Asher Black: A Fake Fiance Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 1)

by Parker S. Huntington

  Zeke whistles, reminding me that he’s here. He has an impressed look plastered on his all-American, pretty boy face. “You two go to Wilton?”

  Among the small pool of Ivy League schools, Wilton is at the top. The name comes with a lot of prestige. And of all the Ivy League schools, Wilton is the only one where donating a building can’t buy your acceptance or gain you favor. Intellect is valued over money, a rarity in this world.

  I can understand why Zeke is looking at Aimee with even more intrigue. He knew that she was pretty, but now he knows that she’s smart.

  Aimee nods before dismissing the topic. “Yes, but that’s boring.” She gives him a flirty grin. “Let’s dance. I can barely hear you guys anyway.”

  She has a valid point. With how loud the music is, I’m impressed that we’ve been able to hold a conversation. I look between the two of them. Aimee’s giving Zeke her bedroom eyes, and I know that if I follow them to the dance floor, I’ll just be the third wheel.

  No, thank you.

  So, when Aimee turns to me and nods her head toward the dance floor, I shake my head. “I’m going to go to the restroom and then maybe find a cute guy to dance with.”

  Aimee nods in approval. “Text me when you’re ready to leave.”

  I agree, even though we have yet to exchange numbers. And then they’re off. I watch as Aimee leads Zeke toward the center of the dance floor, her hand holding tightly onto his. The crowd parts for her like she’s royalty. She certainly looks like she’s somebody.

  I smile. I like Aimee. I really do. She’s quirky, but quirky can be good. Plus, it’s nice to meet someone who’s confident but not cocky. Kind but not a pushover. Interested but not nosy. She’s the baby bear to my Goldilocks—just right. I can already tell that she’s going to make a great roommate and maybe even a friend someday.

  I watch Aimee and Zeke for another moment. They were holding hands when they left me, but now they’re pressed tightly against one another. Aimee looks happy and in her element, so I decide to leave her and Zeke alone for the rest of the night.

  And then it’s just me here, and I can’t help but feel like, no matter where I go and who I meet, it’ll always just be me.

  Chapter Two

  All our dreams

  can come true, if

  we have the courage

  to pursue them.

  Walt Disney

  “If I step outside for a minute, can I come back in afterwards?” I ask the man guarding the door to what I think is a side exit. I’ve been dancing in the club for almost an hour straight without a break. My feet ache, and I’m in dire need of fresh air.

  He glances at me, roaming his eyes up and down the length of my body in a violating scrutiny. It’s the same look the bouncer gave Aimee and me earlier, full of unrestrained judgment, contemplating whether or not we’re good enough to be here.

  To my relief, he nods. “Knock three times when you want to come back in.”

  As soon as I step outside, the cold New York air relieves the pain building in my temples. It’s quieter out here, but I can still hear the music that’s playing inside. What was initially hypnotic is now giving me a headache, making me desperate for the fresh air.

  I press my back against the brick wall of the building, stopping to take in my surroundings. I’m in an alleyway, but the only entrance and exit is the door I just entered from—another security measure, no doubt. The narrow street has been blocked off on either side by mountainous brick walls. They’re painted black, and Rogue’s logo is stamped onto the center of each wall in white spray paint.

  It’s odd being in an alley that’s not actually an alley—more like an outdoor room with asphalt for floors and the night sky as a ceiling. I’m grateful for the privacy the surrounding walls give, though, because a dark alley in New York City isn’t exactly the safest place for a girl to be alone at night.

  I jump in alarm when the doorway opens beside me. “Just another minute or so. I promise,” I say, turning to face the bouncer.

  Instead, I find the guy from earlier.

  Blue Eyes.

  He’s staring at me with amusement in his face, so different from the coldness I witnessed earlier. “I think this will take longer than a minute.”

  My breath catches in my throat as I take in his words and the dark promises they hold. His eyes are devouring me, skimming the length of my body and holding me captive. I scare myself when I take an unconscious step in his direction, wanting to be closer to him. To touch his face, his body, wherever he’ll let me.

  I clench my fists, forcing myself to stop that ridiculous line of thought.

  Now I understand what heroines in romance novels are feeling when they meet their alpha males. It’s not insta-love. It’s insta-lust, and it’s so strong and overwhelming, it’s easy to confuse the two. Lucky for me, I have my head screwed on tightly enough to realize that what I’m feeling is simply pure, unadulterated lust.

  And it needs an outlet.

  But this is a man that followed me into an alleyway. A man I neither know nor trust.

  I level him with an accusatory glare. “Did you follow me out here?”

  “Yes.” There’s no hesitation nor remorse in his voice, just a lingering truth that hangs boldly in the air. He eyes me warily as I take an instinctive step back, pressing myself against the wall again. “Tell me you don’t want me here, and I’ll leave. No questions asked.”

  I wonder if he’s telling the truth. If he is, it would do wonders to ease my safety concerns. Because the truth is I do want him here. I want this. I want the promises of pleasure his eyes are giving me. I want to kiss those full lips. I want his hands to ravage me. I want everything.

  So, I test him.

  “I don’t want you here,” I lie, waiting to see if he’ll leave.

  He nods his head and turns around, rapping on the door three times—the signal to open up. I’m relieved to learn he was telling the truth. That I can have this night of pleasure without worrying for my safety.

  When the door opens and the guard sticks his head out, I say, “Wait.”

  I mean it. I want this. I want him.

  Call it instinct or insanity or probably a little bit of both, but I can already tell that, when he touches me, it’ll be electrifying. Just from looking at him, I can see that this is a man who takes what he wants. Right now? It’s me. Tomorrow? Who cares? That’s not what one night stands are for.

  Blue Eyes nods to the security guard, who closes the door again. He turns my way, and the fascinated look of approval on his face sends a shiver of delight down my spine. “You were testing me.”

  I nod. “I was.”

  He takes a step closer to me. “And if I hadn’t passed?”

  I hook a finger into his belt loop and pull him nearer. “We’d probably be in the same position, only I’d be lying to us both when I tell you I don’t want this.”

  He places his hands against the wall on both sides of my head, caging me in. “And now?”

  My left toe brushes against his ankle, trailing its way slowly up the length of his leg until it’s hooked around his waist. I use it to push him forward until we’re pressed tightly against one another.

  “I don’t have to lie. I want this.”

  His lips are on mine before I can blink, his tongue fucking my mouth the way I hope he’ll do to my body. I respond eagerly, my tongue brushing against his and savoring the distinct taste of spearmint and amaretto. It’s a filthy kiss, harsh and violent and messy, filled with the sinister promises I can’t wait for him to unleash on my needy body. It’s unfathomable how much I want this, how much I’ve thirsted for this since my eyes connected with his and saw the desire lurking within their depths.

  His lips move to the skin below my ear, sucking lightly before he bites down gently, sending a jolt of pain straight to the stiff peaks of my nipples. An animalistic groan escapes my mouth as his tongue flicks over the sensitive skin he bit, lapping away the delectable pain. His lips trail down

my throat, meeting his hands at my breasts.

  He pinches a nipple with one hand, while his mouth sucks roughly on the other pebbled bud through the thin fabric of my dress. My hands tangle themselves into his hair, pushing him lower, wanting him there. He lets me, chuckling at my lack of patience, while purposely trailing his fingers slowly along the length of my inner thighs in a teasing touch.

  I groan, taking the leg that was wrapped around his waist and hooking it over his shoulder. The movement lifts the skirt of my dress higher, exposing more of my skin to the crisp fall air. He leans forward and digs his nose into my sensitive flesh, dipping it into my slit through the cotton fabric of my underwear.

  Hooking my fingers into the elastic band of my panties, I shove them downward, too eager for the skin to skin contact to wait. The vibrations of his responding growl send my hips thrusting forward, forcing our lips to clash.

  I cry out at the feel of his tongue, tracing the length of my mound. He takes one of my lips fully into his mouth, sucking softly, before releasing it. The pad of his thumb brushes against my clit, spreading the wetness from my opening onto it and rubbing in slow circles.

  When his lips take over his thumb’s position on my clit, I nearly lose myself. He swirls his tongue around it, teasing me with the slow pace. I’m panting by the time one of his fingers enters me, pumping into my body with ease. A second finger joins the first one, and I ride them both, savoring the feel of his warm mouth on my clit and his long fingers in my body. With each thrust of his tongue, I can feel myself reaching the edge, coming closer and closer to the release I desperately need.

  This is it. This is the moment I’ve waited for for years. The end of my dry spell. The beginning of ecstasy. I’m so close to coming. I can feel it in the quickening of my heartbeat; the phantom taste of his tongue in my mouth, his lips against mine; and the scrape of my nails against the nape of his neck.

  I moan loudly, my voice thick from pleasure. “I’m close. I’m close. I’m so close,” I say, gasping between each breath.

  He pulls back suddenly, and the loss of his warmth is replaced by the still coolness of the air. “Can it wait?” he asks, his tone sharp and demanding.

  “W-what?” I ask, struggling to settle myself through the dense haze of lust.

  It’s unnavigable.

  Is he…?

  I look down at him, following his line of sight. He’s still staring at my exposed flesh down there.

  My jaw drops.

  Did he just ask my vagina if it can wait? To come?

  Because the answer is a resounding no. It’s waited, like, two years to come on someone’s hand that’s not my own.

  I reach down and tug my underwear up from its position on my knees. When it’s properly protecting me, I quickly cover it with my dress, realizing belatedly how ugly nude, cotton underwear is. I might as well be wearing granny panties.

  There’s a resounding silence as I wait for him to stop staring at my now covered crotch. When I chance a glance down at his handsome face, I discover that he’s not staring at me. He’s staring into space—in the direction my ugly ass panties once were. I side step discretely, putting as much distance between us as possible.

  He may be the hottest man I’ve ever seen, but I don’t hook up with Crazy. Even if he comes with a mouth capable of inconceivable pleasures. My eyes dart to the door, wondering if I can make a quick escape without him realizing I’m leaving.

  “Fine,” he says, and I gather that he isn’t talking to my girly bits.

  He’s talking into an earpiece. It’s smaller than the coiled ones the guards are wearing. Whereas theirs are larger and wired, his is wireless and tiny, fitting entirely into his ear and camouflaged by its flesh-like color.

  He stands up, straightens his suit, and barks, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  With that, he raps on the door three times and enters the club as soon as it opens, leaving me to gawk by myself, my dry spell still intact.

  No apologies.

  No goodbyes.

  The douchebag doesn’t even give me the courtesy of looking at me.

  Chapter Three

  Courage is grace

  under pressure.

  Ernest Hemingway

  It takes me a few debilitating moments to settle my rage.

  Because, seriously, who does that?

  He couldn’t give me thirty more seconds?

  I was so close!

  I’m still angry when I realize how freshly fucked I look. My hair is sticking up in every direction, I’m fully flushed from head to toe, and I smell like the sex I almost but didn’t have. I need to go to the restroom and deal with this before I find Aimee and hightail it out of this wretched place.

  One thing’s for sure: I’m never going to Rogue again.

  I can meet Blue Eyes in Hell a hundred years from now, and it’ll still be too soon. I know for certain that’s where he’s going, too. There’s no doubt in my mind that there’s a special place down there for men who leave women on the cusp of coming like that.

  I knock on the door three times. I’m quick to snarl when the door swings open, and I’m met with the guard’s amused smirk.

  Fuck him.

  Fuck Blue Eyes.

  And fuck this stupid place.

  I stomp my way to the bathroom, forcing myself to calm down.

  Deep breaths.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  I repeat the mantra until I no longer feel like I’m on the verge of turning into a certain green monster with a genius level IQ.

  When I reach the hallway that leads to the women’s restroom, I pass a man with the blonde woman from earlier, the one that went up to the VIP level with Blue Eyes. They’re too busy arguing to notice me.

  In fact, they don’t seem to see me at all, so I keep my head down and angle my face and body away from them, trying to mind my own business. That’s Foster Care 101: keep your mouth shut, your head down, and your opinions to yourself. Passing by them, I realize that, even though two years have passed since I aged out, Foster Care 101 is still second nature to me.

  Nevertheless, I’m able to catch a good look at the man before I turn away. Built like a heavyweight champion and dressed head to toe in black, he’s super scary. Intimidating. The snake tattoos that dip below his shirt and wind up to his closely shaved head give me unwelcome goosebumps. They only add to his hard countenance.

  A dreadful shiver runs through me, and I quickly duck into the women’s restroom, eager to get away from the duo.

  I’m calm by the time I’m done straightening myself out and twisting my hair into a messy ponytail. After I go to the restroom, I return to the sink, only to realize the arguing outside has gotten louder. I want to leave quietly, but the two have congregated even closer to the restroom door now. There’s no way I can leave without drawing attention to myself, and my gut is telling me I should definitely not be drawing attention to myself.

  There’s a thud followed by a sharp cry. My breath hitches. I open the door just a crack and peak an eye outside. The scary guy has a gun in one hand and the girl’s neck in the other. His body is flush against hers, pressing the rest of her onto the wall. Had he not been holding a gun in his hand, I would’ve classified their behavior as sexual.

  But no, he’s trying to intimidate her, and it’s working… on me.

  My jaw drops. Sure, they’re in an empty hallway, but it’s still a public place. There are so many eyes in the club, and the hallway has no doors. Anyone can pass by and see what’s happening. With all the security positioned on the floor, I’m actually amazed they haven’t been caught already. Is this guy not worried that someone can see him manhandling this girl? With a gun!

  I push the door open a little bit more, being careful to remain silent and unseen. From this angle, I am able to see into the crowd at the club.

  What the heck?

  I’m shocked beyond disbelief. The two are in clear view of the crowd, but people are practically going out of their way to ignore them. And the people that do look glance away after less than a second as if they haven’t seen anything.

  My fists clench. This guy is scary, sure, but they’re all cowards for not doing anything. But then again, so am I. I’m the one who’s hiding in the restroom. I have to help her, but what can I do? He has a gun, for goodness’ sake. A gun.

  After my time spent traveling through third world countries, I’ve gotten used to weapons and danger. But this is America. The richest nation in the entire world. It’s supposed to be safe here. I’m not supposed to be in a situation involving a gun on my first day back.

  I close the bathroom door, doing my best to keep quiet. My heart is pounding as I debate my options. Obviously, I have to help the girl. But if I go out and fight him, it would just be putting us both at risk. My self-defense training consists of kicking a handsy teenage boy in the balls back in high school and literally nothing else. I can’t beat a gun! I wouldn’t even know where to start.

  The security guards are also out of the question. Alerting them will require passing this guy. Again, he has a gun. I’m not a fool, and I don’t have a death wish. I won’t be playing hero today.

  I remember my phone in my clutch. I can call the police and hope they get here in time. That’s what I’m going to do. It’s the best option, I reassure myself. I pull out my phone and dial 9-1-1, waiting with baited breath at the sound of the dial tone. I pull further back into the restroom to keep quiet.

  “9-1-1. What is your emergency?” The operator’s voice is deep and masculine, calm and strong.

  It soothes me immensely.

  I close my eyes, allowing his voice to give me strength for a brief moment. “Uh…” I hesitate, unsure of what to say. I’ve never called 9-1-1 before. “I’m in the bathroom at a club, and there’s a guy out the door with a gun. He’s choking a girl. What do I do?”

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