Page 60 of Ruthless Rebel

29

LINCOLN

Blood stains my hands as I stalk into the building through the back door, fumbling with my phone. I killed four of them before they made me and I had to abandon my plan, and I couldn't go home, not like this. I haven’t seen Jace since he helped me burn down the cabin over a week ago, and I’ve been avoiding Marcus and Elle for the last few days, because I know if Elle sees me she will know. She has like, a superpower for this shit, and I don’t want to involve her, not until the threat has been eliminated.

Billy Powell. That’s the name of the man I was hunting, the one whose men I killed, and I almost fucking had him too, but I was reckless. I didn’t hunt him the way I usually do, I was too impatient, especially after I found out who he was, and what he does. He is the one who killed all those other men, including the one who sent me the note. I have the who, but I still don’t have the why, and that’s what I was looking for tonight, but right now I have more pressing issues to deal with.

The dial tone rings a few times before he finally answers.

“Are you at your penthouse?” I grit down the phone by way of greeting, not having the time nor the patience for pleasantries rightnow, despite barely speaking to him for the last week.

“Yes,” Ash snaps coolly, more than used to my attitude.

“Good, let me up,” I demand, thrusting my thumb into the button for the penthouse, and waiting for it to light up, since I bypassed security. I know he will get the signal instantly, so I won’t have to wait too long.

“Soyou’vetaken to stalking me now too, huh?” He replies, no doubt referring to having to deal with Logan’s little meltdown yesterday, and if I had the energy, I would smirk.

“For a couple of years now, Dark Prince, but I have another need right now,” I sigh, and as soon as the button lights up, I disconnect the call, inhaling deeply.

The elevator seems to take forever, every floor going by at a snail's pace, but once it reaches the top and opens, Asher is already stalking down the hallway toward me, still dressed in his shirt and pants from work.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Blackwell,” he starts, before he gets close enough to trail his eyes over my body and take in all the blood. “What the fuck happened to you?” He shouts, just as I step out of the elevator and my legs give out.

Asher catches me before I can fall, the blood loss really starting to hit me now, as I huff, “I got stabbed a little.”

His arm comes around my waist, supporting my weight as he snaps, “How the fuck do you get stabbed a little?” I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves, and I’m really not in the mood or state for any kind of lecture right now.

“Asher,” I groan in pain, but he is already leading me towards the main bathroom down the hall.

Once there he drops me onto the bench inside the large open concept shower, and then rushes off to grab his first aid kit. By the time he makes it back I have already lifted up my shirt to assess the damage, and it isn’t great. Yet, apparently that isn’t good enough for Asher, because as soon as he takes a seat next to me on the bench, he is slicing my shirt open until he can pull it off completely.

“I always knew you wanted me, Dark Prince,” I force out, attempting to lighten the mood, and the look he gives me hurts more than the wound in my side.

“Lincoln,” he warns darkly, that vicious tone of his soothing me more than he could ever know.

Then, without warning, he is swiping at the blood with alcohol wipes, making me hiss in pain, but it’s the soulless look in his eyes when he sees the extent of the wound that has me worried.

“Who did this to you?” He asks calmly, too calmly, and I know lying or even attempting to lie to him right now would be the worst idea in the world.

“Billy Powell,” I gasp, as he prods against the wound, trying to stem some of the bleeding. “I killed four of his men.” His eyes flash up to mine in question, pushing me for more, and I am in no position not to give it to him. “I got a note in the mail with a picture of the cabin in the woods,” I start slowly, and I know I have his full attention now. “It was sent a few weeks ago, and when I checked the CCTV, I found it was dropped off by one of the men who were murdered in town. I’ve spent the last week hunting, and all traces lead back to Powell. He sent me that note as a threat, a warning, but I don’t know why.”

His eyes flick back down to the wound as he makes quick work of cleaning it and asks, “Any ties to my father or any of his men?”

I shake my head. “No, from what I can tell, he is just one of the creeps who has come along and tried to feed off the gap we left when we took out the elites.” We’re not stupid, we knew something like this could happen, would happen, but I never imagined itwould come back around to bite us. “He is some low level gang leader who has somehow amassed more money than sense recently, yet when I went after him tonight, he had more men than my intel alluded to, and I was ambushed.”

I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out since he’s now stopping me from bleeding out. My blood covers both our hands and the bench of the shower, staining his once white shirt, yet he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He just continues cleaning me up like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and when I flinch again, he rolls his eyes, stepping out and coming back a moment later with some meds and a bottle of vodka. For some reason I am briefly reminded of the night he was attacked by some of Greg’s cronies, and Logan and I had to patch him up. It seems our roles are reversed tonight.

“Take these and tell me everything you know,” he demands, passing me the no doubt extra strong painkillers, before pressing his fingers along the seam of my wound. “I need to stitch it,” he adds quietly, and I quickly choke down the pills with a slosh of vodka, desperately hoping to numb some of the pain.

Then I tell him everything I know, every bit of intel I found about Billy and his small, pathetic empire, as he begins stitching me up. I tell him about how the note came in the mail, what it said, how I found who sent it, and how that led me to Billy. I break down his business, his properties, who his allies are, and where I hunted him, and how I ended up killing four of his men, and Asher soaks up every word like there is going to be a damn test. Only then does he bandage me up, taping the wound tightly, to ensure the stitches are completely covered.

I move to stand, but he forces me back down, grabbing a damp washcloth to erase some of the blood and grime from my skin, before tossing away all the empty packets and blood stained rags.He makes quick work of cleaning the bench around me, before his focus comes back to me.

“Come on, you need to get some rest,” he tells me sternly, before leaning down and pushing his arm back around my waist, lifting me with ease.

Then he is half carrying me through the expanse of his penthouse, not stopping until we reach a large bedroom. After trying and failing to discard my dark jeans, he rolls his eyes and does it for me, helping me shove them off. Then he pulls back the duvet and gently drops me on the mattress, nodding for me to lie back. I do as I’m told, ignoring the bite of pain that is still flowing through me, and drop back into the sheets. I move around a little before positioning myself on the side that I didn’t take a knife in, and shove both my hands around one of the fluffiest pillows I have ever encountered. I inhale deeply, as Asher moves to lean on the dresser and watches me closely.

A familiar scent washes over me, and despite the night I’ve had, a grin crosses my face, as I purr, “I always knew you had a thing for me, Dark Prince.” I can feel the painkillers stirring to life in every part of my body, begging me to fall asleep, but my heavy eyes remain fixed on him.

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