Chapter 11

11

ASHER

I didn't sleep at all last night, despite the comforts of my master bedroom at the penthouse, and I wish it was just an off night, but it wasn't. Not even my king-size bed and stupidly high thread count sheets could placate me, not when there has been a knot in my stomach since the moment Elle and Cassie drove away from the house yesterday and left me behind.

At least last night I knew which demons were keeping me awake, and it's not like it's unusual. I am no stranger to not being around the girls, I travel for business all the time, so we are all accustomed to it, especially when I always choose to sacrifice myself being away from Cassie over Elle. Hell, I had to miss the first couple of years of my daughter's life to keep up a ruse with my father in order to protect her, but this is different. They aren't just in another town, they are halfway around the world and I am too far away to protect them. Which I know is a ridiculous notion, they have Marcus, and Zack, and Max and his team, who I know would protect them with their lives, but none of them are me.

My stomach burns with annoyance, as I am forced to sit behind my desk and listen to my client drone on and on about the vandalizing of his house and the suspected culprits, and I know I sh ould be listening, yet all I can do is fantasize about smashing his face into my desk and watching him bleed. He is one of the reasons I am not with my daughter right now, one of the obstacles in my way, and right now I don't care about his fucking problems.

My schedule of clients, which was apparently too fixed and important to move, included this meeting with Mr. Justin Baxter today, and another on Monday with Miss Sierra Banks. Mr. Baxter has come to us with countless issues over the last few months, and the only thing I have deduced is that he's a grumpy prick who needs to fucking relax. Most of our meetings are me just listening to him ramble about his latest issue, which is always dealt with before he even leaves my office, and me telling him to install cameras that he refuses to pay for. Same bullshit, different day .

Miss Sierra Banks however, is my newest client, and after some digging into her background I've confirmed her story of a jilted ex-husband who is stalking her. Hence, why I accepted her onto my already packed schedule. If there's one thing I truly hate, it's men going after women. Yet I am feeling far from kind towards her, after Eliza informed me that she called early this morning to reschedule our meeting to today.

The first thing I did was try and alter my travel arrangements, but my emails to Max were futile as he told me to take it up with Jace who is leaving today. An idea that seemed more tempting than my current travel plans, but I knew how it would be received, and as much as I wish I could tag along with Conrad and his new-found little family, it seems I am stuck around waiting to leave with Blackwell on Monday like originally planned.

By the time I usher Mr. Baxter from my office I can feel a headache weighing down on my brow as I bid him goodbye, and turn to Eliz a with a scowl.

"What was it this time, Mr. Donovan? Toilet paper on his lawn? Dog shit on his doorstep?" She asks with a teasing smile, and I can't help the small curl of my own mouth at her questions.

"Nothing as inventive as that unfortunately," I sigh, before adding, "Someone spray painted the word asshole on his garage door."

Eliza laughs with a shake of her head, as she takes his file from me to put away. "Would you like me to track them down and send a gift basket?" She jokingly asks, but for a moment I am half-tempted.

Footsteps approach behind us as I shake my head at her, yet before I can respond, a new voice cuts in, but it isn't directed at us.

"You have the audacity to tell me this isn't about money when you have one of the richest men in the country standing right there," the voice scoffs, and I turn towards it, recognizing its owner instantly.

Josh Peters, the prodigal son of Fairfield, a town not too far from here that is run by his father, Mayor Hugo Peters. I know Josh from our time in high school, he didn't attend Hallows Prep with me, but went to a school of a similar background in his town, and we often found ourselves in the same circles at sporting events and parties. I've heard his dad is a real piece of work, but not as bad as the late Mayor of Black Hallows, yet that doesn't answer why his son is now here.

"Josh Peters," I nod, abandoning my conversation with Eliza and moving to stand next to Lincoln, who is still staring at Josh intently, as if he wants to rip his head off.

It's clear they have just finished up a meeting, for what I'm not sure, and when I don't say anything else after his name, Josh's focu s snaps back to Lincoln. "The world revolves around money, you can get people to do anything for the right price," he snaps, his anger not showing any restraint, and for the first time Lincoln pulls his gaze from him to me, looking between us both with that keen eye of his.

Yet I don't feel scrutinized, more like Lincoln is looking into the deepest, darkest parts of my soul, and not backing away, before he breaks my stare and sighs, "And with the right power you can change that world."

His words shouldn't placate me, they shouldn't make my cheeks feel suddenly warm and erase the feelings of discomfort I've had since I left him at the house yesterday, but they do, and I can't put my finger on the reason why.

Those same words also seem to force back Josh's anger, as he absorbs them in his mind and looks at me again, and asks, "Are the rumors true?" A question that can only lead to one thing, given the rumors of the Donovan downfall remain rampant to this day, despite how hard we tried to contain them.

I smirk, not shying away from the memories of the day my father and brother were killed as I shrug, "Some of them are true, and some of them are a lot kinder than the truth." I don't let my tone hide the feelings I had toward my family, wishing I could go back in time and make them pay an even higher price for their sins, but you know, I was busy getting shot in the chest and trying not to die.

The scar beneath my shirt flares with a phantom burn as my gaze collides with Lincoln's once more, and it looks as if he remembers that moment more than I do, as if he knows my scars more than I do.

"I'll get it done this weekend," Josh cuts in, reminding me of his presence, but my focus remains on Lincoln, who just nods.

"Then I'll speak to you soon," he tosses back, turning on his heel and heading back towards his office without another word, as if he were desperate to get away, leaving Josh and I alone.

Yet my focus remains on Lincoln, or I should say on the empty space he has just vacated as if my mind is willing him to come back, for what, I'm not sure, but with no such luck, I turn to find Josh Peters staring at me. Feeling a little like I was caught stealing, I turn without saying goodbye and head to the comfort of my own office, wishing I could just leave for the day, but as I slump down at my desk, my eyes flick over my calendar, finding Miss Banks' name taking up my entire afternoon.

With a sigh I shoot Eliza an email to order me some lunch, and check not just Elle and Cassie's trackers, but Marcus and Zack's too, not surprised to find them all lit up together alongside, Helen, Arthur, Lily, and Logan's, which should make me relax, but if anything it only increases my tension about being away from them. My eyes linger on Logan's name longer than necessary, mildly wondering how he feels about being on the other side of the world to his boyfriend, but before that thought can take place my phone rings and I am forced to focus back on work.

The next hour is spent catching up on emails and barely eating my lunch, before all too soon Eliza is knocking on my door and leading in the second obstacle of my work day, Miss Sierra Banks.

Miss Banks smiles at Eliza in thanks, her history with her ex-husband not jading her as much as you'd imagine, as she storms her way into the room and takes a seat in front of my desk.

"Mr. Donovan, it's good to see you again, thank you so much for changing things around for me on such short notice," she beams, her eyes trailing over me in a way I have become accustomed to with women since I was fourteen years old.

Swallowing the bile that threatens to force its way up my throat, I slip my mask onto my face and smile back. "Not a problem at all, Miss Banks, I'm happy to help," I lie, pushing away from my desk to retrieve her file from the cabinet that sits in the corner of my office.

"Your assistant said you are heading on vacation next week?" She questions from behind me, and I nod as I rifle through the drawer looking for what I need.

"Yes, I am attending a friend's wedding which is taking me out of town for the week," I reply mindlessly, snatching up what I need, and heading back to my desk.

"I wish I was escaping out of town, especially given my current situation," she sighs sadly, and I can't say I blame her, being stalked by someone you once loved must be a tough pill to swallow, yet she takes it in stride.

She reminds me of Elle in a way, fierce and still full of fire, but if you look close enough, you can see the darkness in her stare that circumstances have caused her. It makes me want to make her ex-husband pay, it makes me want to make every man that has ever hurt a woman pay, and for a moment my mind flashes to Lincoln and how he spends his nights. Is this how he feels? Enraged and helpless, and just so sick of letting evil men win.

Sierra is still speaking, but my mind is lost to Blackwell until I catch just the tail end of her sentence. "I mean five murders, it's just so scary."

I shake my thoughts away as I force myself to focus back on her. "Murders? What murders?"

Her sad smile softens. "Oh my, didn't you hear? Five men have been killed, slaughtered really, and the police think we might have a serial killer on our hands." She reaches into her bag pulling out a newspaper before handing it over my desk for me to read.

My eyes scan the page quickly, the words sending anger through my veins, as I read about the five scumbags, all with a criminal background against women who have been erased from the earth. I t doesn't take a genius to know what's happened to them, just the inside knowledge of a Rebel with a vendetta.

How the fuck could he be so stupid?

We know better than to leave a trail of crimes behind for anyone to find, or at least I thought we did, but as I stare down at the article I can't help but feel stupid for thinking he could handle his so-called bullshit mission.

With Sierra's eyes still burning into me as she watches me take in the words on the page, I have to push down my rage and shake my head softly. "How unfortunate," I grit out, folding the newspaper and passing it back over to her.

"I know, I mean what kind of monster could do such hideous things to another human being?" She replies, sadness coating her entire being, but her words have that anger flickering inside of me once more.

"Well they weren't exactly innocent, and monsters aren't born, they are made, so maybe the person who is doing this was raised by someone even worse," I snap back, my usual polished persona I save for clients slipping ever so slightly.

A flicker of something flashes in her eyes, but it's gone quicker than it came as she smiles sadly, "Oh I know all about monsters, Mr. Donovan, it's why I'm here after all."

It's that sad smile, and those eyes swimming with memories of darkness, that have me scaling back my anger and focusing back on the work at hand. I apologize quietly, before pulling out her file and showing her some of the things I uncovered about her ex-husband and his movements. We go over the places he has followed her to and how, and some precautions and actions to take to ensure we can bring this before a judge and get him criminally charged with stalking.

The meeting lasts almost two hours, bleeding into the late afternoon, and the entire time my anger remains simmering just below the surface, counting the seconds until she leaves. So much so tha t the moment she exits the building, I am already turning and storming towards Lincoln's office.

When I blaze through his door he startles slightly behind his desk, as the door ricochets off the wall and slams itself shut again, closing us inside. Not that I'd care if we had an audience for this, I already gave him a warning a couple of months ago, but clearly he didn't listen.

I walk around his desk, his chair turning toward me with every step I take, a look of confusion in his eyes until I am on him, slamming him to the floor and pinning him beneath me. "I warned you," I seethe. "I fucking warned you, Blackwell, at Arthur's party I told you to contain your rage, to stop what you were doing before it was too late, but you didn't listen, did you? I thought you were better than this, smarter than this, and I definitely thought you were more adept at covering your tracks."

I'm panting by the time I have finished speaking, and Lincoln's eyes are wild with an emotion I can't quite put my finger on as he smirks, "Well as much as I love the compliments and being pinned beneath you, Dark Prince, do you care to elaborate as to what the fuck you are talking about?"

Pushing off him, I scramble back to my feet and lean down to his computer, tapping away until the news article appears on his screen. I feel his presence behind me, as I snatch the monitor pushing it towards him. "I'm talking about this," I snap, but his focus is already off me and on the screen, his eyes rapidly scanning the words in both confusion and wonder.

I watch as he reads the entirety of the article as if he is committing it to memory, before he straightens back to his full height beside me and shifts his gaze back to mine. "You think I killed them?"

A scoff leaves me before I can stop it. "Do you expect me to believe you didn't? Five men consisting of abusers and rapists, Lincol n, are you really going to stand there and lie to me?"

This time it's him pinning me, his desk pressing into the back of me as his body crowds into my space and he curses darkly, "I might be a vicious and evil monster, a murderer, but I have never once fucking lied to you, Asher."

My heart thunders at his words, at how he so clearly sees himself, and without warning my hand presses into his chest, yet instead of pushing him away like it's my instinct to do so, it just lingers there as I breathe, "Being a murderer doesn't make you a monster, Lincoln, we're all guilty of taking a life in one way or another."

A resigned sigh leaves him, as his eyes flick between me and the article still on the screen. "Yeah, well, I've got more victims than most," he grunts, before dropping his stare to where my hand still lingers against his chest. I snatch it away instantly as if it's on fire, and I swear I see a look of disappointment in his eyes before it turns smug. "I didn't kill those five men, you're right, I am better than that, but if you ever want a front row seat to how I make my victims scream, just say the word." He pairs his words with his body pressing harder into mine, and something in the pit of my stomach swirls as the scent of him surrounds me.

Another scoff leaves my mouth as I cover up his effect on me, pushing him away with a shove, rounding his desk and storming away from him without looking back, as I snap, "Fuck you, Blackwell."

I'm barely through the threshold of the door as he tosses back, "Any time you want, Dark Prince."

His words linger as I leave the office and drive straight back to my penthouse in the hopes of escaping him. Of escaping this feeling of dread, and something else I can't describe, taking over my entire body until I can barely breathe. Usually when I feel like this I would calm myself with the presence of Cassie, seeking her out far more than she probably will ever realize, but right now there is nothing to save me from the pit of my own despair. Not the sleek burn of vodka as it caresses its way down my throat, or the fiery scald of the shower as it batters against my skin. No, nothing can erase the rage inside of me, or the words of the person I love to hate the most that are still lingering in the air around me.

Any time you want, Dark Prince.

Well game fucking on, Blackwell.