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

by Parker S. Huntington

  I press another kiss to the other side of his jawline, darting the tip of my tongue out to trace it. He isn’t pushing me away, but he also isn’t returning the attention I’m giving him. I sigh, stepping into his body until we’re entirely pressed against one another.

  He finally wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. I enjoy being in his arms for a moment before the line moves forward. Instead of turning around to walk normally, I take a step backward, remaining in Asher’s hold. He follows, and when he tightens his grip on me, I feel like his lifeline.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  I glance up at him. He still won’t look at me, and it’s bothering me. Ignoring how inappropriate it is to do this in public, at a charity event no less, I stand on my tiptoes again and capture Asher’s lower lip in my mouth, tugging on it gently and caressing it with my tongue.

  A low growl escapes his mouth before he presses his lips completely against mine in a hard, demanding kiss. We kiss until the tension housed in his shoulders leaves him—holding each other, even when the line moves forward and people end up walking around us and Maybe Dominic has to grab my coat for me.

  We only stop when Madeline runs up to us and says my name. I turn to her, knowing that my face must look wild.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  I immediately know what she’s referring to. “I didn’t overstep?”

  “You did what I wish I’d done a long time ago.” A dark laugh erupts from her lips, sounding out of place against the sunny backdrop of her chartreuse sundress. “Years ago when I had my first kid. It’s senseless, isn’t it? All of this over the gender of a kid, something we’ll figure out eventually.”

  I give her a pointed look. We’ve already been through this. I don’t have to repeat myself.

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re so sassy?”

  “No.”

  Never, I realize.

  I’ve always been a runner. Runners aren’t sassy. They’re never around to be sassy. They’re cowards, like I was before I met Asher. I wonder if this bold and brave person is who I am now that I’m done running. I like it. Sassy Lucy is fearless, standing up for the man she likes one minute and kissing him the next.

  “Sorry for interrupting,” Madeline says, and it sounds like her goodbye. She glances at Asher and then back to me. She’s talking to me when she says, “I’ll talk to Owen. I know the vote isn’t coming up for a couple of weeks, but I’ll talk to him as soon as I get home.” She gives me a pointed look. “I like you. I’m not sure about Chatty Cathy over here.” Her head nods towards Asher, who remains silent. “But I like you, and I’d hate to see you gone.” She grimaces. “Then, I’d have to sit with Viola at all of these shindigs.”

  She leaves after giving me a side hug, which is awkward because I still haven’t let go of Asher.

  “You’re kind of unexpected,” Asher says when she’s gone.

  I look up at him. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same thing lately.”

  Then, I grip his tie and tug, pulling his lips down to mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  We don’t develop courage

  by being happy every day.

  We develop it by surviving

  difficult times and challeng-

  ing adversity.

  Barbara de Angelis

  I let go of him, reluctantly, while he goes to the restroom. I wait in the car with Xavier, unsurprised that Maybe Dominic went with Asher. He is his personal guard, after all.

  I’m stunned when the car door opens, and I’m abruptly pulled into a hug.

  “You’re amazing,” Asher says. He flusters me again by giving me a kiss as soon as he enters the town car.

  It’s over before I realize it even happened. I look around, almost expecting there to be cameras in the car. There aren’t.

  Ashton Kutcher? Where are you?

  This is the first time since the night in Rogue’s alleyway that he’s initiated a kiss without having to. It makes my heart swell.

  “What was that for?” I ask, breathlessly.

  “That was a thank you.” There are conflicting levels of tenderness and rage in his eyes. The anger wins over, and the result looks feral. “I cannot believe they said those things about me, and I just stood there like a goddamn idiot.”

  “Wait,” I begin, disbelief coloring my voice. “You knew what they were saying?”

  “Not when they were saying it, but I do now.”

  “How?”

  “Translator app.”

  “How’d you know how to spell their words?”

  “I didn’t. I spoke them using the dictation feature.”

  “All of them?!”

  “Yes.” At my disbelieving look, he adds, “Photographic memory.”

  “Wow. No kidding.” I hesitate. “What did they say? Before I got there.”

  His eyes darken. “I’d rather not repeat it.”

  I understand that. I didn’t hear a lot of it, but what I did hear would have pissed anyone off. René called Asher, a man who built a billion dollar empire by the age of 25, one that René’s livelihood depends on, an incompetent fool.

  Doesn’t René know who he’s messing with?

  Is he so clouded by greed for money and power that he doesn’t realize what a worthy opponent Asher is?

  I study Asher’s expression. He doesn’t just look furious. He also looks embarrassed.

  I hate the look on his face, so I say, “Kiss me again, please.”

  It’s reckless. Stupid. Emotionally driven.

  But I don’t regret it, because the embarrassment and anger on his face is replaced with exquisite heat.

  And he kisses me again and again until my lips are red and chapped, and we’re unaware that we’ve been sitting in the car, parked in his personal garage for almost an hour, while Xavier and Maybe Dominic sit awkwardly in the front seat, listening to the beautiful symphony that is our lips pressed together.

  When we finally make it into our home, I hightail it to the kitchen. It’s just us. Asher sent Maybe Dominic and Xavier home as soon as we exited the car. I rummage through the pantry to the musical soundtrack of Asher’s laughter. It’s at my expense, of course. My stomach has been making obnoxious growling noises since we exited the car. It’s why we had to stop making out in the first place.

  I open a packet of Famous Amos™ cookies and pour myself a glass of water.

  Asher stops laughing. “Don’t do it.”

  I smirk as I dip a cookie into my water in slow motion then pop it into my mouth.

  He groans. “That is so gross. I can’t believe I kiss that mouth.”

  My heart skips a beat at the word “kiss” coming out of his lips.

  I kiss that mouth.

  I kiss that mouth.

  I kiss that mouth.

  I wish I recorded him saying that, so I could listen to it all day long. I’d set it as my alarm tone if I could.

  “I think it’s delicious.” I take another bite.

  He’s had several months to get used to my cookie eating habits. It’s not my fault that it takes him a long time to adapt to awesomeness.

  “That’s because this,” he points to the cookies and water, “is like dipping cookies into milk for you.” He grimaces. “You drink fat free, lactose free milk. That stuff tastes like water.”

  “No, it does not!” I say, indignantly. To prove my point, I hop off my stool and pour a tall glass of fat free, lactose free milk for him. I hold it out to him. “Try it. I promise it doesn’t!”

  He eyes it in disgust. “No, thanks.”

  “Please.”

  He sighs, but there’s a small smile on his face… until he takes a sip of it. His smile morphs into a grimace, but he still downs the whole cup quickly. “It tastes like water, you liar.”

  I shrug. “No, it doesn’t.” There’s mock outrage in my voice.

  But I’m smi
ling ear to ear, because he drank the whole thing even though he hated it.

  He studies my smile. “Lucy?”

  “Asher?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I don’t think I can say it enough.”

  I flush. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Stop. It was.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Maybe a lot.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He’s silent for a little while. “It was wrong of me to coerce you into this,” he says, shocking the Hell out of me, “but I’m lucky I did. Still, I shouldn’t have done it, and if you want to, we can stop this charade. No more favors. No more faking.”

  I gasp. This is it. My opportunity to get away from this scot free. I should want to take it, but I don’t. I’m enjoying myself. I’m in like with Asher. I don’t know if he feels the same way, but I know he wants me physically. I felt that desire pressed against me in the car when I straddled him during our kisses.

  But is that enough?

  Can I give up my freedom—my way out—without knowing if he wants me?

  I would be stupid to.

  But stupid feels so good.

  He remains silent for a few more minutes. “Lucy? I’m giving you an out. No strings attached.”

  “Hold on,” I say, pressing my fingers to my temples. The headache is rapidly brewing. “I’m thinking.”

  I know what Aimee would say. She’d advise me to say no, then run to his bed and demand that he ravage me. Which is why I know I should do the exact opposite of that. After all, Asher is giving me an out not an in.

  Gosh.

  Why do I want his offer to be an in?

  An invitation to make this real.

  “You can keep the clothes. I can get you your room back in Vaserley Hall. You won’t even have to pay for it. I’ll still write your letter of recommendation, too, and give you everything we agreed on.”

  I stare at him. He’s really selling this. It’s almost as if he wants me gone.

  “Do you want me gone?” There’s an unsurprising amount of hurt in my voice.

  “What? No.” He exhales heavily, frowning at my face. “I don’t know.”

  I wasn’t expecting that, but at least he’s being honest like always. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I want you to stay, but I also want you to go.”

  “Why do you want me to stay?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “Why do you want me to go?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh.”

  He likes me.

  He likes me.

  He likes me.

  I’m silent for a minute, but my heart is pounding loudly. I can hear the thundering sound in my head. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “You and me both,” he mutters.

  Gone is the fixer, the self-assured, dangerous man the world wishes to know, and in his place is the real Asher, vulnerable and honest to a fault. I just didn’t realize that this is the real him until now.

  “Asher?”

  “Lucy?”

  “Right now I’m finding it hard to believe you’ve ever killed anyone.”

  His eyes widen in surprise, but he remains grimly silent. That’s answer enough.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “You can’t un-kn—”

  I interrupt firmly, “I can’t un-know it. I know. Tell me, please.”

  “The first time—” I wince. That means there’s more than one time. “—I was 18.” He sighs at my look of incredulity, which is still there despite the fact that I’ve heard the rumors and remember what he said at L’Oscurità. “I learned to fight at a UFC gym, and Vincent decided that it was important to continue my training when I moved in with him. Except his training was more intense. I didn’t just learn hand to hand combat. I learned tactical training, weapons training, strategizing…”

  I try to reconcile this Asher with the 18 year old fighter. I can’t.

  “I never thought I would have the chance to use it, and Vincent never wanted me to. It was just a precaution. But then one night, there was an attack on our house. It was coordinated, planned to a T, but what they hadn’t planned for was me. Vincent kept me out of the spotlight. Only the family elders knew about our bond, so no one knew I was living there.

  “The attackers killed all of our guards. They lost some of their own, but they still had sixteen men. They thought they had this in the bag. Sixteen men against the great Vincent Romano. That was a fair fight. They didn’t know I existed let alone lived in that house. I took them out before they even got to Vincent’s room.”

  “Sixteen men. You took out sixteen men? How?”

  “The first few were slit throats. I got in a few well-placed stabs, too. They didn’t even know what was happening. The rest were confused. They thought it was Vincent, though they couldn’t be sure in the dark, but suddenly, there was only nine of them left.

  “They had their night vision goggles on in the darkness, so their peripherals were useless. I made sure they couldn’t see me. And then, I turned on the lights and shot the rest before they could take off their night gear.” He makes it sound so easy. “When Vince woke up, it was to a house full of dead bodies.”

  “He slept through the whole thing?”

  Asher nods. “He used to take sleeping pills. It’s why he had to have so many guards. Just in case.” He gives a sordid laugh. “He doesn’t take the pills anymore.”

  I exhale loudly. “And you killed all of those men?” I study him. “And more,” I guess.

  He nods, and I wonder why he’s trusting me with this. “The Romano elders caught wind of what happened. There were too many dead guards. Vince couldn’t cover it up. Plus, the Andretti family was responsible for the hit.”

  The Andretti are one of the five families. Their territory is in the South of the U.S. The northern area of their territory brushes against the southern area of the Romano’s territory, causing a lot of territorial disputes over the years.

  Pure hatred crosses Asher’s face. “They killed our men and tried to kill Vince. It had to be retaliated. They gave me a team and sent me off to do it.”

  I gasp. “At 18?”

  He nods. “And I was successful, too. It was actually pretty poetic. I never learned who specifically ordered the hit, but I went after someone with the same rank as Vince. I did it the same way they planned Vince’s hit, too. In his sleep. An eye for an eye.”

  I don’t want to ask, but I have to know. “Did he have a family?”

  “Yes, but I don’t kill innocents.”

  “But you still kill people.”

  “Killed,” he corrects. “I don’t do it anymore.”

  I believe him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he used to. It’s different suspecting that he’s a killer through rumors and internet gossip, but having it confirmed in such detail, straight from his mouth, a mouth that I recently kissed, is sickening.

  I run to the bathroom and dry heave into the toilet. I can sense Asher hovering at the door.

  “I can’t do it. I can’t be with you when I know this,” I whisper.

  I don’t know if this is a cheap way to fight the intense feelings he brings out of me or if I’m really this disgusted by him defending someone he loves. But killing people is wrong. I believe this with absolute certainty. Killing the assassins in self-defense is impregnable.

  But going into Andretti territory and killing a capo and his men?

  He didn’t have to do that.

  That’s premeditated.

  That’s murder.

  What type of person would I be if I know this and continue to pine after him? If I like him despite all of the blood on his hands?

  His words mock me.

  You can’t un-know it.

  I should have listened to him. Maybe then would we have our what-could-have-been back.

  His
mouth tightens, but he nods. “I’ll have Xavier help you with your stuff.”

  “Wait!” I falter, knowing that what I’m about to say is so stupid, so reckless, and so emotional. I shouldn’t, but I continue anyway, “I can’t be with you romantically, but I’ll still honor our deal.”

  I don’t know why I say it.

  Okay, I do.

  But it’s foolish, and nothing good can come from this. Nevertheless, I can’t let down the Asher I’ve gotten to know over the past few months. The playful guy. The zealous kisser. The man who was strong enough to accept my help just hours ago and thanked me for it with delicious kisses.

  How can I deny him my help when he still needs it?

  And if I’m being honest, I’m not ready to let him go.

  I like him.

  My thoughts are so conflicting, I can’t figure them out. I like him, but I don’t think I can morally be with him if he’s killed, but I still am choosing to help him, yet isn’t that just as wrong, since it means that I’m helping a kil— I don’t know.

  I don’t know.

  I don’t know.

  I don’t know.

  I cut my tumultuous thoughts off and wait for him to speak.

  He does. “Why would you do this for me?”

  I didn’t know the answer to that a second ago, but looking at the honesty in his face, I know it now. The truth sticks in my throat, but I force it out.

  It tastes bitter. Raw. Exposed.

  “I don’t run from you.”

  I can’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Courage is being scared

  to death but saddling up

  anyway.

  John Wayne

  We have a hesitant truce. Well, truce isn’t the right word for it. That implies that we’ve been fighting, but we haven’t. The only things fighting between us are the could-have-beens and the shouldn’t-bes. They’re constantly at war with one another, rarely adhering to the truce that we outlined when Asher thankfully agreed to forget my words.

  I don’t run from you.

  It was stupid to say, but he needed to know why I’m staying. At least I was able to give him a half-truth. No way can I tell him that I’m not ready to let him go.