s smoothing down her shirt like she’s trying to pull herself together.
My gut tightens.
Then I see Zane walking away down the hall, his expression unreadable.
Something happened.
I don’t know what, but my instincts scream at me that I missed something.
Zane doesn’t get flustered. And Mia sure as hell doesn’t. Not like this.
But that doesn’t make sense. If there’s someone she’s tangled up with, it would be Damon. That’s obvious. The way he watches her like she’s his to protect, his to fix, his to—
I clench my jaw.
This is ridiculous. It doesn’t matter who she’s with. It’s none of my business.
Except, apparently, it is.
“Are you okay?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Mia blinks, as if she just realized I was watching her. “What? Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She’s lying. I know it, and she knows I know it.
Emma yanks my sleeve again, oblivious to the tension between the adults in the room. “Secret Agent Story, pleeeease.”
I glance back at Mia, who quickly looks away.
The girls cheer, jumping onto the couch. I start talking, but my focus is shot.
I force a smile, trying to make it sound like no big deal. “Actually, guys, I’ve got security stuff to handle. Why don't you ask your mom for stories instead?”
Emma groans, but it’s Ella’s reaction that gets me. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t pout. She just looks at me, her expression contemplative. Disappointed.
I swallow hard.
She’s a smart kid. Too smart. And she’s trying to figure out why I suddenly don’t want to be around them anymore.
I hate it.
But I know what I have to do.
Mia watches me, her expression unreadable, but I see the understanding in her eyes. She knows why I’m pulling away. She’s not going to fight me on it.
That makes it worse.
I clear my throat, give the twins a small salute, and turn away before I second-guess myself.
Before I make another mistake.
I take the late shift, volunteering for perimeter watch instead of my usual bedtime story duty. It’s better this way. Keeps my head clear. Keeps me from making choices I can’t take back.
The night is quiet, the safehouse wrapped in a blanket of stillness. Through the windows, I catch glimpses of the life unfolding inside.
Damon sits with the twins in the living room, Emma curled up against his side, Ella leaning in as he reads from a book. His face is softer than I’ve ever seen it. Nothing like the hardened leader I’ve followed in the past, the man who built a security empire from sheer force of will.
Something about the sight unsettles me.
In the kitchen, Mia and Zane sit across from each other, hands wrapped around mugs, their conversation low and easy. They don’t have to speak to fill the space between them. The way she leans just slightly in his direction, the way his gaze lingers on her—they look comfortable together. Intimate.
I exhale, my grip tightening around the railing. I wanted this distance, didn’t I?
So why does it feel like I’m being pushed out of something I didn’t even realize I wanted to be a part of?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration cutting through the quiet night. I pull it out, already knowing who it is before I check the screen.
Hey, got an opening in Dubai. Six-month contract. Private detail. High pay, low risk. You in?
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Inside, Damon leans in as Ella whispers something in his ear. He grins and ruffles her hair. In the kitchen, Mia laughs softly at something Zane says, shaking her head as she sips her coffee.
A makeshift family. One I have no place in.
I swallow hard, looking away. Some lines aren’t meant to be crossed.
I type my response.
I’m in.
I send the message. Pocketing my phone, I exhale, watching the stars blink overhead. Six months in Dubai. Maybe by the time I get back, I’ll have my head on straight.