2. ~Asher~

2

~Asher~

Six Years Ago

All that existed was pain.

It was all that I was.

All that I was allowed to be.

“Weakness won’t be tolerated,” my father’s voice rang out.

In my barely-conscious state, I was only vaguely aware of his footsteps surrounding me.

And then he was there, grasping my hair and yanking my head back, forcing my heavy-lidded gaze to his. “Those stripes on your back are nothing. Yet there you were screaming like a little bitch. You should be able to take a whipping by now, boy. Beg for my forgiveness. Beg me to wash away your sin of weakness.”

“N-o… no… begging.”

“Hmm, good answer. That was a trick. A Monroe doesn’t beg, son.” He released my hair roughly, then tugged on the chains binding my arms taut above my head, making my whole body jolt. He kicked at my ankles that were bound to the floor with just enough room for me to brace my feet on the floor so my arms didn’t have to bear my full weight. The kick ripped them out from under me and I cried out as my arms were yanked painfully, my bloodied and torn up back taking the strain too.

I’d only just managed to fix my feet back into place to alleviate it when his voice rang out again in a chilling tone, “That cry has just cost you more lashes. For every sound of pain you make, you’ll earn more punishment.”

He walked around in front of me, flashing the whip.

Sadistic excitement flared in his eyes as he aimed it at my groin only shielded by a pair of black sweatpants.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

But the strike never landed.

He laughed nastily, then pulled it away.

“I can’t do damage there. You’re my heir, needed to continue our line. Come on, son, what do you take me for?”

A savage, demented monster.

The fucking devil incarnate.

“Now, let’s try this again,” he said, walking back behind me again.

I felt the whip cut through the air, the usual crack sounding a second before it connected, biting deeper into already broken skin, the pain like acid being poured on open wounds.

I gritted my teeth, fighting not to cry out.

He did it again and again and again.

Everything fell away and the agony dragged me under, a haze engulfing me, desperation taking hold because I couldn’t see an end in sight.

It just went on and on and fucking on.

Wounds being worsened, blood dripping down my back, over my pants, sweat pouring off me, and my muscles aching from the extreme tension the assault was causing. My hands were clenching in the cuffs so tightly that it felt like my bones were close to cracking under the pressure.

But through it all, I didn’t make a sound.

And then it suddenly stopped.

“Nicely done,” he said, his footsteps moving away. “A pity you were cheating, though.”

“W-what?” I rasped, choking as the word spilled from my lips, my mouth so dry.

“You were employing a mental technique so you weren’t really here in the moment enduring and taking your punishment.”

“That’s… no.”

He was suddenly there removing the cuffs from my wrists and ankles.

He didn’t bother to support my weight through it and I collapsed onto the hard concrete.

As I fought to push up onto my hands and knees, I managed a look over my shoulder, and that was when I saw something even worse than what had already been done to me.

My father stood there aiming a Glock at me.

“What… what are… you… doing?”

“You just challenged me with that bullshit technique.”

“I… didn’t… no.”

“You weren’t taking those lashes properly, son. I can’t have that. More weakness.” He shifted his weight. “Let’s see you try to avoid this pain.”

Fuck. No. No. No.

I turned back and staggered, trying to get to my feet.

I’d only just managed it when the shocking sound of the gun going off tore through the room.

I screamed as a bullet drove into my upper back.

I went down on my front, my face smashing into the concrete in the process.

It was nothing compared to the agony ripping me apart from the inside out, though.

The door creaked open and I heard him order somebody, “Get him cleaned up.”

My father’s footsteps retreated as another set neared me.

I flinched as a hand touched my shoulder, then frowned when the contact was gentle, not inflicting pain.

I craned my neck as they crouched down beside me, to see Aaron “Scourge” Wakefield, one of the Infidels’ top enforcers, looking at me with a grimace as he took in the state of me.

“We’ll fix this,” he told me. “I swear it to you. This won’t happen again.”

“You… can’t… stop him,” I croaked out.

“No. But you can,” he said, his deep-blue eyes shining with something so foreign to me.

Hope.

I frowned. “You see… the state… of me.”

“I also see your potential. He’s had you learn with specific trainers to ensure your skills were capped, so you’d never be a threat to him, so he could continue to keep you beneath his boot.”

“No. He doesn’t… want… weakness… in me.”

“He also doesn’t want you stronger than him. He sees that potential too and it scares him like nothing else.”

“Why are you… why… help me?”

“Because, you’re the heir we all need. Sooner rather than later. But to become king, you need to dethrone your father.”

What he was suggesting was an act of treason, through and through.

“I don’t… I don’t… understand. Why… risk this?”

“Great change requires risk and sacrifice.”

“Not… strong enough.”

“That’s Carson’s indoctrination. It’s far from the truth. He recognizes how strong you are, how capable, that your potential actually eclipses his. Do you really believe he thinks you weak when he took things this far today? When he keeps taking things way too far with you? These are acts of fear. He’s using extreme means to force your subjugation.” He stroked my hair. “Enough is enough, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” I rasped, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment against the strange soft and gentle caress that I couldn’t reconcile, that I didn’t understand, something utterly new to me.

Any time somebody made contact, it was to inflict pain. To damage me.

Never to soothe me.

“Then let’s get started.”