16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Asher

I stare straight ahead, doing my best to clear the blurred vision from my eyes. This literally couldn't have come at a worse time. Well, not true. I could have been summoned two hours ago. Now, that would have been interesting.

After Skyla hung up the phone, I towel dried my hair as best as I could. Ronan found me an extra pair of jeans and a button-down to slip on. We are practically the same height, but it doesn't hide the fact that these clothes are most definitely not tailor-made for me.

Something tells me though, that if he is summoning both Skyla and I in the middle of the day, clothes will be the last thing on his mind. Glancing over to the seat beside me, I watch Skyla's knee bounce nervously as her hands twist together in her lap. For a second, I reach my hand out. To do what, I'm not sure. It's not like I can offer her any comfort, nor would she accept any even if I could.

Blowing out a rough breath, I throw my head against the headrest and close my eyes.

Why does everything have to be so fucking hard when it comes to her?

I haven't missed the looks of concern Wesley has been giving Skyla since he picked us up. He thinks he's discreet, and maybe he is. But when you've been watching someone as close as I watch Skyla, you don't miss a thing.

When we pull through the gates and up to the main house, it feels as though a lead ball drops in my stomach. I do my best to hide my unease, putting on a mask that I've perfected over the years.

I'm out of the car as soon as Wesley parks, making my way to Skyla's side to find him already there. He offers a hand to help her out of the car, and she takes it. When her feet are on the ground, she gives him a small smile that he returns, though that look of concern never leaves his gaze. Neither does his hand.

My eyes flick down to where they are still holding on to each other before he speaks.

"I'm going to wait here. I'll be ready to take you home whenever you're able."

"Me too, right, Wes?" I say, with more of a sneer than a teasing smile.

His eyes come to mine as he nods.

"Of course. Both of you."

"Thank you," Skyla says, squeezing his hand once before she drops it.

I step up beside her, offering her my arm, and surprisingly, she takes it. No complaints. That's progress, right? Or maybe it's just self-awareness of the image we must display to my father. Either way.

We begin making our way up the steps when I lower my voice.

"How do you think your boyfriends will feel about you adding another one to the roster?"

Her head whips over to me, brows furrowed.

"Asher, you and I are not—"

I scoff, cutting her off. "No, I meant Wesley."

"Wesley?" she echoes.

"He's into you, and based on the look in your eyes, you really don't hate him."

She shrugs, her voice lowering as we get to the front door.

"There are a lot worse people to spend hateful energy on," she says, her eyes intent on me in a way that makes my chest ache.

Though, I'd never admit it to anyone.

The door opens before us, one of my father's waitstaff stepping back with a bow before we weave our way through the doorway. We don't make it far before we pause in the foyer to see Henry and my father staring down at us with scowls that send a chill down my spine.

Fuck.

"Hello, Father," I say carefully. "Henry."

Neither one of them acknowledges my greeting, and I blink hard as if that was going to chase away the slight buzz I still have. I feel myself sway on my feet for a second, but I right myself quickly.

"Are you fucking drunk?" my father spits.

"No," I defend.

I was drunk, technically. I'm at least halfway sober now.

"Oh?" he laughs. "So, now you lie to me. My boy, I don't know what has happened to you, but you are the biggest disappointment that has ever walked this god forsaken earth."

His words don't phase me; they can't penetrate the thick armor I've spent years building for myself.

"What mess have you made today, Asher?" he asks, my name sounding like acid on his tongue.

I keep silent, knowing it was rhetorical. He crosses the distance between us, opening his hand and slapping me across the face. A soft gasp of shock escapes Skyla, and I keep my head turned so that I don't have to see her fear or pity.

"Answer me!" my father roars.

"Richard Knox was threatening to hurt my wife," I grit through clenched teeth. "He was very publicly talking about how he would take a turn at her, before burying her in the cemetery where she belongs."

My father and Henry share a look. It isn't in concern for Skyla's well-being. They don't give a fuck about her. What they don't like is that a member's son, not even a legacy, is making threats to the Brethren's princess before she's even been able to bear an heir.

"And what did you do?" my father asks.

I pause for a moment before deciding it's best to be honest; he'll know soon enough.

"I beat the living shit out of him in the middle of the courtyard."

Another hit comes to the other side of my face; this time, it's a fist. I stumble a few steps before I feel small hands reach for my arm, steadying me. I want to tell her not to touch me, not to paint a target on her back as well, but my father is already laying into me before I can try.

"You do not handle private matters publicly! Do you see me doling your punishment in front of the masses? No! Private matters deserve private settings. When you lose control, you make us look weak!" he spits.

I feel his hand dig into the back of my hair as he forces me to look at him.

"Do you know how embarrassed I was to get a phone call from Brenton? He was bitching and shouting about his little cunt's hand for over an hour."

"She hurt Skyla," I answer.

My father's eyes turn to her, a lethal look in them.

"It seems all of your misbehavior lately has revolved around this girl. Did I make a mistake in selecting her? Because she seems to be turning you into a mannerless animal."

"No," I snap, forcing his eyes back to me. "It's nothing to do with her. I just can't stand the thought of people disobeying me, going after my property," I say, the words heavy on my tongue as I spin the lie easily.

My father laughs, shaking his head before he gestures behind me. He forces me to sit backwards in a chair, my chest plastered to the back of it, before Henry comes around with rope, tying my hands together around the chair.

Oh god.

"You really thought I was going to buy that bullshit?" he says on a dying chuckle.

I whip my head over my shoulder to see a butler hand my father a long black whip. One that I've only seen once, one that I will never forget. I earned myself three lashes when I was six, because I accidently interrupted a Brethren meeting while Liam and I were playing hide and go seek.

"How many?" I ask, gritting my teeth together.

"However many it takes to break down your disobedience," he says before I feel two hands on me, tearing the back of my shirt open.

"No!" Skyla screams before the first lash.

My back bows as much as humanely possible, pain contorting my face. Another lash comes before another, and a sobbed cry chokes out into the room. My head turns to the noise to see Henry grappling with his daughter, his hand over her mouth and arm banded around her waist as he holds her back. Those wide, bright green eyes are watching me in horror, and for a moment, I hold on to the comfort of them before the next lash cuts against new skin.