Page 67 of Moonstruck
“Did your father, by any chance, give you a burner phone to keep here?” Asa asked.
Eric hesitated, then nodded.
Asa handed over his own burner phone. “Put your information in there. I’ll let you know when this is over.”
When Eric just stared at the phone, Zane said, “You can trust us. I promise. We’re going to get you out of this.”
Eric’s weary gaze looked back and forth between the two of them, then he finally grabbed the phone and put in the number, looking like he was going to vomit into the gardenia bush beside the porch.
Zane stood, and Asa gave Eric one final nod, before they left the way they came. They were a block away from the house when Zane lost it, punching Asa’s dashboard with such force that he hit the button to disconnect the airbag, causing it to deploy directly into his face.
Asa let him yell and scream and punch the dashboard until his knuckles were bleeding and his voice was raw. “This is a game,” he said, voice cracking. “My brother’s life was a game to them. Do you know what living with my parents was like? Not just for me but for him? I was invisible and it sucked, but their love for him was so conditional. Get an A, get affection. Get a B- and Mom gives you the silent treatment for a week. To think that while he was watching those videos, somebody was driving home his worst fears about himself, brainwashing him…making him think nobody wanted him…” Tears flowed down Zane’s cheeks but he brushed them away angrily. “I want these fuckers dead. All of them.”
“It’s as good as done,” Asa said. “I promise.”
Zane turned his furious gaze to Asa. “You know what you did to that biker guy in the cabin?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to do it to them…beforeyou kill them,” Zane said, voice trembling.
“Anything for you,” Asa promised, reaching out to cup Zane’s cheek. “I’ll even let you pick the weapon.”
“Good,” Zane said, seething. “Good,” he repeated under his breath.
There were a few more working hours in the day, but it was clear that Zane was in no shape to handle anything else. “I think I need to take you home, Lois. You don’t look so good. It might be a night for junk food and emotional support vodka.”
Zane blinked red-rimmed eyes. “For what?”
“I’ll explain everything once we’re home. For now, why don’t you just close your eyes and get some rest. We’ll go to my apartment in the city. It’s closer.”
Zane nodded. Asa turned the radio to something soothing as Zane let his head rest against the glass, his eyes falling shut.
Asa was imagining all the ways he could exact revenge for Zane’s brother when he reached out and snagged Asa’s hand, threading their fingers together. Asa stared at their joined hands for a long minute, unable to explain the mixture of emotions flooding his system.
On the one hand, Asa was enraged that somebody would dare to harm something that belonged to him. On the other, there was the anticipation of violence, of exacting his revenge in Zane’s name. He’d hang them all up on rusty hooks and take them apart piece by piece if that was what Zane needed. It would be Asa’s fucking pleasure to do so.
Was that love?
Zane was drunk. No, Zane was very drunk. Room tilting, head spinning, why-is-the-bed-moving drunk. It was all Asa’s fault. He gave him the vodka. The emotional support vodka. That was what it was called. Somebody had even written it on the label with Sharpie.Noah’s Emotional Support Vodka. Do Not Touch.But he had touched it. So much of it.
Sorry, Noah.
But it did bring up questions. Did Noah come to the twins’ apartment often enough to keep an emergency booze stash? Did Noah keep vodka in all locations? Was Noah an alcoholic or just easily overwrought?
Zane wasn’t exactly one to be pointing fingers, even if that was what he was currently doing. Pointing a finger at Asa who watched him, clearly amused and boringly sober. “Why do you like chasing me down before you fuck me?” Zane asked, noting the way his mouth struggled to form words. “Is it, like, a serial killer thing?”
“Has anybody ever told you that you’re chatty when you’re drunk?” Asa asked.
“Has anybody ever told you you’re invading—nope—evading the question?” he countered.
Asa smirked up at him from where he lay on the couch, Zane straddling his hips. “I’m notinvadingthe question, your honor. I just don’t know how to explain it. It’s the closest I can get to killing without actually doing it. There’s an adrenaline rush. The same kind of high I get when I hold somebody’s life in my hands. When I make them suffer.”
“Is that why you like chasing me down?” Zane asked, not sure why he needed more from Asa’s answer. “You want to make me suffer?”
Asa pushed an errant curl off Zane’s forehead, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, smiling when they slid right back down because of Zane’s tilted head. “No, I like chasing you down because you’re mine, and there’s an animalistic need inside me to stalk and claim what belongs to me. I like knowing you can’t outpace me, that you’re physically weaker than me. That you need me. That we’re so connected that, no matter how far or fast you run, I’ll always find you and remind you who you belong to.”
Zane’s whole body flushed with warmth, his dick hardening at the promise in Asa’s words. “That’s sweet,” Zane said, trying to boop Asa’s nose but poking him in the cheek. Asa snickered, but Zane frowned, trying and missing again. “Don’t laugh at me. That’s not sweet. Be sweet.”
