3. Liam

CHAPTER 3

LIAM

T he Emerald Serpent is a fucking cliché, all dark wood and tarnished brass, the kind of place where bad decisions are born and bred. The air is thick with stale smoke and spilled whisky, the low murmur of gruff voices like white noise in my ears.

I down my third shot of Jameson, barely feeling the burn. It's been days since I walked out of Asher's diner, my body still thrumming with the aftershocks of our explosive encounter. I can't close my eyes without seeing his face, those soft pink lips parted on a gasp, his honey eyes blown black with want. It's enough to drive a man insane.

"You look like shit, brother." Finn drops onto the stool beside me, signaling for a drink. His ginger hair is cropped close to his skull, his blue eyes sharp and assessing.

"Feel like shit," I mutter, toying with my empty glass. "This job is getting to me."

Finn's brow furrows, concern etching deep grooves around his mouth. "The Davis kid still giving you trouble?"

I barked a harsh laugh. "You could say that."

"Want me to have a word with him?" Finn cracks his knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the close air. "Soften him up a bit?"

"No!" The word is out before I can stop it, too loud, too vehement. Finn's eyes widen, surprise and dawning suspicion filling his gaze.

"Liam," he says slowly, "tell me you're not getting attached to this guy."

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache. "I'm not a fucking idiot, Finn. I know the rules."

"Do you?" Finn leans in, his voice dropping to a tense whisper. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're about two seconds away from handing your balls over to some twink on a silver platter."

Rage flashes through me, white-hot and blinding. I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved, my fist tangled in the front of Finn's shirt, hauling him up to snarl in his face.

"You shut your fucking mouth," I hiss, my vision pulsing red at the edges. "You don't know a goddamn thing about it."

Finn's eyes are wide, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "Easy, brother. I'm just looking out for you."

I shove him away with a disgusted grunt, my chest heaving. Fuck. I'm losing it, letting Asher get under my skin, making me weak. I need to get my head on straight, remember who I am, what I am.

A monster. A killer. A man who doesn't deserve softness, or sunshine, or second chances.

"I need some air," I mutter, tossing a crumpled bill on the bar. Finn opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but I silence him with a glare. "Don't fucking follow me."

I burst out of the bar like a bat out of hell, the chill autumn air a slap to the face. My feet carry me down rain-slicked streets, past boarded-up storefronts and tattered flyers fluttering in the breeze. I don't have a destination in mind, just a gnawing, aching need to move, to outrun the tangle of emotions clawing at my throat.

It's not until I see the familiar neon sign glowing up ahead that I realize where I've ended up. Sunshine Diner. Of fucking course.

I hesitate for a long moment, my pulse pounding in my ears. I should turn around, walk away, put this whole twisted fascination behind me. But even as the thought forms, I know it's futile. I'm drawn to Asher like a moth to flame, helpless to resist the lure of his warmth, his light.

With a muttered curse, I push through the door, the tinkling bell overhead like a mocking laugh. The diner is nearly empty this late, just a few straggling customers hunched over cups of coffee. Asher is nowhere to be seen, but I can hear his voice drifting from the kitchen, that low, musical timbre I've come to crave like a drug.

I slide into my usual stool at the counter, my hands clenched tight on the worn Formica. Mia shoots me a suspicious glare from the other end of the counter, but I ignore her, my attention focused on the swinging door that separates me from Asher.

"I told you, I'm not interested." Asher's voice is louder now, strained and tight with discomfort. "Please leave before I call the police."

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart." A man's voice, slurred and wheedling. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

My blood runs cold, then hot. I'm off the stool in a heartbeat, shouldering through the kitchen door with murder in my veins.

A burly, middle-aged man in a rumpled suit has Asher backed up against the prep table, his meaty paw wrapped around Asher's slender wrist. Asher's face is pale, his eyes wide with fear and revulsion, but he's standing his ground, his chin lifted in stubborn defiance.

"I believe he told you to leave," I say, my voice a low, deadly rasp.

The man starts, his bleary eyes swinging to me. "Who the fuck are you?"

I don't bother to answer. In two swift strides, I'm on him, my fist crunching into his nose with a sickening crack. He howls, stumbling back, blood gushing down his chin. I follow, relentless, slamming him against the wall with a forearm across his throat.

"Touch him again, and I'll break every bone in your fucking body," I snarl, my face inches from his. "Understand?"

He nods frantically, his eyes rolling in terror. I release him with a shove, watching in disgust as he scrambles for the door, trailing blood and snot.

"Liam." Asher's voice is soft, almost wondering. I turn to find him staring at me, his eyes wide and luminous in his pale face. "Are you okay?"

A harsh bark of laughter escapes me. "Am I okay? Jesus, sunshine, I should be asking you that."

Asher shrugs, a shaky smile tugging at his lips. "I had it under control. But thank you. For stepping in."

He takes a hesitant step toward me, his gaze dropping to my hand. "You're bleeding."

I glance down, noting the split knuckles with distant surprise. "It's nothing."

"Let me clean it up." Asher reaches for me, his fingers grazing my wrist. The touch sends a jolt of heat shivering through me, my breath catching in my throat.

"You don't have to do that," I rasp, even as I let him tug me toward the sink. "I've had worse."

Asher's jaw tightens, his eyes flashing. "That doesn't make it okay."

He turns on the tap, guiding my hand under the cool stream. I hiss at the sting, but the pain is secondary to the sensation of Asher's touch, his skin like velvet against mine.

"Why do you do this?" he asks softly, not meeting my eyes as he dabs at my knuckles with a clean rag. "The violence, the intimidation. Is it really what you want?"

I'm quiet for a long moment, watching the play of emotions across his expressive face. There's fear there, and wariness, but also a breathtaking compassion, a desire to understand.

"I don't know if I want it," I say at last, my voice rough. "But it's what I am. What I'm good at."

Asher's fingers still on my hand, his eyes finding mine. "I don't believe that. I think there's more to you than just brutality and anger."

A bitter laugh scrapes my throat. "You don't know anything about me, sunshine."

"Then tell me." Asher's gaze is steady, unflinching. "Help me understand."

I stare at him, my pulse pounding in my ears. It's on the tip of my tongue to deflect, to push him away with a cutting remark or a crude come-on. But something in his eyes, that bright, unwavering sincerity, cuts through my defenses like a blade.

"My father was a mean drunk," I say abruptly, the words like broken glass in my throat. "He used to beat the shit out of me and my brothers. My ma too, before she split."

Asher makes a soft, pained sound, his grip tightening on my hand. I swallow hard, forcing myself to continue.

"Declan, my older brother, he looked out for me. Taught me how to fight, how to be strong. When he joined the O'Connors, I followed him. It was the only way I knew how to survive."

I shrug, my shoulders tight with tension. "Violence is all I've ever known. It's in my blood, my bones. I can't change that."

Asher is quiet for a long moment, his thumb stroking over my knuckles in soothing circles. "I'm sorry," he says at last, his voice thick with emotion. "No one should have to go through that. Especially not a child."

I blink at him, surprise and something fragile and aching unfurling in my chest. No one has ever said those words to me before. No one has ever looked at me with such open, unjudging compassion.

"We've all got our scars," Asher says softly, his eyes distant. "My dad died when I was six. Cancer. It nearly destroyed my mom. She threw herself into work, into providing for us. But she was never really present, you know?"

He meets my gaze, his smile sad and crooked. "I learned early on that if I wanted love, affection, I'd have to find it elsewhere. In my friends, in this diner. In making people happy, even just for a little while."

Fuck. The urge to pull him into my arms, to shield him from every hurt, every sorrow, is nearly overwhelming. But I hold myself still, lets him speak, knowing he needs this as much as I do.

"We're not so different, Liam," he says, his voice firmer now, almost fierce. "We've both been shaped by our pasts, our pain. But we get to choose what we do with that. How we move forward."

He takes a deep breath, his gaze locking with mine. "I choose kindness. I choose hope. Even when it's hard, even when the world tells me it's foolish. And I think, deep down, that's what you want too. A chance to be more than what you've been told you are."

Tears prickle hot and sharp behind my eyes, my throat tight with a lifetime of unspoken grief. "Asher," I rasp, my voice cracking on his name. "I don't know if I can be that man. If I even deserve the chance to try."

Asher's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch achingly tender. "You do," he whispers, his breath soft against my lips. "You deserve everything, Liam. Let me show you."

And then he's kissing me, his mouth warm and sweet and so fucking perfect I could die from it. I groan, my arms banding around his waist, hauling him closer. He comes easily, his body molding to mine like it was made to be there.

I pour everything into that kiss, all my longing, my desperation, the fragile flicker of hope igniting in my chest. Asher meets me with equal fervor, his fingers tangling in my hair, his tongue sliding hot and slick against mine.

It's a revelation, a benediction, a promise of something I barely dare to name. But before I can lose myself entirely, a harsh, mocking voice shatters the moment like a hammer through glass.

"Well, isn't this cozy."

We jerk apart, Asher's eyes wide and startled, my heart seizing in my chest. Because there, lounging in the kitchen doorway with a sneer on his cruel, handsome face, is Declan.

My brother. My boss. The man who will destroy everything I love, everything I am, if he discovers the traitorous desires of my heart.

"Declan," I say, my voice a ragged croak. "What are you doing here?"

He pushes off the doorframe, his movements lazy and deliberate. "I could ask you the same thing, little brother. I thought you were supposed to be collecting from this pretty piece, not playing tonsil hockey with him."

Asher makes a choked sound, his fingers digging into my arm. I can feel him trembling, fear and defiance warring in his rigid posture.

"It's not what it looks like," I say, the lie ash on my tongue. "I was just-"

"Save it," Declan cuts me off, his voice like a whip crack. "I know exactly what this is. You've gone soft, let this twink get under your skin. It's pathetic."

Rage and terror churn in my gut, my vision pulsing red at the edges. "Leave him out of this, Declan. It's between you and me."

Declan's smile is a cruel, twisted thing. "Oh, I don't think so. You brought this piece of fluff into our business, made him a liability. And you know how I deal with liabilities."

He reaches into his coat, and the glint of metal sends ice flooding my veins. I move before I can think, shoving Asher behind me, my body a shield between him and my brother's wrath.

"Declan, don't," I rasp, my hands raised in a futile gesture of supplication. "Please. I'll do anything you want, just let him go."

Declan's eyes narrow, his head cocking in mock consideration. "Anything, huh? Well, isn't that interesting."

He lowers the gun, but the malice in his gaze only sharpens. "I'll tell you what, Liam. You walk away now, leave this piece of ass in the rearview where he belongs, and I'll let him live. Hell, I'll even let you keep your place in the family, though God knows you don't deserve it."

I can feel Asher's breath hitch against my back, his fingers clutching at my shirt. Every instinct screams at me to turn and pull him into my arms, to shield him from the poison of my world.

But I know, with a sick, sinking certainty, that if I do that, Declan will destroy him. He'll make Asher suffer in ways I can't even imagine, just to teach me a lesson, to punish me for my weakness.

There's only one way to keep him safe. Only one way to protect the fragile, impossible dream kindling in my battered heart.

I have to let him go.

I close my eyes, bile rising sharp and hot in my throat. "Okay," I rasp, the word like broken glass on my tongue. "You win, Declan. I'll walk away."

"Liam, no," Asher whispers, his voice thick with tears. "Please don't do this."

I turn to face him, drinking in the sight of his beautiful, stricken face. Memorizing every line, every curve, every sunlit inch of him.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice cracking on the words. "But I can't be what you need, sunshine. I can't be the man you deserve."

Asher shakes his head frantically, his hands fisting in my shirt. "That's not true. I know it isn't."

I close my eyes, letting myself savor his touch one last time. "You said I get to choose what I do with my pain," I whisper, my forehead resting against his. "This is me choosing. Choosing to keep you safe, even if it means losing you."

A broken sob escapes him, his tears hot and wet against my skin. "Liam," he chokes out, my name a plea and prayer on his lips.

I capture his mouth in one last, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of love and longing into the press of my lips, the glide of my tongue. And then I'm wrenching myself away, my soul screaming in silent agony as I turn and walk out of the diner.

Out of the warmth, the light, the sweetness of everything Asher is. Everything I'll never be.

I don't look at Declan as I brush past him, my shoulders rigid with the effort of holding myself together. But I can feel his smirk, his vicious satisfaction, like a knife between my ribs.

"There's my boy," he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "I knew you'd come to your senses."

I don't answer. I can't. If I open my mouth, I'm afraid I'll start screaming and never stop.

So I let him steer me out into the cold, empty night, the taste of Asher still sweet on my tongue, the ghost of his touch seared into my skin.

And with every step I take away from the only light I've ever known, I feel myself fading. Turning to stone and shadow.