Page 75 of Revenge of a Queen

Chapter 43

ASHER

The bow tie is like a fucking noose around my neck. Like the strings to the puppet, I have to pretend to be under the watchful eye of my father. The presumed prodigal son, the dutiful little brother. I am a fraud, a fake, a fucking master at this game of lies. It’s a complicated weave of smoke and mirrors that I'm constantly battling to ensure my mask stays in place and my true family remains safe.

I would never be considered a threat, they don’t pay enough attention to me, at least my father doesn’t. Even now, as I stand here with his hoard of loyal followers, I might as well be invisible. It allows me to easily cast my gaze around the room as I swill the clear liquid in the glass I’m holding. I note Logan sitting lazily at the bar, I watch as an angry girl storms away from the table against the wall where Marcus sits alone, his gaze glued to Elle. She is on the dance floor with the help. They have been dancing together since I walked in about three songs ago. Why she allows him so much time of her day is fucking beyond me, he is like an infuriating gnat you can’t rid yourself of. Now, not only has he got her entranced, but he got his claws into Logan too. I don’t see the fucking appeal. Fuck knows where that little manwhore, Conrad, is.Probably already fucking one of the Prep girls in a closet somewhere.

I continue my appraisal of the room ensuring I don’t linger on Elle or any of the guys when I find the last pair of eyes I expected to see here. Greg is staring at me before my eyes even reach his, he has an unusual smile on his face. It’s the same smile he has been wearing for the last couple of weeks. We have barely exchanged more than two words, but that smile has been ever present every time we crossed paths. Like we are playing some game that I am unaware of and with Greg, you know there will be no rules. What the fuck is he doing here?

I don’t hesitate to cross the room to him, playing my role and putting my mask in place.

He speaks before I even have the chance, “Little brother,” he spits at me in a sweet tone.

“Greg,” I smile. “Still looking for more underage girls to play with?” I ask smoothly and it only makes the grin on his face stretch wider. I wonder how it would feel to take a knife and make that smile a permanent fucking emotion, ensuring he felt anything but fucking happy about it. Knowing him, the sick fuck would probably get off on me scarring him.

“Oh, on the contrary,” he muses, casting his gaze back into the room. “I know exactly who I want to play with,” his tone is both charming and threatening as I follow his gaze to Elle. I will fucking murder him where he stands with all two hundred fucking witnesses, without a single regret if the next words out of his mouth are about Elle.

I'm quiet, controlled, and completely unassuming, most would consider me an unworthy opponent. That is what makes me so dangerous. Not my name or my bank balance. Not the fact that my father is a killer. No. None of that. I'm dangerous because people look at me and see a quiet, polite, and respectable young man. A child yet to step up and take his place in this family of murderers. They don't know I was thrust into that role three years ago and haven't looked back since. Looking back would mean having regrets. I have none. Yes, I wish what Greg did to Elle could be erased, but that would also mean erasing my daughter. Something I would never wish for, no matter how dark her creation. She took something sick and depraved and made it good, made me good.

My daughter is the purest thing my world will ever know. I don’t feel emotions like normal people do, don’t indulge in lust, sex or even friendship outside of Elle. They are all things that are of no concern to me, my one and only priority is ridding this town of its fucking sinister sick bastards, so my daughter only knows love and light.

“Oh, I thought father was dealing with her,” I attempt for an uninterested tone but falter slightly trying to contain my rage.

He brings his sick, gleaming stare back to mine, “Oh yes, brother, he is but tonight is all about family business,” he says the words with a slap to my shoulders before he slithers off back towards our father.

Family business. Isn’t that a pleasant way to describe the kidnapping, the drugging, the raping, the torturing, and sometimes murdering of young girls. I purse my lips as I watch him infiltrate my father’s group of friends with his presence, the pride in my father’s eyes, the fear in his friends’.

“Well, he is about as pleasant as I imagined,” Logan drawls from beside me. I loathe the fact I didn’t notice his approach. I pride myself on being aware of my surroundings and yet I just let someone slip past my defenses without so much as a flicker of awareness.

“What do you want, baby Royton?'' I snap in annoyance as I throw back the remainder of the liquid in my tumbler, before I stalk over to the makeshift bar for a refill. Only a board my father is a member of would allow for a party full of seniors to include alcohol. I slam down the glass and signal for a refill as Logan appears at my side.

The bartender fills my drink efficiently and Logan dives for it before my hand touches it and takes a sip with a smile.

I fucking hate people touching my stuff, “Can you get your own? You fucking neanderthal,” I growl, snatching my drink back from him.

But my glacial tone does nothing as he licks the remainder of liquid from his lips, his eyes meet mine, “Why? Are you remembering where my lips have been? Thinking about whose taste might still be lingering there.”

Of fucking course, he would bring up that night from a couple of weeks ago, where I caught him on his knees for Blackwell.

Why the fuck would I be thinking about that?

I ignore whatever the fuck he is trying to reference and ask again, “What the fuck do you want, Logan?”

“Relax, my little psycho, I was just ensuring the two brothers weren’t going to gladiator it out. It looked like a possibility with the way you two were glaring at each other,” he shrugs before adding, “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy seeing you shirtless, sweaty, and bleeding,” he winks, before making a show of checking me out.

I roll my eyes, typical Logan bullshit. He’s made a game out of attempting to flirt with me since we met, no matter how many times, I ignore his attempts at affections, he still continues. I thought maybe with what happened between him and Lincoln I’d be free from his ridiculous notions. A joke or not, he is more than wasting his time with me.

“Why don’t you take your affections to the help and see if you fare better? Some of us are actually taking tonight seriously,” I tsk.

He grabs my drink back and necks the remainder before leaning in at the same time I catch Lincoln's eye over his shoulder. All three Rebels are now sitting at the table where Marcus was alone before. I watch as Elle pulls out her phone and gestures out the doors to the guys and leaves the room.

“Oh, I take everything seriously, baby,” he whispers before turning to leave as my gaze is still locked with the other fucking asshole. The only thing that makes me break it is seeing Greg in my peripheral stalking across the room towards the exit with intent.

My gut screams at me like it has been doing for weeks. When I look back to Lincoln, I note he's seen the same thing I have, hmm. so he is good at certain things. When he watches Greg, he looks back to me and we share an unspoken communication.

Something isn’t right.

Chapter 44

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