“I saw him touch her with these,” Asher offers cruelly. His eyes slide to mine, and I finally see the other side of Asher—the Crew brother, not the painter, not the gentle artist. I see the fucking gang member he is and just why everyone is afraid of all of them, not just Cyrus. They vibrate with barely restrained violence, but each move is calculated to cause harm, not kill, and send a message. I’m theirs.
