Asher Black (The Five Syndicates, #1)

by Parker S. Huntington

I am a dumbass. My tombstone can read, “Here lies Dumbass: horny, lonely, and not entirely right in the head,” and it won’t be wrong at all.

This is mortifying. I have a mobster playing with my nipples in the middle of class, a professor who just stared at said nipples and is scared of said mobster, and 299 sets of eyes on me. 301 if you count Dr. Rolland’s and Asher’s.

I. Stuck. My. Tongue. Out. I’m a twenty year old woman, and I just stuck my tongue out at a mobster. Of course, I did.

I’m the only girl in the class, which isn’t exactly a shocker, because STEM fields are always heavier on the male enrollment. Couple in the fact that bioinformatics and genomics is such a specialized field, and I’m the only girl at Wilton in the entire major.

“You called the cops in the middle of an importa—” He stops himself. “You called the cops on an international burner phone paid for in cash over two years ago in a remote city in Mozambique.” When he puts it that way, I actually sound pretty badass.

I owe a favor to a mobster. How the Hell did that happen?

“There’s nothing to get. He’s a criminal, I called the cops on him, and he was going to kill me. End of story.”

At the bottom of the stairs, I dig my heels in the ground, trying to stop our movement. Asher gives me an irritated sigh before turning to meet my stare, but I’m not focused on his face. I’m eyeing the little wet spot on his thigh, a wet spot that I made. He follows my gaze and smirks before wiping it with the index finger on his free hand. I watch with an open mouth as—I kid you not—he dips his finger into his mouth and sucks. “We’ll take care of that later,” he promises, before tugging me up the stairs. “When we get up there, play it cool. Just follow my lead.” I just nod, too shocked and turned on to say anything. Unencumbered by a bra, my nipples are straining painful against my dress, the friction pleasant and frustrating all at once. In my defense, the man just licked my wetness off of his finger.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do, Lucy.” “You could try smiling more.”

I’m poking a bear that has been generous enough not to kill me. I should be curled into the fetal position. Instead, I’m angering it. “Sorry,” I relent, because I don’t want to be bear food. I’m too cute to be bear food. What do bears eat anyway? Fish? Plants? Bugs? Awkward brunettes with a penchant for running away from their problems? I don’t look like any of those. Okay, well, maybe the last one describes me to a T.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t be this meek, little girl. Be the woman that challenges me. That’s the one I want to be engaged to. I have no use for the cowering little girl that shakes at the mere sight of me. I need the strong woman I know you are. The one that sees an opportunity and takes it. The one that just flipped the tables on me, demanding a fair trade… The one clever enough to test me when all she wanted was for me to slide my cock deep inside her tight walls.”

It’s decided. I’ve officially agreed to move in with Asher Black.

I’m essentially eating dinner with mafia royalty… and I’m not even scared. How badass am I right now?

I grab a new tube of Starbursts from my secret stash in my dresser and hold it up. “This is the Holy Stick,” I wince at my dirty choice of words, “and whoever is holding it gets to speak. Everyone else has to stay quiet.”

I tug the stick out of her hands. “We aren’t. We’re fake engaged, I repeat. Fake. Fake. Fake.” She takes the stick. “You don’t have to be engaged to someone to have sex. You just have to be near them.”

“What you’re experiencing right now isn’t a dry spell. Hell, it isn’t even a drought. It’s a dust bowl. Tell me, do you find cobwebs in there every time you get yourself off?” Xavier snorts beside me. I glare at him. “I’m not having sex with Asher. Drop it.”

“You can’t just trap me here, Asher. I’m getting stir crazy. My voice doesn’t even sound like my voice anymore. I never agreed to stay cooped up in your tower like I’m freakin’ Rapunzel or something.” I laugh sardonically. “Do I need a prince to come rescue me? I’ll be sure to ask René once he dethrones you.”

“If you’re going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty.”

Asher isn’t finished. “Do you make a habit of being a bitch to the woman I love?”

“It’s okay to cry at kindness. This is the first time someone has stood up for you, but it won’t be the last. I’ll always look after you, okay?”

“You’re different than I thought you’d be.” Back then, I thought he was cruel, calculated, and perceptive. A lethal weapon. I was right. But I was also wrong. He’s so much more than that.

There may be tears streaming down my face, but I’m too prideful to admit it. I pull back, look at the place on Asher’s chest where he was shot, and hug him again. And then I lean back and slap him. He catches my wrist when I move to do it again. “Hey! What was that for?” He’s frowning at me, a look of sheer bewilderment in his blue eyes. “Are you wearing a bulletproof vest?!” I gesture to my cocktail dress. “What about me? What if that bullet had hit me?”

I swoon a little. He wants me safe. He jumped in front of a bullet for me. How can I not be affected by that? I’m only human.

Asher looks like he’s about to commit first, second, third, fourth and fifth degree murder. Fifth degree murder is when you make eye contact with Asher while he has an angry glare on his face, and you’re stunned to death by his hotness. It’s like getting petrified when making eye contact with the Basilisk in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, only Asher is gorgeous and came from a vagina rather than a chicken egg hatched under a toad. (Yes, we all know what you did, Herpo the Foul.)

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re so sassy?” “No.” Never, I realize. I’ve always been a runner. Runners aren’t sassy. They’re never around to be sassy. They’re cowards, like I was before I met Asher. I wonder if this bold and brave person is who I am now that I’m done running. I like it. Sassy Lucy is fearless, standing up for the man she likes one minute and kissing him the next.

“Do you want me gone?” There’s an unsurprising amount of hurt in my voice. “What? No.” He exhales heavily, frowning at my face. “I don’t know.” I wasn’t expecting that, but at least he’s being honest like always. “What does that mean?” “It means I want you to stay, but I also want you to go.” “Why do you want me to stay?” “Because I like you.” “Why do you want me to go?” “Because I like you.” “Oh.” “Oh.” He likes me. He likes me. He likes me.

“I don’t run from you.” I can’t.

“You love me?” “No,” he says, dismissing the thought quickly. “But I will. That’s where this is going. Don’t you see that? I care about you, Lucy. We already care about each other so much. If we didn’t, I wouldn’t have jumped in front of a bullet for you, and you wouldn’t have defended me at the polo match. But I did, and you did. Don’t you see what that means?” I do. It means he’s right. I care about him, and he cares about me. I know this. I’ve known this for a while now… but I’m still fighting with his past. With the disturbing body count he’s left in his wake.

“I’ll slow down. But whenever you think about running, please, remember that you didn’t run from me when I was the big bad wolf. You’re braver than you think you are.” My face flushes red, and I mumble, “You still are the big, bad wolf.” “Oh, Lucy.” He sighs. “Never to you. Never to you.”

I hate that these men see groundbreaking, potentially lifesaving research as an avenue for profit, but if it means the research will continue, I can’t complain. Science saves lives, but there’s no science without money. It’s irritating, but there’s a reason grant writing is a job.

“Kneel,” he says, his demanding voice causing my nipples to pucker under my shirt. “Okay, Mr. Grey,” I say, teasing him, but I do so anyway. “Don’t. I don’t do romance novels,” he replies, and I know I’m about to be fucked. Roughly. Passionately. Brutally. The warning is loud and clear, but I know better. Asher may not “do” romance novels, but he is a romance novel.

“What are we drinking to?” “The fact that we still can.” I down the shot.

“Fuck the damn board, Lucy. It’s you I care about.” “But you care about your company, too.” “Not as much as I love you.”

“Asher… Are you scared?” I ask, surprised. “No, I’m rationally concerned.”

“Bu—” “Non-negotiable. I compromised, so you’ll have to, too.” I sigh but say, “You know, you’re really hot when you speak to me in your boardroom voice.”

Asher’s a killer. He’s a genius. He’s loyal. He’s my kind of perfect. He’s the type of man a girl would sit in the splash zone for. And most importantly, he’s mine.