Page 149 of Scars Run Deep

Killian: Delete that photo, assholes.

Jonah: No can do. We can take more, though, to bury it.

After that, so many had come in.

And, to my surprise, Asher had been there in a lot of them, joining in their fun, instead of going the loner route.

It should’ve been something great, something positive, and a cause for celebration.

But I knew him well enough to see beyond the surface.

He was sublimating.

He was immersing himself in the lighthearted fuckery with Jonah and Killian to take the edge off, because he was beyond anxious, beyond riled up. He knew he was walking into hell on earth and it would only be a matter of time before he was confronted with the flames of hellfire.

God, I just had to trust that he could handle this, that he could see them all through his.

He knew what he was doing.

He was the smartest, the most ruthless, the most manipulative, and the most capable.

And he knew his enemy. It just broke my heart that it was his own father.

Their fathers.

None of them had spoken to it. Probably because it was too heavy to be uttered, too brutal.

After that, there’d only been one more picture and I’d seen him in the background.

Carson Monroe.

The texts had stopped then.

They’d crossed paths with the Devil.

“Shit. Get a grip,” I muttered to myself as I pushed out of my chair and pocketed my phone in my leather jacket.

I was fully dressed in tactical pants, a black tee and my hard leather jacket, the one I used for riding because it was the toughest of the tough. I even had my Sig holstered at my right hip and two knives on my person.

Yeah, I was on high alert.

And I would be until the guys returned.

So was Hexwood House.

Asher had ordered his Head of Security, Bryce, to pretty much lock the place down. Only a select few were even allowed a hundred feet from the gates. Asher was trying to cover all bases.

I headed out of my bedroom and made my way along the corridor, pulling a smoke and a lighter out of my inside jacket pocket as I went.

I gave a polite nod to the two security guards that lined the walls as I made my way down the landing and headed down the stairs.

Another two gave me a chin lift first as I headed through the foyer toward the main entrance doors.

I was just twenty feet out when one stepped into my path.

“One moment, Miss,” he said at my questioning look. He tapped his earpiece. “Roger that. Ready to receive.” He ended the transmission, then told me. “You have a visitor. Not to worry, he’s on the list.”

Asher’s acceptable persons list.

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