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

by Parker S. Huntington

  I feel the could-have-beens at night when the space on the bed between Asher and me settles over us like an unnavigable fog. He’s been sleeping on the bed with me since the nightmare, and I still can’t bring myself to ask him not to.

  I feel the shouldn’t-bes when he gives me sweet little kisses for the paparazzi. After the charity match, we’ve been making more public appearances together, but we’re still wary about the threat against my life. The police don’t have any leads and neither does Asher’s private investigator. So, Asher has ramped up security. I have two personal guards at all times, Xavier and whoever is assigned to me that day.

  I’m half delusional and half realistic. I know that what we had wasn’t actually something deep, but I also know that it could have been if I let it. But as it is, it was just a brief moment when two people that shouldn’t be together realized they want to be.

  And then it was over.

  Quick but painful.

  Oh, so painful.

  And I find myself pretending that it didn’t happen.

  Asher, bless his soul, is playing along with me, helping fight the awkwardness together with me by pretending it doesn’t exist until it actually doesn’t. We pretend there are no reasons for it to be there, and after a few weeks, it isn’t. So, in many ways, we’re back to how we started before he barged into his room the morning of the polo match and revealed his insecurities about depending on others.

  That was the moment I realized that he’s vulnerable. The moment that had me questioning the killer side of him. If there isn’t that moment, there isn’t the next tender moment and the next and the next. So, I fought to forget that memory, and when I finally did, it was easier to forget the kisses that came after

  and the intimate handholding

  and the conversations we have just by squeezing each other’s hands

  and the looks we still steal from one another

  and how angry it made me when those people spoke poorly of him

  and how great it felt to defend a man that I admire deeply

  and how time is just a construct when we kiss

  and how he knows that I dip my cookies in water

  and—

  I shake my head.

  I’m supposed to be forgetting about him not thinking about him more. Asher is on a flight to Italy. This is a rare break for me. Since Monica’s screw up with not knowing about the polo charity match until last minute, Asher has been around more. About a month has passed since the event, and a new school semester has even begun, but until now, Asher hasn’t left the state once.

  He spends most of his time in the Black Enterprises office building, which still means I have the penthouse to myself for most of the day, but at night, I feel him slither into the bed beside me. It’s the bane and highlight of my day all at once.

  Even with Asher in the city, we don’t talk much. I won’t go out of my way to avoid him, though I want to. I refuse to put in the effort to avoid him, because it means acknowledging that there’s something between us to avoid. I can’t do that yet. Everything is still too raw.

  So, I upped my coursework to twenty units and am always losing myself in mindless tasks. When I’m not doing schoolwork, which I still do in the penthouse, I’m physically wearing myself out, whether in the gym or Asher’s shooting range.

  That’s where I am now, taking out my emotions on a piece of paper with the outline of a man on it. The loud bangs of the gunfire are being drowned out by pop music. I have Bluetooth headphones on underneath the soundproof ear muffs I wear when I’m on the range. A playlist I got from Rogue is blaring into my ears, so loud I can’t even hear my own thoughts.

  I press the button beside me, and the target paper moves forward. Once I unclip it, I study the holes. I’ve gotten a lot better, but I doubt I’d be able to do this to a person. In a real life situation, I probably won’t even have the guts to pull the trigger let alone do so with accuracy.

  Not that I need to.

  That’s what Xavier’s for.

  Entering the attached armory, I put away the hand gun I’m using and exit into the hallway. Xavier is standing beside the door, his eyes scanning the wide hall. He stays out here whenever I’m messing around in the armory, because he won’t be able to hear any threats beyond the armory’s soundproof walls.

  If there is a threat, he presses a button on the door, and an alarm will sound off in the range and armory, which can only be entered through the range. When that happens, I’m supposed to enter the armory, which doubles as a panic room. There, I’m to press a sequence of numbers, and the doors will lock in a way that can only be opened from the inside.

  Monitors of what’s happening outside will slide down from the ceiling. They’ll be high definition, live, and equipped with audio. Protocol also has me putting on full body bulletproof gear that covers my arms and legs and calling the police if I don’t hear from Asher within fifteen minutes.

  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: the security is overkill.

  Even after the two shootings, I still think this.

  When he sees me, I hand Xavier the target paper I’ve annihilated. He grins and says something that looks like, “Better,” but I have my headphones on still and can’t hear a thing. I tell him I’m going to take a bath, so he stays outside the bedroom door when I enter the room.

  I strip my clothes off, leaving a trail of fabric on the floor until I’m completely naked. I’ll clean it up later, before Asher returns. I’m dancing to the beat of the music, enjoying the freedom of having this place to myself again, when I enter the bathroom and see Asher.

  I freeze. He’s in the shower, completely bare. He has a hand on the marbled wall and the other on his hardened cock. With his eyes closed and his head under the running water, he hasn’t spotted me yet, so I don’t leave.

  If you ever happen upon someone like Asher stroking himself as water drips down his muscular chest… well, you’d be lying to yourself if you say you wouldn’t stop to stare.

  I stand, rooted to the floor, as his hand strokes up and down the length of his enlarged cock. I feel myself gasp, but I don’t hear it past the sound of the music coming from my headphones. Asher stills, his hand stopping midway up his cock, and lifts his head up.

  When his eyes lock on mine, I thought he’d stop, but he doesn’t.

  He takes in my naked form, his eyes journeying up and down the length of me, gleaming in lust and appreciation. Then, he continues to stroke himself while looking at my body. His lips part, and I think a groan comes out of them, but I can’t hear.

  And Holy Hell, do I want to hear.

  I rip the headphones out of my ears, tossing them carelessly onto the floor with the rest of my dignity. The magnetic pull that’s always existed between us tugs me until I’m right in front of the shower, and the glass door is the only thing that separates us.

  When I place one hand on the glass, his does the same, right over mine, shifting himself so he’s face to face with me. I can open the door, and I’ll be in there with him in a second. This isn’t like that first night when we didn’t know each other. He knows me, and I know him. He won’t leave me this time.

  But I can’t.

  I’m a coward.

  Or maybe I’m brave?

  I don’t know.

  But I’m not brave enough to leave him, and I’m too cowardly to join him.

  Instead, I’m frozen in lust, watching him stroke his cock slowly. My mouth waters at the sight of a vein, running down his generous length. His clenched fist moves slowly up, stopping at the head of his cock and twisting before moving back down to the base.

  Water from the showerhead descends down his face, past his eyes, causing them to close. When he opens them, he catches sight of my fingers, which have dipped past the slickness of my slit and into my aching pussy. I finger myself, pumping two digits into my wetness and using the palm of my hand to ease my throbbing clit.

  His eyes connect with mine, and when he speaks, it come
s out as a growl. “Come for me, Lucy. Come with me.”

  My body succumbs to his demand immediately, submitting to the pleasure, submitting to him. Not even a second after, he joins me, and my eyes can barely stay open through the pleasure, but I force them open, refusing to miss the sight of him coming for me. Coming with me.

  When we’re done, panting and just barely satiated, our hands are still pressed against one another, separated by the glass door. It’s clear and thin, but it might as well be The Great Wall.

  I’m swimming on the roof when I realize that Xavier’s not with me. I glance around, a frown tugging on my lips when I don’t see him anywhere, and exit the pool. Water drips down my bikini clad body, but I wipe myself off with a plush towel.

  After Caroline got shot and we decided on keeping me on lockdown at the penthouse again, Asher had the roof converted into a pool deck. Instead of railings or a waist-high wall to prevent me from falling off the edge of the tower, he had bulletproof glass installed all around the edges of the roof. It’s clear, fifteen feet high, and can withstand repeated fire from any sniper’s rifle.

  The whole set up was installed at an impossible speed, and it was all done for me.

  By Asher.

  Who likes me.

  Who came in front of me.

  Who came with me.

  Who I’m so confused about.

  Who I realize is right in front of me.

  “Where’s Xavier?” I ask, breaking the silence between us.

  It’s been a week since I watched Asher come. Since I came with him. And I’ve been doing a great job of avoiding him. Whenever he’s home, I lock myself in the theater room and fall asleep on one of the comfy seats. I don’t even return to the bedroom until after he’s left for work the next morning.

  “I sent him home for the day.”

  I eye him warily. If he sent Xavier home for the day, it means he’s planning on guarding me himself until the night shift comes. Or maybe even past then.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.

  “I have.”

  He nods, accepting my truth with little fanfare. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  “We’re leaving the penthouse?”

  We haven’t been seen in public in a while. Maybe he has an event I need to be seen at?

  “No, I’ll cook for you.”

  “You’ll cook for me?”

  The image of Asher naked underneath an apron crosses my mind, no doubt a side effect of having seen him come. I flush, pushing the notion out of my head. I can’t think about that.

  “Yes, I’ll make your favorite dish.”

  “Which is?”

  I have a lot of favorite dishes. Food is my favorite dish. And it can’t be narrowed down to one item.

  “Lomo saltado.”

  Oh. He’s right. That is my absolute favorite.

  “You’ll make me lomo saltado?”

  Do I sound as stupid as I think I sound repeating all his words?

  I can’t help my dubiousness, though. We haven’t spoken in a week, and he wants to have dinner with me and make me my favorite food? And it’s lomo saltado. It’s an art form trying to get French fries crispy while sautéing them in a sauce. I can’t even do it, and I’m a pretty darn talented home cook, especially now, after hours of practice on the Lucy’s Kitchen app on my VR console.

  “Yes. Now, if you’re done playing Repeat After Me, I have a dress I’d like you to wear.”

  He pulls a garment bag off of one of the lounge chairs and hands it to me. The bag is black, the same color of the chair, so I didn’t even notice it there. I don’t open it.

  “So, you’re making dinner for me, and you have a dress for me to wear, even though we’re eating at home… Asher, what is this?”

  “It’s a date.” He says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, but it still flusters me.

  A date?

  “I told you I can’t be with you romantically.”

  “You also came with your pussy wrapped around your fingers while you watched me stroke my cock. A cock that got hard thinking about your face, your body. A cock that came at the sight of you finger fucking your own pussy.”

  I shiver at the memories his brash words conjure. “So?”

  “So, it changes things.”

  “And if we came together in the alleyway outside of Rogue, would that have changed things, too? Would I have gotten a date, too?”

  I wouldn’t have. We both know that. But I need him to say it. To say anything I won’t like. I’m stalling, because I want to let him cook for me, to go on this date with him. But I’m afraid of what it’ll mean about me if I do.

  He’s a killer.

  He’s killed a lot of people.

  Remember that, Lucy.

  “If you came as beautifully as you did a week ago, yes, that would have changed things.”

  The smile slips past my lips before I can trample it like the traitor it is. “You’re a liar.”

  “So are you, Lucy. You lied when you said you can’t be with me romantically. You can, but you’re scared.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “Depends on what you’re scared of.”

  “You tell me, since you seem to know all the answers,” I mutter, crossing my arms bitterly.

  He takes a step closer, causing me to tug the towel tighter around my chest. “You’re afraid of my reputation. You’re afraid of the mobster side of me, yet you haven’t seen me do anything related to it. It’s the predator that’s been hiding you from the world that you should be afraid of. That’s the man that went after the Andretti family, a warning for them to think twice before they go after his family again. That’s the man that will do anything to protect the ones he loves.”

  I stagger backward, disbelief written all over my face. “You love me?”

  “No,” he says, dismissing the thought quickly. “But I will. That’s where this is going. Don’t you see that? I care about you, Lucy. We already care about each other so much. If we didn’t, I wouldn’t have jumped in front of a bullet for you, and you wouldn’t have defended me at the polo match. But I did, and you did. Don’t you see what that means?”

  I do.

  It means he’s right. I care about him, and he cares about me. I know this. I’ve known this for a while now… but I’m still fighting with his past.

  With the disturbing body count he’s left in his wake.

  At my look, he says vehemently, “I didn’t kill those men for the Romano family, Lucy. I killed those men for Vince. Because he took me in. Because he gave me a home. Because he may as well be my dad. Because I love him, and he loves me. I did it for him, and I would do it for you, too. I don’t regret it. Even if it means I’ll never be the man you give yourself to, I’ll always do anything to protect you, and I’ll always do anything to protect my family.”

  I take in the earnest expression on his face, etching the way he just bared his soul to me in my mind, hoping that I’ll never forget his words.

  Even if it means I’ll never be the man you give yourself to, I’ll always do anything to protect you…

  I’ll always do anything to protect you.

  I’ll always do anything to protect you.

  I’ll always do anything to protect you.

  It feels too soon to say something of that magnitude, but it also feels right. Like no other declaration can be made for what we have than “always.” And that scares me, but I need to fight past that fear, because no matter what, I won’t run from Asher.

  But that doesn’t mean we can’t slow it down.

  “If we do this,” I begin, “we have to take it slowly.”

  A smile tugs on Asher’s lips, and I know why it’s there. We hooked up just after meeting, and we moved in together after barely knowing each other. We also recently came together. The time for slow has long passed.

  But I don’t mean physically.

  I can handle that.

  I mean emotionally. Because if we keep moving at t
his pace, my like will turn into love, and I won’t be ready for it. And I need to be ready for this, for him. This feels too real and too special to mess up.

  “We can do slow,” Asher agrees, causing me to sag in relief. He leans in to kiss me, and I let him brush his lips against mine. When I try to tug him closer, he backs away from me and says with a smirk, “Slow enough for you?”

  “I hate you.”

  He laughs and heads to the door. Over his back, he calls out, “Dinner. One hour. Wear the dress. I had Tommy sew in a bulletproof lining for you.”

  When he’s gone, I open the garment bag, wondering what he picked out for me.

  It’s the dress.

  My little black dress.

  The one I bought in Morocco. The one I wore to Rogue. The one I thought Tommy donated.

  Asher saved it for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Efforts and courage are

  not enough without

  purpose and direction.

  John F. Kennedy

  “I still can’t believe you like me,” I say, cringing as soon as the words escape my lips.

  Asher studies me, a hint of a smirk gracing his features. “Why else do you think I asked you to be my fiancée?”

  “You had no other choice!”

  “I always have a choice.”

  “Well, you chose to ask Nicole, too.”

  “She asked me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh,” he mocks, but it’s playful.

  I kick him under the table, but he traps my leg in between his and reaches down to pull it onto his lap. I’m glad we’re home and not at a public restaurant, though I don’t think that would stop Asher from touching me like this.

  “Dance with me,” Asher commands softly, releasing my leg.

  “There’s no music.”

  “Music!” Asher commands to the room, and a soft melody begins to play.

  I let him pull me into his arms, a few feet away from the dining room, where we just had dinner. I’m still able to move lithely, though I’m stuffed from his lomo saltado, which was delicious and perfectly cooked. After a few minutes of swaying loosely in his arms, Asher pulls me dangerously closer. I tilt my head up, so my face won’t be smashed against his collarbone.