Chapter 55

ASHER

I’m playing a dangerous game, holding off on transferring the money until I’m safely back home. I can’t quite pinpoint if it’s the thrill of sending the illicit funds under Daniel’s watchful gaze or the sheer curiosity of how far I can push Fennick that makes me wait out the entire day.

Daniel, ever the gentleman, accompanies me on a shopping trip and then drops me back at the hotel. I guess asking him to do so was my way of ensuring Fennick wouldn’t corner me like he did this morning.

Daniel leaves me at the hotel entrance, waiting until I’m safely inside before driving off for his dinner date with Ella.

As I walk through the hotel lobby, I’m on high alert. My eyes dart around, scanning for anyone who seems out of place or too well-dressed—someone who might cause me harm.

But I manage to get on the elevator and make it to my apartment without any issues. It’s only when I close the apartment door behind me that I realize I’ve been holding my breath—from the moment I stepped out of Daniel’s car until now.

Maddison is waiting for me in the kitchen when I walk in, lost in thought as she stands at the counter. I place the shopping bags in front of her.

“Shopping,” I say, my tone flat.

But this doesn’t seem to pull her out of her thoughts or motivate her to help me with the task I hate most—unpacking groceries. I move around the kitchen, accidentally brushing against her as I do so.

Her reaction is immediate and intense, surprising me with her swift transition from calm to furious. She tries to slap me, but I manage to catch her wrist just in time, stumbling further into her personal space in the process.

Our eyes meet, her mouth slightly open as she catches her breath. I can’t help but let my gaze drop to her lips. It’s a mistake—one that seems to cloud her judgment.

She licks her lips, a completely unnecessary action that draws my attention to the movement of her tongue. For a moment, I’m captivated—watching as she leans in closer.

Her lips are slightly puckered, and I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like against mine. But then I remember who she is, what she’s been through, and how she ended up here.

I remember the price I paid for her…services. I push her away as if she were my sister—grabbing two bags of groceries as a distraction and turning my back on her.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t feel her eyes on me. I can almost see her shock, her fear, and her desire. I can almost feel her disappointment at the kiss that never happened.

I could tell it would have been passionate. I know she’s sexually frustrated—I could sense it that morning, and I can sense it now.

She needs release, but she doesn’t want to be touched. She reminds me of my mother in that way. I breathe a sigh of relief when she finally leaves—her bare feet making soft sounds against the tile.

I finish the task of putting away the groceries—making sure everything is lactose-free and safe for Ebony. Hours later, I’m finally done and ready to head to my room to freshen up.

But when I turn around, I find Ebony standing where Maddison had been.

“For fuck’s sake.” I mutter under my breath—taking in her appearance.

“Asher,” she greets me, her voice shaky—probably from withdrawal.

I look at her, noting her pale, dewy skin, her dark, purple-rimmed eyes, and her chapped lips. Has she eaten or drunk anything?

I know she didn’t at lunch—she just pushed the food around as if it disgusted her. I can’t help but worry as I look at her frail figure.

Coming off heroin is going to put her body through hell, and there’s not much of her to begin with.

“Maddison filled me in on your allergies,” I tell her, making sure the groceries I picked up are safe for her. “Have you had anything to eat? Are you thirsty?” I reach for a glass to fill with water.

“Please, Asher,” she pleads, her voice sounding foreign, desperate. “I need something to help me sleep. My skin…my eyes… They’re so itchy. I know you have something. Please.”

Her plea hits me hard, the raw desperation in her voice making me falter. I know that feeling all too well—the relentless urge to fix the unseen, unfelt wrongs inside you.

I remember the anger, the tears, the unbearable itchiness, the sleepless nights, and the torturous stillness of time as I listened to every breath my body took to stay alive.

But even though I understand her pain, I can’t bring myself to feed the addiction that could end her life.

“I don’t have anything,” I tell her, my voice soft, echoing the way my mother used to speak to me during my own withdrawal.

I move past her, giving her a wide berth, but not wide enough. She reaches out, her hand gripping my forearm with a coldness that feels like death.

“Asher, I can’t… It hurts too much,” she sobs, her words barely coherent.

I look into her eyes—dilated pupils, off-white, maybe even yellow. Her cheeks are hot under my hand as I brush against them, and I feel that unfamiliar spark of life between us, just like last night.

“Ebony, I can’t… Please trust me. I’m doing what’s best for you. Try taking a shower. The water might help soothe your skin for a bit,” I suggest.

“Please,” she whimpers, collapsing against my chest.

I hold my arms out, careful not to touch her, as she wraps hers around my waist. I stand there, in the middle of my apartment, feeling like the worst kind of shit and more uncomfortable than I’ve ever been in my own home.

And then it hits me—I’m in a role I’ve never been in before. I lower my arms, wrapping them around her, and lift her up.

I guide her legs around my waist and carry her to my room. I pause in the doorway, taking in the mess. My drawers are open, things are scattered around the room—it looks like someone’s ransacked the place.

And I have a feeling I’m holding the culprit. Ignoring the chaos, I carry her into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I know the water won’t take away the pain, but it might offer a brief respite from the burning beneath her skin.

It’s the least I can do for her.