Page 71 of Asher

It was stupid, immoral, and downright nasty, her words.

And fuck of it all, she was right. One hundred percent right.

That was why when Pagan told me she was home after a day of her running her ass off at work, I called her.

As soon as her voicemail came on, “Hi, you’ve reached Chloe. I’m not available right now. Leave me a message,” I spoke the moment the beep sounded.

“Doll Baby, need you to call me back. It’s fucking important. I know you're pissed at me, but I fucking need you.”

I hung up and then stared at my phone.

Stared at the picture on my lock screen.

I had said something that had caused Chloe to close her eyes and smile, and my lips were pressed to her forehead.

Damn, but I loved this photo.

My daughter had taken it, just at the right moment, and sent it to me.

I dropped my head back and sighed.

Just then, my daughter came walking over, and she had told me what Chloe said to her.

Honestly, I was at a loss on what to do.

And I knew she felt torn, but she was still her daddy’s little girl, and she proved that when she asked, “Dad, what can I do?”

I looked over at my daughter and shrugged because I didn’t know what she could do.

What could any of us do?

This whole situation was so beyond fucking up that I couldn’t even wrap my head around it.

Two hours later, I was pulling Priest off Trigger and out of the ring we had out back when my phone rang.

When I heard the ringtone, I released Priest and didn’t even pay attention to whether he went back into the ring or not because I was walking away while pulling out my phone and hitting that answer button in the next second.

I answered the call and breathed out, “Chloe.”

She sighed, then she said, “What is it?”

I didn’t smile, even though I wanted to, that fucking temper of hers, “I need you to come to the clubhouse. Please?”

She sighed, “Asher...”

I ran my hand through my hair and then put every ounce of remorse in my tone and said, “Chloe. Please?”

She sighed again, and then she said, “Okay.”

She hung up before I could tell her to be careful.

Something we always said to one another.

And if I hadn’t known that I was going to have a long way to go at getting her to forgive me, that alone would have told me as much.

But I sat there, the shot glass of whiskey still in front of me, fifteen minutes later, when the door opened.

I looked at it and felt everything in my word suddenly still.

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