Page 20 of Keeping Her Under
“You lied about having it.”
“You never asked if I had it.”
“Fucking semantics. You could’ve told me before I wasted half the night; I could’ve been napping.”
He laughs. “You decided to waste your day when you didn’t want to join me with those siblings,” he says, talking about the red convertible that sped past us. “They were twins, Rath.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“He didn’t think so when I had her suck him off. And she much preferred that than getting booked with the ecstasy they were trying to distribute around campus.”
Shaking my head, I give up. I grab the black cargo pants Asher brought for me and pull them on before slipping her phone into its pocket.
“Thanks for getting it,” I say. Despite how annoying he’s been about it, I am one step closer to finding her shitty boyfriend and making up for not being there when she needed me.
He doesn’t say anything, but I know how he feels. Ever since I shot his father dead and staged the crime scene to frame one of mother’s boyfriends –easily enough given it was his handgun and we were all just a bunch of lowlifes that didn’t warrant a proper investigation– Asher feels like he owes me.
Especially since he feels guilty for not having done the same for me. I got raped three more times before we ran away together at fifteen. Part of the reason he went into law enforcement was so he could learn how to protect me.
He still thinks he’s in debt.
Regardless of how much I tell him he’s the one who saved me. I never would’ve made it on the streets alone. The Blood Fangs, one of the most violent and ruthless gangs in America, control this area. They would’ve sucked me up and spit me out – probably in a bodybag. Instead, I found a way to become a doctor, and now I live in a fancy-ass neighborhood. In a house that is nothing like the one I grew up in.
Because Asher took the hits I should’ve taken on the streets. Now he’s a dirty cop working for the Blood Fangs. Working to keep me free.
And still, he thinks he owes me.
“You’re an idiot,” I say softly.
“Takes one to know one,” he says, but there’s no snark in it. Just a crushing amount of guilt.
Thirteen
“Open the glove box,” Asher says.
My pulse increases as we reach our destination. If we pull this off, in less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be between my girl’s thighs. I’ll have four whole nights to treasure her. Four whole nights of filling her with my cum.
Fuck.
My cock twitching, I reach inside the glove box. I pick up two black balaclavas, a set of gloves for me, a lock pick set, two phones, and a gun. I don’t need to check to know its serial number’s been filed off. Asher does a lot of dirty jobs for the Blood Fangs.
“Leave one phone here,” Asher says. He nods at the set of lock picks as he takes the gun. “You still know how to use those?”
When we were teens living on the streets, I’d use them every day – breaking into houses to find shit to sell, breaking into mattress stores for a good night’s sleep.
But it’s been decades since then.
“Yes,” I say. A single word. A vow of confidence.
I’m not going to let a mere door keep me from my future wife.
Ashers looks at me, gauging the truth in my eyes. Then he dons his balaclava and steps out of the car. I follow, my mask on, the phone in my pocket. He opens the trunk of the car and pulls out a can of gasoline. In his other hand, he holds the throwaway gun, his finger off the trigger.
We walk up to Ryan’s house in silence.
It doesn’t take me long to break inside.
No alarm blares.
