Page 103 of Moonlit Thorns

“You need to leave.”

“What?” I place my hands on his back, lowering my head to lie at the strength that lies underneath. “You can’t mean that.”

He turns, taking my wrists in his, holding them suspended in the air. “Now. Tonight. Your estate is yours. I’ve wiped the debt clean. You need to get far away from me.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I shake my head, wringing my wrists to get free. “No. No, I’m not going anywhere. You’re just upset?—”

“You’re leaving, Anabelle.” He releases my wrists and the voice that comes out of his mouth is the same cold, calculating one he used when we first met. “Grab your things and leave. It’s for the best. This was never going to be a happy ever after anyway, and if you thought it was, you were as delusional as I was.”

My mouth opens and closes like hungry fish in a pond. “You don’t mean it.”

“Every word.”

Despite my best effort to not show emotion, a single tear tracks down my cheek. “I thought you cared about me.” If he did, there’s no way he could send me packing just because he’s scared, right?

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. The fact is I will not let you pay for my sins.” His voice is hard and unwavering.

“So you’re just going to push me away? And what, go back to fucking random women in the basement?” The thought of him with someone else makes me sick, and I press my hand against my stomach praying I don’t throw up all over him.

“I’ll go on with my life, and you’ll go on with yours. Move back to Nashville, the further away from me the better. Go do whatever it is you want to with your life. You’re young, you still have lots of time to figure it out. I made arrangements for your mother to be checked into the Briarwood Mental Health Facility. All the costs have been taken care of. You just have to call them up.”

I shake my head still lost on how we got to this place. We were so happy. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” I whisper.

“It’s what has to be done. I’ll get out of your hair so you can gather your things. I expect you not to be here when I return.” He stalks toward the door.

The agony of heartbreak is replaced with a vengeance of anger roaring inside of me. How dare he cast me away like this? Did he never care for me? Was I not enough for him?

“I hate you!” I shout, grabbing the first thing off the nightstand and throwing it as hard as I can at him.

The item shatters, and I see the necklace he gave me only two nights ago in a million pieces.

Asher pauses with his hand on the door and takes one last look over his shoulder. He looks resolved, which somehow only makes me feel worse. I crumple to the floor, sobbing, not knowing what to do with myself until my anguish gives way to anger.

Screw this. If he wants to toss me aside like I’m nothing to him, I can do the same. I rush out of his room and into my own, grabbing my purse, and taking only that with me. I don’t want to take anything that garners any memories of him with me.

Within minutes, I’m driving through the iron gates of Midnight Manor for the last time. I’m sobbing again, the anger dissipating now that I’m off the property.

Where am I going to go? I don’t want to go home, not yet. Not until I have a handle on my emotions. I don’t want to have to explain to my brother and grandmother why I have stitches on my head and why I’m home for good.

I find myself in town and park in the lot beside Black Magic Bar. Numbing myself with alcohol sounds good. I’ll worry about how to make it home later. Maybe if I call my brother from the bar phone, he’ll pick me up. Asher never did return my cell phone.

Sawyer is bartending when I go in, which is a bit of a bummer. I was hoping it would be Cinder. Surely some guy has screwed her over in the past, and we could commiserate together.

“Two tequila shots and three fingers of bourbon,” I tell him as soon as I sit at the bar.

“Going a little heavy to kick things off, don’t you think?” Sawyer says, eyeing the bruises and the stitches on my face.

“Shut up and just get me the drinks.”

He raises his hands in a placating gesture and goes about putting my order together. I knock back the first shot without a chaser, then the second and slide the empty shot glasses his way before taking a hefty sip of bourbon.

An hour later, I have a good buzz on. While I’m still wallowing, the pain has dulled somewhat.

That is, until the biggest pain in the ass known to man pulls up the stool beside me.

“Can’t believe he let you out for the night,” Galen says.

I turn my head to glare at him, ready to give him the what for when the shock on his face registers. It takes me a moment to understand what it’s about, but when he opens his mouth to speak, I know.

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