17. Ash

Chapter Seventeen

ASH

“ I ’m not a walking pharmacy,” Mint snapped.

His crew-cut hair was immune to the dishevelled, harassed visage he was carrying. His shirt was half hanging out of his jeans, his belt having missed one of the loops, and his helmet hung by just its straps around one thick arm. A big green canvas bag was slung over one shoulder with a first-aid bag in one hand and a small box in the other.

“I don’t think my request was that unreasonable.” Lamb shrugged, reaching one hand out for the box.

Mint snatched it back, his cool green eyes molten with frustration and fury. “ ‘Hey, Mint. Get a hold of some prescription drugs, an IV drip, and hospital supplies.’ I expected to do a beer run, not rob the local Walgreens.”

Lamb’s brows knitted into a tight frown, confused by Mint’s wild, spirited actions, as if he could not fathom why such a request might be difficult.

“Well, anyway”—Lamb shrugged him off, raising his hands in mock defeat—“you’ve done your bit. I’ll scratch your favour off my books. Now give me what I asked for.”

“Absolutely not.” Mint shook his head, slinging the medical bag and the big canvas rucksack onto the floor. “If you’re attempting to detox at home without medical supervision, it’s a bad idea. You can’t just google this shit and think you know what you’re doing. It can be stupid dangerous if you do it wrong.”

Lamb glanced down at the bag then slowly back up to his younger brother. “Doesn’t look like you’re here to stop me.”

Mint looked away from Lamb and, for the first time, shot over to me.

I sat on the back of the couch, legs dangling beneath me, swinging. I was sure I looked a state, in nothing but loose joggers, Lamb’s black shirt, and my hair plaited down my back.

Waking after an hour or two of deep sleep, I found myself butt naked with my hair in a single neat plait. It’d taken me a while to orientate myself, but the moment I had, the rush of memories had me out of bed and dressing myself in whatever I could find.

Unable to slide in next to Lamb’s naked body lying out in all its glory, the reminder of what I had done standing at half mass outside the sheets, I had curled up by the window in the cushioned chair again.

I had battled with myself for a while, wondering where the girl whom had so confidently jerked Lamb off had gone. The haze of lust was a powerful one, and I had found myself doing something I had never thought I would. Something I did not know I could. It brought a wild bag of emotions, and an endless conflict with no resolution.

Not to mention my soul slipping out in the confident illusion of the night. I had spoken volumes more of a past I should have buried, not shared. I had opened up about my history for the first time and now felt a bitter wind ring in the hollows of my chest.

Even as the night twinkled on and the sun began to clear the dark sky into a bright but cold day, all I knew was that I did not regret doing it. Only that I did not know what it meant for me next.

“We’ll be starting with four doses a day, and then we’ll whittle it down,” Mint explained, a clipboard appearing in his hands, Lamb over his shoulder, scanning the document. I had missed something while inside my brain, as the two had moved on from combative to collaborative.

“Okay, and at what intervals?” Lamb asked, pointing to something on the chart.

The two began speaking in languages and sentences I did not understand. I watched them for a while, wondering if I had faded into the white background of the house, a ghost in my personal jail cell.

“Do not mind me,” I huffed, earning not even a bit of their attention. “I was just kidnapped and forced here against my will, and now, somehow, I am about to put my body through a world of pain. No need to ask me my opinion or anything …”

That earnt a glance.

Just one.

Unfazed by my comment, Lamb turned back to Mint, showing him something on his phone.

I laughed, but it sounded bitter, throwing my hands into the air and getting up. Lamb had given me a drink over an hour ago, and I had not even known it would have been my last. Lamb was efficient; I would give him that. The second I had made my choice this morning to go ahead with the detox, Lamb had his phone out of his pocket, and Mint was rocking up the next hour with his bag of supplies that looked like he had robbed the closest morgue. Maybe he had.

I was starting to panic that I had been tricked somewhere along the line into agreeing to this stupid plan.

I was aware Lamb was playing his own little Pavlov experiment on me—associating his touches with whiskey and earning my affection in other attentive little ways. I would never tell him I had long stopped needing the whiskey to want his touch. His irresistible little pets and ravishing glances were doing things to me that I could not control, and all I could do was add to the list of things the man was managing to do to me without realising.

Lamb had changed his tactics, but a leopard did not change its spots so easily. Even knowing that, I had let Lamb manage to worm his way in, despite his tricks and the cold truth of who Lamb was at heart. So, how had I let myself think putting my life in his hands was a good idea?

I did not.

That was the problem; I was screwed.

“Let us not do this,” I blurted out, louder than I had anticipated.

Now I had both of their attention.

Lamb’s brows worried into a tight frown.

Covering the short distance between us in two long steps, his deep brown eyes swallowed me whole. Now he was seeing me, a solid, malleable being in front of him. “You’re hesitating.”

“Well, I just …” I began to fumble with my hands, picking at the rough, calloused skin around my fingers. “Is it even worth it? Does it really matter? Can I not stay the way I am?”

Lamb’s hands closed over mine, stopping the nervous gesture. His gaze was searching, looking deep into my soul and seeing much more than they should. “You can,” Lamb responded. “It’ll make my plan more difficult, but if you don’t want to do this, I won’t force you. It means nothing if this isn’t your own decision.”

Returning his searching stare, I saw no judgement or disappointment on his face. It was just as he said. Lamb had no expectations of me, no demands, no requirements.

It was truly my own decision.

“How will it make your plan more difficult?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. Lamb had slung the word “plan” around as if he owned it, and yet I was no closer to figuring out what he meant by it—if he meant anything at all. Lamb was the type to have a plan for everything, from A to Z. It would be alphabetically categorised like his bookshelves, of course.

“A good plan needs two things,” Lamb began. “Means and opportunity. My part will be to provide the means.”

“And the opportunity?” I asked, lured into his lecture.

Lamb’s hand scooped up my chin, his thumb holding my jaw still. A knowing smile pulled his lips into a soft curve. “ You .”

I frowned, wanting to escape his touch, but Lamb’s hold was firm. He refused to let me back away and did not let my eyes leave his.

“What about me?”

“You are my opportunity, Ash.” Lamb’s other hand touched my face, his finger running along the side of my cheek, leaving tingles in its wake. He traced it along the side of my jaw, migrating down the muscles taut in my neck before resting just above my collar bone, finger pressed to my pulse. Somehow, it always ended there, like a pigeon flying home.

“You want to use me as bait?” I scoffed; the notion was almost hilarious to me. Meanwhile, something rattled quietly in my chest.

“It’s not the word I would have used, but you could say that.” Lamb shrugged. “Your father has few weaknesses; you are the most reasonable option to exploit.” He tilted his head to the side as he searched my face, trying to piece together whatever emotions were bubbling up there.

“Speak,” Lamb insisted, a frown wrinkling his brow. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

“I do not know whether to be shocked that you thought it was fine to use someone as bait, or that you think that I would be okay with that. Or that you think I am my father’s weakness.”

“It’s a means to an end.” Lamb shrugged. If he had not held onto it, my jaw would have hit the floor. “I don’t need to justify my means, only getting my end.”

“And that is …?”

“Marrying you.”

A hole opened, and it swallowed me whole. That or a brain tumour had finally taken hold of me, because I swear to God, I was hallucinating. Heat burst across every nerve, energy electrifying my skin. I did not know what I was feeling, but it was uncomfortable and overwhelming, my mind both numb and racing.

“You are not right in the head, are you?” The words stumbled out of my mouth, my own brain struggling through what he said.

Lamb smiled. “No, I’m not,” he agreed. He let go of my chin at long last, and I ducked out of his grasp, my palms cupping my cheeks. They felt cool against my flushed skin, and even crowded against the couch, I could breathe again.

“I haven’t forgotten our bet,” Lamb said. “Whether you choose to detox or not, I will not lose.”

“Oh my God.” I shook my head. “You are serious. I thought you were joking.”

“I’d never joke about such a thing,” Lamb’s smugness faded, and in its place, a steeled expression held his features. “With you, I am honest. Mostly .”

“Forgive me for not realising that, R2-D2.” I rolled my eyes because, really, what was I supposed to think? This man had the emotional capacity of a cactus; he had given me so much expressive whiplash in one conversation that I did not have the brain power nor the capabilities to process it.

A barked laugh shifted the attention of the room as Mint did a valiant job of trying to hide it behind a cough. “So, we still on, or did I just go through the trouble of illegally acquiring prescription drugs for no reason?”

“We are on,” I growled, pressing one hand to Lamb’s chest as I pushed him out of the way. Surprisingly, he gave in easily, allowing me to break past his defences. “I have a bet to win, after all.” I jabbed my finger back over my shoulder, not deigning him even a glance as I headed towards the stairs. I turned back to Mint, crooking a finger. “Follow me.”

Mint picked up his bags, slinging them easily over his wide shoulders, and marched into step behind me.

“ I take it back. I think I will just waste away in a vat of Jack Daniels, thank you.” I groaned, flopping down onto my back. The soft, cushioned bed enveloped me, and I wished it would swallow me whole.

“There’s not many questions left,” Mint reassured me.

“You said that a billion questions ago,” I whined, knowing I was sounding petulant. It had already been a few hours since my last drink, and knowing I was not getting another one, possibly ever again, was making me irritable and jittery. Mint was simply the closest punching bag for my nerves.

Mint sighed, looking up from his clipboard, tugging down the small, thin-framed glances he had rested on his nose. They looked minuscule and fragile on a man of his size, and the juxtaposition had been funny at first. Now, it had lost its charm, along with Mint and his desperation to play 20 Questions a hundred times over.

“I need to find out exactly what I’m dealing with so I can give you the correct dose and set you up a proper detox course.”

“I get that.” I sat back up, folding my arms over my chest. “But you have had my drunk life story six times over; surely, you have enough by now.”

“If you’re not serious about this,” Mint responded, slapping his pen and clipboard onto the buffet beside the sitting chair, “you don’t have to go any further.”

I could not blame Mint for losing his patience. I was not being the easiest of patients, could not say I ever had been. I had not been the most forthcoming with information; some things I did not remember, and others felt so tedious that I could not fathom their importance. Mint, however, had a different opinion.

“I am sorry; I am being a dick.” I sighed, rubbing my hand over my eyes. The dull headache had already surfaced just as the quiz began, and it was now drumming a steady beat behind my eyes. “Where were we?”

“The final question.” Mint ignored the sheet he had spent the last half an hour writing on. “Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“Detox isn’t an easy thing.” Mint sank back into his chair, his pose relaxed, but his eyes and tone were anything but. They were strict but sincere. “It’s not just a single permanent choice made here and now. This is a choice you will have to keep making over and over again. Anytime you’re around alcohol, you’ll have to choose not to drink. Anytime you feel thirsty, you’ll have to choose not to drink. Anytime you’re in a supermarket, an off-license, a bar, a pub, the clubhouse, anywhere with even a small selection of alcohol, you will have to choose not to drink.” He paused. “Are you sure you can do that?”

“I …” I paused.

Was I?

I might have agreed to the detox, but there was no surety I had really thought it through. I would never be touching alcohol again. That last drink would be just that. My last. Throughout the rest of my life, however short, I would never touch a drink again.

Alcohol had been an escape for me. Something to kill time, and a way to just disappear from the world. As time went on, and the hangovers got heavier and being sober felt worse, I just let the thorns of my addiction sink in further. Soon, the search for a drink in every town and city I went to became my normal, and a habit was built. One I had no desire or reason to ever break.

It was not like I had come across any higher purpose to change myself or a desire to become normal. In the last few weeks, the only thing that had changed was Lamb’s new control over my actions. I did not hate it entirely. We had been wrapped up in a little world where I did not have to try to find a solid piece of cardboard to insulate me from the wet floor of the street or find food in a place where I was not even allowed to look in through the window. I might have chosen to wither away in that life, but it did not make it any less miserable. Any less cruel. Any less cold.

“It is not often that I get to make my own choices,” I murmured, my thoughts slipping out loud. I dabbled somewhere between the deep dredges of my mind and the awareness that another human sat in front of me, listening. “The few I did make were not great.” I thought back to how I had left the club. Left those I had cared about. Even going back in time, my choices would not change. But it was less that I wanted to and more that I must . For the safety of those I cared about, it had to be what I wanted, even if I wished it was not. “If I can make at least one more good choice in my life, this one is as good as any …”

Mint did not respond at first, and it took a while for my eyes to gravitate back to his face. His gaze was searching, looking somewhere deep and far away through my face, but I did not hate it. It did not feel prying or judgemental, just present.

“I am sure my reason is not a strong enough one—”

“No,” Mint interrupted, reaching back for his clipboard and pen. “It’ll do.” He took a few quiet moments to scribble some more onto his papers, the sole noise carried on the breeze slipping through the open window.

I looked out as dusk began to settle on the neighbouring houses, a few indoor lights flickering on as the darkness of looming winter weighed on the day’s tail.

“Do you think I can do it?” I asked without thought. I did not expect an answer, nor was I sure I wanted one. I was determined to follow through when I chose something, even if those times did not come often. But choosing to do something and being able to complete it were different.

“You can.”

I spun toward the source of the voice not in front of me but behind.

Lamb leant in the open doorway, his black slacks and white shirt hanging loose off his frame. He suited the clothes well and oozed that effortless chic, the material clinging in the right places to allude to the well-kept, tight body beneath while blurring all the spicier details. A tease, well and truly.

He pushed off the doorway, walking barefoot around the edge of the bed before stopping at my side. His fingers grazed my cheek, toying with my hair like it was his newest obsession. Warmth spread across my skin at even the softest connection.

“I meant my words,” Lamb reiterated. “If you choose this, I will make sure you do not fail.”

“How are you so sure?” I shook off his grip, frowning at the confidence on his face like an unmoving, irreplaceable mask.

“Because every moment for the rest of your life will belong to me,” he answered. “I will be your strength when you have none. Your stubbornness in moments of weakness. Your power and drive to do anything and everything you desire. I can become that for you. And I will.”

I was shocked.

“Where do you get these lines from?” I shook my head, trying to make sense of what exactly had just come out of his clever, talented mouth. “Did your inbuilt algorithm text search for that? Because if so, that is cheating.”

Lamb’s only response was a small quirk of a smile before turning to Mint, rendering my argument invisible and forgotten.

Mint was keenly skimming over Lamb’s words, but I could see from the slight taut of his brows and lips that he had also been shocked by his brother’s cinematic speech. From the interactions I remember in the club, it would be weird for them to see this side of Lamb; he was a trickster and a troublemaker as much as he was their capable vice president. The AI had masked well, but since my arrival, it had become corrupted, and now it seemed like he did not care who saw his robotic persona underneath.

“Got everything you need?” Lamb queried, looking over Mint’s clipboard at his scribbling. He squinted and frowned before Mint pulled the clipboard protectively to his wide, muscular chest.

“Yeah, just give me a few to get everything we need set up, and then we can start.” He rose from the chair, brushing past Lamb who made no effort to move an inch away from me, and began rooting through his mountain of luggage.

“You never answered.” Lamb looked back at me, his hand resting on my head and soothing down over my plait. His eyes followed the gesture, an out-of-place softness to them.

I swatted it away.

“Answer what?”

Lamb reached to pet my head again, undeterred by my strike.

“The bet …” He soothed his hand down over my shoulder, sliding his fingers through my soft, brushed hair. “Either I fail to free you and you leave, or I succeed and you marry me.”

“As simple as that,” I scoffed.

“As simple as that,” Lamb repeated, his tone carrying none of my sarcasm, only a lightly amused tone.

I rolled my eyes, realising that Lamb was becoming a dog, and this would be his metaphorical bone.

It was not that I doubted Lamb’s capabilities, but I had been scarred too many times from hope. Had too many fantasies that I would be able to escape the fate set out for me. I was to die by my father’s hands, whether that took him one or a thousand tries. It had simply become a matter of when.

Even so, there was no harm in agreeing to Lamb’s outrageous bet. Only he would be the one to be disappointed when this all fell through. A shame for him to lose his streak, betting against impossible odds. It was not like him at all.

But fate makes fools of us at least once in our lives. This would merely be his turn.

I extended my open palm and watched his smile brighten on his otherworldly face. If I had thought he was handsome before, then I had been wrong. If I could, I would never sell that smile, not even for a pretty coin.

“Bet.”