Chapter 2
Chapter Two
ASHER
She didn’t scream.
Not when I pulled her to her feet. Not even when I guided her through the church to the back door like she already belonged to me. And she does. Every inch of her. Mind, body, fucking soul. Whether she wants to admit it or not doesn’t matter, because she will. Eventually.
She moves like she doesn’t realize she’s walking away from everything she thought she knew and straight into the arms of the only man who’s ever truly seen her.
There’s something perfect about that. Something final.
It gives me the kind of high I’ve been chasing my whole goddamn life.
It’s in my blood now—thick, thrumming, and fucking electric.
The rush from our little game still hasn’t faded.
My sweet doe.
Feral, cornered, still so fucking pretty.
Her steps are light. Not the messy, scrambling fear I kind of expected.
No—she’s thinking. Trying to decide if the woods will save her.
If the snow can hide her footprints before I drag her back, breathless and bruised, into my world.
But after our game, she knows better. She knows exactly who I am now.
What I’ll do and just how fast I’ll catch her.
Still, I fucking dare her to try.
Because dragging her back wouldn’t just be easy—it’d be ecstasy.
She’d fight, scream, claw, and fuck, I’d take it. All of it. Pin her down and make her remember who owns her. She’d break apart for me all over again. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it to herself yet.
The box is still tucked under my arm, tied up in blood-red ribbon like a goddamn love letter written in vengeance. My gift to her. A reminder of what I’ve done. Of what I’ll keep doing, again and again, just to see that look in her eyes.
She’s here now. She’s finally fucking mine, and I’ll never let her forget it.
The SUV waits, black and still and purring low behind the church. Tinted so darkly no one will ever see her. Gassed up and ready. The trees around us are heavy with snow, closing in like a curtain, sealing us off from the world. Perfect. Isolated. Ours.
I open the passenger door and nod toward the seat. “Hop in,” I say, easy and confident, like we’re heading out on a date instead of disappearing into the fucking mountains. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
She just stands there.
Staring.
Like she’s still deciding if it’s worth the risk to run. I can see the calculation flicker in her eyes, the wild spark she’s trying to smother with logic and reason. But logic doesn’t win against me. It never has. And it never will.
She shifts, just a tiny bit, but it’s enough. She thinks she’s fast and can slip past me.
Cute.
She moves.
And so do I.
I catch her around the waist before she takes a second step. She twists, trying to get loose, but I just laugh under my breath and haul her in like it’s nothing. “I told you not to fight me,” I mutter, more amused than annoyed. “You know how that ends.”
She kicks, lands a weak elbow somewhere against my side, but I don’t feel it through my bullet proof vest. She's burning hot in my grip, pissed off and shaking and still so fucking beautiful I could lose my mind.
I swing the door open wider and drop her into the passenger seat like a prize. Her legs tangle against the floor mat, struggling for traction, but I press a firm hand down on her thigh to keep her there. She glares, breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
God, she looks good pissed.
I lean in close, slow and steady, and smirk. “There we go,” I say, brushing a piece of hair from her cheek. “I knew you’d come around.”
Then I shut the door, still grinning like the sick fuck I am—because she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.
I slam the door shut and round the front of the SUV, boots crunching over snow-covered gravel, blood still pounding behind my eyes. My pulse is thunder. I can’t stop grinning.
She fought me.
Good fucking girl.
I slide into the driver’s seat beside her, and the heat hits us both. Warmth from the vents, the faint smell of leather, cedar, and gasoline.
She huffs beside me, arms crossed, lip curled in disgust.
“Don’t pout,” I say as I reach behind her seat. “I brought you something.”
I pull out the bottle of red Gatorade and offer it to her.
The cap’s already been cracked open. It’s not much—just a whisper of something dissolved inside.
Enough to calm her. Take the edge off. Make her compliant.
I’m not trying to knock her out. I want her awake for the drive.
I want her to listen. To hear every goddamn word.
She eyes the bottle like it’s poison.
“It’s just electrolytes,” I say smoothly. “You’ve been running around all night. Screaming. Sweating. Fucking. Gotta stay hydrated, sweetheart.”
“I’m not thirsty,” she snaps, but her lips are cracked. Her voice rasps like it hurts to speak.
I twist the cap fully and hold it out again. “Drink it anyway.”
She grabs it from my hand, just to spite me, and downs a single sip before pushing it into the cupholder with a scowl.
It’s enough.
I watch her settle into the seat, stubborn as ever, her arms hugging her chest like she can keep me out if she folds in tight enough.
But it’s too late for that.
She’s in my world now.
And she’s not getting out.
“Three hours,” I say, my hand gripping the wheel as the engine hums beneath us, low and steady like a promise. “That’s all it takes. Then we’re home.”
She doesn’t answer. Just sits there, fists clenched in her lap like she’s trying to hold herself together.
No tears, no pleading, no dramatic meltdown.
Just silence and attitude. That fire’s still in her.
It’s barely leashed, but fuck, it’s gorgeous.
That edge of defiance she thinks she’s hiding? It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I grin and shift into drive, the SUV crawling out of the church lot and onto the winding road that leads straight into the trees.
“I had this whole thing dialed in,” I say, my voice easy, like we’re just two people going on a long, scenic drive.
“Weather, route, gas. Chains on the tires, heat cranked, blankets in the back. Fully stocked cabin. You’re gonna love it, Sloan.
I mean… Maybe not right away. But eventually? Yeah. You will.”
Still nothing from her.
I glance sideways and drink her in. She’s practically drowning in my coat, curled up like she thinks she can disappear inside it. Her face is all tight with rage, lashes still wet. She looks bottled up and ready to break—and I want to be the one who makes her shatter. Slowly. Deliberately.
“You were never gonna make it in that world, Sloan. You know that, right?” My voice is calm. “They were never going to accept you. Not my parents. Not their country club friends. Not anyone. You weren’t bred for that life, and he didn’t give a fuck about you. Not the way I do.”
She finally speaks, barely audible. “I’m not yours.”
I laugh—quiet, indulgent. “You keep saying that, but you’re in my car, wearing my coat, on the way to my fucking cabin.” I grin, tapping the brakes as we round a curve. “You’ll catch up soon enough.”
She scoffs, turning away to look out the window, but I see the shake in her shoulders. The way her fingers twitch like she’s holding back more words. Maybe curses. Maybe something softer. Doesn’t fucking matter. I’ll take both.
“You should be thanking me,” I continue, fingers tapping the wheel as the forest thickens. The snow is deeper here. Untouched. “I saved you.”
“Thanking you? You fucking killed him!”
“I rescued you.”
She doesn’t reply. Because even she knows I’m right. She knows shit between her and my twin never would’ve worked out.
“And just so we’re clear?” I add, voice low and sure, “It was always me. Every birthday gift. Every sweet surprise you thought he left at your door. That wasn’t him.
My piece of shit brother didn’t remember your favorite perfume.
He didn’t know you liked lilies more than roses.
But I did. I watched. I fucking listened. ”
“You’re lying,” she snaps.
“I’m not,” I murmur. “And don’t go thinking this is about you not being enough. You’re not the problem, Sloan—you never were. You’re fucking perfect. It’s them. It’s always been them. Nothing’s ever good enough for that family. Not me. Not you. You just had the wrong brother.”
“You’re a fucking monster.”
“Maybe,” I agree, not bothered in the slightest. “But I’m your monster now.”
She leans back in her seat, arms crossed tightly. “You think this ends with us skipping off into the mountains and living happily ever after?”
“No,” I say, voice dipping low. “I think it ends with you being mine. Wholly and truly fucking mine. Eventually. Once you remember what it felt like to beg for me in the snow.”
Her face flushes with rage—or shame. Both look the same on her. She opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
“I know you’re angry. Scared. But you have no idea how many nights I watched you walk home, knowing Alex was going to disappoint you.
How many times I parked outside your apartment, jerking off to the sound of you getting dressed in the morning, or showering at night.
You think I missed the way you stared at the dark corners of your room, wishing someone would drag you into them and ruin you properly? ”
“Fuck you,” she whispers, but her voice is trembling now.
“You already did, twice.” I smirk, eyes flicking back to the road. “In the tree farm, you said Alex never touched you like that before. That’s because it wasn’t him. It was me. It was always fucking me.”
Another long pause. She doesn’t speak, and I don’t push. Not yet. Her breath fogs the window. Her pulse flickers at the base of her throat. The trees blur past us, thickening as the elevation rises, snow clinging to their limbs.
Time slips quietly between us.