17. ~Jonah~

17

~Jonah~

He’d benched her.

And she hadn’t taken well to it.

We hadn’t seen her since she’d stormed from the kitchen a couple of hours ago.

She’d even missed dinner.

Andshe hadn’t even answered her bedroom door to Kill when he’d tried to bring it up to her, so she’d at least eat.

He was out riding now, trying to chill the fuck out, because her being upset really got to him and churned him up inside. It did to us all at this point, she’d become such an intrinsic part of us. But Kill was particularly sensitive to it.

For once, though, he was on Asher’s side about pulling her from the upcoming mission. Because he was more worried than anybody about her getting swallowed whole by the dark.

Well, that was what I’d thought for the longest time, until I’d watched Asher lose his temper over it today.

He hid it so fucking well, but I could see beneath the surface. I knew him.

He was scared.

He was scared Aurora was becoming like him.

All the way.

Yeah, he’d wanted her to meet him on his level, but he’d meant sexually, and in understanding where he was coming from, something very few people could actually do.

He hadn’t wanted her to actually become him through and through.

And with him working closely with her while they’d been teamed up together on the takedowns, he’d seen it front and center just how close she was coming to it, something he hadn’t realized the extent of before—or hadn’t allowed himself to recognize with everything else that had been going on that he’d had to be on top of.

Jesus, shit was threatening to spin out of control.

Poor Asher was doing everything he possibly could to contain it, to march us on through this war we were in the thick of now. It was a lot of fucking pressure.

At least he’d headed to his art studio after dinner. It was a good sign, because it functioned as his therapy and helped not only his anxiety, but also served to clear his head so he could remain focused and bring it like he needed to as leader.

Still, even knowing that, it wasn’t enough to stop me from checking on him before I crashed for the night.

It was why I was now standing outside his locked room and firing off a text.

Probably should’ve done the text part before I’d shoved my covers aside and burst out of bed a few moments ago when I hadn’t been able to take it anymore, not knowing if he was okay.

Jonah: Gotta run something by you before I turn in.

That wasn’t true, but telling him I wanted to come in and check on him likely wouldn’t fly. He didn’t like that shit.

I waited patiently as it took a few moments for him to respond. Not unusual when he was painting, with him needing to pull from that headspace, then wipe his hands off too.

Asher: Good timing.

I stilled. What?

Jonah: It is? For what?

Instead of answering, he merely texted:

Asher: Come on in.

The whirr, buzz, and sharp beep of the lock sounded, and I stowed my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, then pushed open the door.

I was just a couple of steps over the threshold into his bedroom master suite when the door closed and locked behind me as usual.

I scanned his bedroom quickly.

His bed was made, the dark high-thread count sheets folded and tucked perfectly, fucking immaculate as was the norm with him. The vial of painkillers were missing from his bedside table now, meaning that he’d stopped taking them. They were probably back in the locked cabinet downstairs knowing how he was with that sort of thing. His black beaded bracelet and his Rolex were neatly positioned on the bedside table instead.

The top drawer was slightly open and instinctively, I walked over to close it.

But something inside caught my eye. For one, it was weird that it wasn’t locked. I shot a look through to the studio. I didn’t see him within view. Maybe he was out on the balcony taking a smoke break. That might’ve been what he’d meant about it being good timing.

I turned back to the drawer and eased it open a little more.

I started as I took in two prescription bottles.

I kept careful control of all medications that entered the house, and this was new to me.

I shot another look at the studio. No sign of him.

And then I picked up the bottles and studied the labels.

Jesus. One was a heavy-duty medication for severe anxiety, and the other was a hardcore stimulant. The prescribing doctor wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t our doctor here in town, or any I’d known him to use even back in the City of Torvin when we were younger. But it was familiar.

I put the bottles back exactly where I’d found them and pushed the drawer partly closed the way it had been before, as I tried to place that name.

Oh fuck. Of course. Clark Rothchild was the alias of Caleb Rowland.

He’d obtained these illegally from that fucker.

He wasn’t being treated properly, he was just taking these meds all on his own.

It was because of the therapy, I knew it. No question with him, he hated and recoiled at the very idea of that, of opening himself up like that to a medical professional. He couldn’t delve into his demons and the trauma of his childhood, all that shit Carson had tortured him with. He was worried it would compromise him, destabilize him, that it would infect him with weakness.

But he obviously needed the help.

He wouldn’t be taking these meds if he didn’t.

My phone buzzed, jolting me.

I pulled it out to find a text.

Asher: What’s the delay? Are you prostrating yourself on my bed?

Jonah: No, but I’m happy that’s where your mind went.

Asher: *middle finger emoji*

I chuckled. That actually meant he was in a good mood. Emojis weren’t exactly his go-to.

Stowing my phone back in my jeans, I crossed the bedroom toward the archway leading into his studio.

Sure enough, he was out through the balcony doors leaning against the railing having a smoke.

I pushed on out.

“Hey,” I only just managed when I took in the sight of him in just a pair of those hot-as-fuck black jeans of his resting low on his hips. He was barefoot and his deliciously cut torso was on full display, some splashes of drying red and black paint on his abs, a little white and yellow on his left cheek. His inky black hair was wild and out of place, the sexiest look on him.

“So that’s why you really came here?” he said, smirking around his cigarette as he caught me checking him out. Well, salivating over him, was closer to the truth.

I forced myself out of it, physically shaking my head, as I stepped further onto the balcony. “No. Although I did lie, I don’t have anything to run by you. I just came to check on you. See how you’re doing after that fight with Aurora. I know you didn’t want to have to take it there with her. And there’s also a lot of pressure bearing down on you too.”

He took a drag of his cigarette and sighed peacefully as he blew out the smoke over the balcony. “I’m well.”

It was a lie.

But I couldn’t tell if he actually recognized that.

With him, all that compartmentalization and those mental blocks he’d crafted so well over the years, it was a very real thing that he actually believed he was fine, that he’d convinced himself of it, in order to be it.

“All right, but you know you don’t have to carry this burden alone, yeah? I’m here. I’ll always be here in your corner.”

“Except for earlier.”

I winced. “Sorry, that fucker, Caleb, is a sore spot for me.”

“I shouldn’t have told you more than the relevant information to explain why he was qualified and trusted to do this with us.”

“No, I’m glad you did. It was a big deal, you being transparent like you promised. Don’t go back on that because of me being a shit.”

He stared at me for a moment.

A long, intense moment.

He wanted to tell me something.

That was the look he got when he was on the verge but struggling with the ramifications of doing so.

I remained silent, just waiting and watching.

“What about Killian? Aurora?” he finally spoke. “The connotations of the skull ring?”

“You’re asking me what I’ll do if there’s a choice to be made?”

He didn’t answer, taking another drag of his smoke instead.

“Do you see that happening then? There’s something you know that could risk dividing us?”

“There are external forces at play. And, for once, I don’t know if I can hold them all at bay.”

I winced. He was out there fighting alone. For us. For our wellbeing, our freedom. For our fucking lives. Kill hated all his secrets, but he didn’t get to see this side of Asher. The fighter trying so hard for us, to keep things from touching us.

I stepped up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder. “I’m a team player. I believe in the sanctity of our brotherhood, what the skull rings represent. But, if it came down to it, if a choice needed to be made, I’ll be here in your corner. I won’t leave you. Ever, brother.”

He stubbed out his smoke, but didn’t speak to it.

Instead, he brushed past me and called over his shoulder, “I have something to show you.”

Confused by the sudden shift and break in all that intensity, I did the only thing I could do, and followed him deep into his studio.

He stopped before a painting I didn’t recognize, a completely new one that was still wet.

He gestured for me to come closer and take it in.

I was no artist, but he’d explained a few things to me about his paintings and this abstract art stuff in general. I was able to interpret and grasp his stuff well enough by now.

I studied it, the harsh and choppy black imagery at the bottom. Shadows crowding around a larger blurred figure, like they were suffocating it or trying to pull it under. There was blood dripping from the blurred figure, his form of sharp and jagged lines. All except the upper part of it that seemed to be free of all of that.

And that part was touching what looked like a hand above that was radiating light and warmth. Strength.

I sucked in a breath as I saw the tattoo of a black rose being strangled by thorns spread over the hand-like imagery. It was my tattoo. It was me.

I stepped back and spun to Asher.

“You understand?” he asked, eyeing me curiously.

He actually looked more than curious.

I couldn’t believe it, but it was nervousness.

He was actually worried about my reaction.

More shocking than that was what he’d put on the line here with this painting.

He was expressing how he felt—about me.

“You’re the blur.”

“Blur,” he said, his lip curling with amusement, before it died a quick death and he walked up right into my personal space and told me earnestly, “Killian was wrong with what he said during his outburst a few weeks ago.”

“He usually is when he’s venting. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he said, vehemently. “You’re not my servant. You’re not a toy to me. You’re not a thing to manipulate, not a weapon to wield.” He reached out and cupped my cheek, the tender gesture making me suck in an uneven breath. “You’re much much more than that. Everything in that painting and more. I couldn’t even capture the full breadth of it. You hold me to this plane. You’re with me even through the worst of it all, through the worst of me. You tether me to my fucking sanity, to my humanity.”

“You’re saying… you mean… you love me?”

His eyes softened, his whole demeanor did.

It was only brief, before he composed himself, afraid of exposing himself, of floundering in the vulnerability for more than those few seconds.

But the fact that he’d done it at all, and for me, was the biggest fucking deal ever.

And it was confirmation.

A confession.

He just couldn’t speak the actual words.

As he went to pull his hand from my face, I snagged it.

Our gazes clashed.

“I’ve loved you for a very long time. I can’t even remember when it first started.”

A massive weight left me at finally putting those words out there after so fucking long.

“I know. I know, sweetheart.”

Fuck, I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

Emotion welled in my eyes and I hated it but needed it at the same time.

Asher startled the fuck out of me yet again when he chased away a couple of stray tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t… but I need to… I need to be this… this thing.”

“I get it.”

“I know you do. You’re the only one.”

He stepped back and scrubbed his hand over his face, cursing to himself.

“Tell me what’s brought this to the surface, what’s weighing on you so much that it’s had this slipping out under the strain?”

He slumped against the wall, one of the few spaces where there wasn’t a painting hanging or on an easel. “It was Revenant who took out that second wave of Heretics. Afterward, I demanded answers and forced a meet with him. I saw him in person. He tried to force my hand by offering his assistance with the takedown of the dollhouse network in exchange for us forsaking Aurora, and me stepping back from the rest of the mission and allowing him free reign to take the Head Infidels. He’s the one who’s been holding off the Heretics, why they haven’t come at us since that day. I partnered with Aurora on those operations because he’s threatened to snatch her, so I had to be there as a deterrent. He’s set it up so that I’ll come off as betraying her and keeping her father from her, no matter what I do now.”

“Jesus Christ.”

It took me a moment to absorb all of that.

When I finally did and I could generate more than a curse, I asked, “Is that why you gave her the skull ring? To try to counteract that?”

“One of the reasons. The sentiment was real, though.”

“I know. You care about her. Well, more than that. She’s a part of you now, of us.”

“She is, yes.”

“So, what, you had Bryce pick up the ring, while you went to that meet with Revenant that same night?”

He nodded.

“Damn, you’re good.”

“Not good enough, clearly.”

“Asher, you’re juggling tons of unstable and fucking vicious elements all at the same time. You’re doing fucking amazing. There’s no doubt about that.”

“After all this, though, there’s a good chance the Heretics are going to use our victory to take our fathers’ places. They’re gonna fucking use me to take power. I can’t get a lead on them either. Two people know more than I do where that’s concerned. One is Carson, the other is Lance.”

“Two of the most unapproachable and stingy-with-intel fuckers ever to walk the earth.”

“Yes. There’s the option of drawing them out. They wanted me. I could use that.”

“No.”

“It’s a risk, but an acceptable one, for a major payoff.”

“You can’t. They said they wanted to cage you.”

He shuddered. That was how much it got to him. Just the suggestion of it. Actually being forced into one was a whole other deal.

“I need to make a change, to flip the proverbial fucking board.”

“Make them play your game?”

“Precisely. Use the Heretics to destroy the Infidels. We’ve weakened them with these takedowns. Once the entire network is down as of two days from now, the Infidels will be weaker, floundering. Carson will call a meeting. They’ll all be in one place.”

“You’ll be there too. Calling a meeting like that will include all faction leaders. You’ll make yourself into a target.”

He frowned in thought. “I’ll figure something out.”

“We will.”

He smiled. “About Lance and—”

“I’ve got you. She won’t hear it from me. Kill won’t either, he’ll tell her right away.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, shoving a hand through his hair.

I went to him and squeezed his good shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, we always do. We won’t lose her. We won’t let any of this external shit and these motherfuckers fuck with any of it.”

“Jonah?”

“Yeah?”

His eyes softened again, opening to me.

It was just brief like before.

But then his hand was wrapping around the back of my neck and he tugged me down to him, crushing his mouth to mine.

I couldn’t react right away, or respond, given how shocking it was.

All I could do was open for him, and as he took my mouth with his lips, teeth and glorious tongue, it wasn’t vicious and brutal like usual.

It was a ferocious explosion of passion all over me and I rose to it, my tongue tangling with his, making me groan into his mouth as I got lost in his taste and him treating me to this sort of worship.

His hands were all over me then, sinking into my hair, tugging at the vibrant blue and black strands, then gliding down my collarbone, over my pecs, trailing searing heat in their wake, before they came to a stop at my raven’s head belt buckle.

I still had my hands down by my sides, as was our usual thing. He didn’t let me touch him freely, only at an order from him. My fingers were shaking and itching to reach out right now, though, worse than ever before.

So attuned to everything and especially me, he pulled his mouth from mine and rasped, “I’m not your Sire tonight. Touch me. I want you all fucking over me.”

“Fuck me, you keep saying shit like that and I’m gonna come right here and now.”

He grinned, and it was sexy as fuck.

Real, raw, and open.

I couldn’t resist it for the life of me, and I was hooking my fingers into the waistband of his jeans in the next second and jerking him hard against me, our hard chests pressing together, his heated skin burning into mine.

Growling, I licked and sucked on his neck.

He fisted my hair, holding me there to him, groaning and loving it.

It just spurred me on all the more, and I was ravenous with him then, licking and sucking, biting all over his throat, suckling on the pulse point, which had him throwing his head back and giving me better access, opening to me.

Opening to me! After all this time.

Fuck, I couldn’t get enough.

He was right there with me, proving it in the next second as he grasped my biceps and turned us, walking us into his bedroom. I didn’t stop tasting him for a second and we tripped several times on the way, before we bumped into the foot of his bed.

I finally was pulled away when he unbuckled my jeans in two swift movements, then opened my fly.

“Shit, Ash,” I gasped, as he jerked them down over my ass, my raging hard cock bouncing free.

He fucking licked his lips, almost undoing me in the process.

When he stepped back, I whimpered at the loss of his touch all of a sudden.

“Shh,” he crooned, guiding me back to him by a hand to the back of my neck and brushing a kiss over my lips.

And then he pulled away again.

But I didn’t have time to be disappointed about it, because absolute shock trumped everything when he pulled off his jeans and climbed onto the bed—on his back.

He held my stunned gaze as he snatched up the lube, squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, then spread his thighs and trailed it around his hole.

“Jesus fuck,” I choked.

I couldn’t fucking breathe.

I couldn’t move.

All I could do was watch, my balls drawing tight as I watched his monster cock drizzling pre-cum onto his flexing abs as he fucked a slick finger into his ass, lubing it up.

When he added a second finger, that was it. I couldn’t take anymore.

In one heady fucking daze, I grabbed the other bottle as I climbed onto the bed, crawling between his legs. I slathered my shaft all fucking over as I watched him now pumping two fingers slow and easy into his tight hole, stretching and priming so fucking good.

“All for me?” I rasped.

I just couldn’t believe it, even though I was seeing it.

He put the lube down, then crooked his fingers at me. “Come here, sweet boy.”

I was literally shaking with anticipation and the blistering need coursing through my fucking veins as I straddled him, rising up on him.

I couldn’t resist playing with his huge cock and I ducked my head without warning and swallowed him whole.

“Fuck!” he roared, making me grin around a mouthful of him.

I fucked him down my throat, biting, slathering him with my tongue, making him wet and warm.

He bucked beneath me, cursing out into the room, and it had spikes of harsh pleasure shooting through me, knowing I was making him lose his ever-loving mind for me.

When I pulled back, heavy eyes filled with lust met mine.

And they held me captive.

I couldn’t look away even as I slapped one hand down beside his head, then used the other to guide my pulsing cock to his ass.

A satisfaction like I’d never felt before took me as I watched his silver eyes flame with so much need for me as I pushed inside.

“Fuck, yeah,” he moaned as I pushed past the initial resistance and sank into his depths nice and easy, slow and steady.

“Motherfucking shit, Ash.”

I tried to get a hold on the pleasure his fucking grip was wrenching out of me.

He rolled his hips, wanting more.

“You’re sure? Already?”

“Take my ass. Take what you need from me. It’s yours tonight. It’s all fucking yours, sweet boy.”

I stilled.

And there it was again, that softness.

This time, it didn’t go away quickly.

No, it stayed, as he stared up at me, vulnerability on display.

Desperation for understanding.

For comfort.

For love.

“Ash?”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, all I could see was pain. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

Jesus. My fucking chest squeezed like a motherfucker.

He was in so much pain.

Suffering.

All alone.

No. Not alone. He’d let me in tonight. I was with him.

I fisted my hands in the pillow either side of his head and buried my face in his shoulder.

“I’m here,” I whispered. It became a vehement growl as I told him, “And I’ll be here with you until my dying day.”

He clutched my biceps, his fingers digging in at his urgency, at just how much he’d needed to hear that.

I rocked into him at an easy pace.

And he moved with me.

Unhurried.

Slow and sensual.

Just enjoying the feel of one another.

Of him giving me this.

Of him giving me him.