Page 48 of Tainted Truth

When I fell asleep in Rio’s room earlier, it was still light outside. Zane, Rio, and I were eating Chinese takeout while watching theTwilightmovies because Zane had finished the last book and I insisted he watch the movies. It was entertaining to see his and Rio’s reactions.

Asher had been out all day today working, I assume.

Rio’s arms are still wrapped around my torso and his face is nuzzled in my hair as he breathes deeply. Zane accidentally woke me up when he slipped from the bed a couple hours ago. He had a gotten a call and needed to head into work.

A shout rings out in the quiet house—desperate and full of terror.

“No! This can’t be real!”

What is going on out there? Please don’t let this be another basement incident.

Slipping out of Rio’s hold, I tiptoe into the hallway on quiet feet. The shouting continues, coming from up the second flight of stairs. When I reach the top, I peek in the only open door.

It’s another bedroom with metal and brick accents, black curtains, and a large bed in the center with onyx bedding. But the comforter is askew as Asher tosses and turns in his sleep in the center of the bed. The little moonlight from the window reflects off his sweat-soaked skin, and I can hear his breaths coming in short bursts.

He’s wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. With the lack of clothing, I can see the colorful ink decorating his arms. In the dark, I’m able to make out a dragon swirling down his right arm. On his left he has a large tree spanning the width of his bicep. The colors dance and complement each other beautifully.

“Please! Someone help her!”

My heart breaks for him—trapped in his own mind. I’m too familiar with the feeling.

Just because I’m mad at him, doesn’t mean he deserves to be left alone at a time like this.

“Rachel, please no!”

Who the hell is Rachel?

Cautiously, I approach the side of the bed where he lies with his back to me and run my hand down his arm.

Apparently, that was the wrong fucking move.

He grips my wrist and, with little effort, pulls me over his body and lays me flat on my back. He’s on top of me in less than a second, his knees straddling my hips, his hands gripping my wrists above my head.

“Asher!”

His eyes are open, but he doesn’t see me—he hasn’t come back yet.

“ASHER!” I yell again.

When he still doesn’t hear me, I bring my heels up to my butt and buck my hips up, causing Asher to fall forward and let go of my wrists. Immediately, I wrap my arms around his torso and trap one of his arms in my hold as well. He goes to break my grip by attempting to push away. Asher is stronger than I am, but I’m faster. Before he can get free, I buck my hips again and roll us to the side, ending with me on top.

He grabs my hair, but I slap him across the face before he can pull. The slap echoes in the room, and Asher pauses. Afraid I’ve hurt him; I softly stroke the cheek I hit. The skin there is covered in stubble.

Timidly, I ask, “Asher? Are you okay?”

His grip on my hair loosens, and he covers his eyes with his hand. “Did I hurt you?”

“Wha—”

He clenches his jaw. “Don’t lie to me.”

“No.” My answer is rushed.

He sits up easily, even with my weight on top of him, and leans back against the headboard. “You shouldn’t have come in here.”

Instinctively, I want to shrink away from his rejection but pushing me away is his shield. We all have that innate impulse to protect ourselves—it’s literally hardwired into our brains. Asher is no exception. Right now, I’m a threat. He’s vulnerable and doesn’t want to show me his fears.

He was my rock when I couldn’t breathe after Anthony sent me the flowers. He doesn’t understand how essential he was in that moment. I felt safe enough to break down, he should get the same.

---