Page 35 of Descent

My eyes flick down to where they are still holding on to each other before he speaks.

“I’m going to wait here. I’ll be ready to take you home whenever you’re able.”

“Me too, right, Wes?” I say, with more of a sneer than a teasing smile.

His eyes come to mine as he nods.

“Of course. Both of you.”

“Thank you,” Skyla says, squeezing his hand once before she drops it.

I step up beside her, offering her my arm, and surprisingly, she takes it. No complaints. That’s progress, right? Or maybe it’s just self-awareness of the image we must display to my father. Either way.

We begin making our way up the steps when I lower my voice.

“How do you think your boyfriends will feel about you adding another one to the roster?”

Her head whips over to me, brows furrowed.

“Asher, you and I are not—”

I scoff, cutting her off. “No, I meant Wesley.”

“Wesley?” she echoes.

“He’s into you, and based on the look in your eyes, you really don’t hate him.”

She shrugs, her voice lowering as we get to the front door.

“There are a lot worse people to spend hateful energy on,” she says, her eyes intent on me in a way that makes my chest ache.

Though, I’d never admit it to anyone.

The door opens before us, one of my father’s waitstaff stepping back with a bow before we weave our way through the doorway. We don’t make it far before we pause in the foyer to see Henry and my father staring down at us with scowls that send a chill down my spine.

Fuck.

“Hello, Father,” I say carefully. “Henry.”

Neither one of them acknowledges my greeting, and I blink hard as if that was going to chase away the slight buzz I still have. I feel myself sway on my feet for a second, but I right myself quickly.

“Are you fucking drunk?” my father spits.

“No,” I defend.

I was drunk, technically. I’m at least halfway sober now.

“Oh?” he laughs. “So, now you lie to me. My boy, I don’t know what has happened to you, but you are the biggest disappointment that has ever walked this god forsaken earth.”

His words don’t phase me; they can’t penetrate the thick armor I’ve spent years building for myself.

“What mess have you made today, Asher?” he asks, my name sounding like acid on his tongue.

I keep silent, knowing it was rhetorical. He crosses the distance between us, opening his hand and slapping me acrossthe face. A soft gasp of shock escapes Skyla, and I keep my head turned so that I don’t have to see her fear or pity.

“Answer me!” my father roars.

“Richard Knox was threatening to hurt my wife,” I grit through clenched teeth. “He was very publicly talking about how he would take a turn at her, before burying her in the cemetery where she belongs.”

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