Page 46 of Kneel with the King
Cocking my head, I smile. “Don’t be.”
“But—”
“I don’t want your apology, Asher. I want your surrender.”
“W-what does that mean?”
My smile slowly drops off my face, and for the first time since we both arrived at this retreat without our dates, I allow him to see the anger underneath my collected facade. I allow him to see how that fury calcified in me—how it hardened into something sharp.
How itfestered.
Asher swallows, and his nervous energy is evident. “You’re taller now. Bigger. I mean, you must be eating, like, a dozen chicken breasts a day for that kind of muscle gain, even over ten years.”
He laughs—awkward, strained—and tries again. “Your hair’s different too. And the glasses are gone. You worked your way up fast. Doesn’t surprise me. I remember your application. Even at nineteen, you were the brightest intern we’d had in years.”
It’s desperate, the way he clings to small talk. Like he can fix this by narrating over it. If he controls the script, maybe it won’t cut so deep for both of us.
“Was it an eyebrow ring?” he asks finally, almost sheepish, as if my hand isn’t around his throat. “I think you had one, right?”
That does it. My jaw tightens. I look at his mouth. Then his eyes. Then down to his throat.
“It’s cute that you think this is about catching up,” I say. “That you get to make sense of me on your terms.”
For a second, I think he’s going to laugh again—try to deflect, maybe. But then he sees my face, taking in my sharp expression. Something flickers behind his eyes. Confusion?
No.
Fear.
I let the silence stretch, pressing into him like a weight.
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“You don’t remember me the way I remember you,” I continue. “You moved on. You forgot.” I let that sink in, pausing for several seconds. “But I built my entire life around remembering.”
He draws in a shaky breath, and I wonder if he realizes how pathetic it sounds. I can feel the way he begins to shake under my touch—out of fear or arousal, I’m not sure.
“I’m not angry, Asher,” I say quietly. “This isn’t about revenge.” Though, in a way, it is. It always has been. But it’s not the kind he thinks. “I just believe in symmetry.”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
My smile is slow. Painless. I let it stretch just long enough to unnerve him before I lean in closer, so close his nose brushes against my cheek.
“You erased me,” I whisper.
He flinches like I slapped him.
Good.
I press closer. My voice stays soft, but it cuts.
“You know what I remember most about that night?” His breathing hitches. My eyes drop to his mouth—already parted. He’s putty in my hands, trembling like he’s seconds away from begging me to touch him. “It wasn’t the kiss, even though it was my first kiss,” I continue. Something stutters behind his eyes. I’m hurtinghim.Good.“It was the look on your face afterward. Like it cracked something open in you—and you hated what you saw.
“I was nineteen and innocent,” I add. “All I wanted was to be seen. Instead, I learned how to disappear. I questioned whether I should be ashamed of what happened or not, because you certainly were. I second-guessedeverythingafter that.”
His chest hitches. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“You did. And maybe you had your reasons. I’ve had ten years to imagine every one of them.” I tilt my head slightly. “It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? You need me now. You need this facade to work, because you want to sign Walter.” Asher’s nostrils flare, and he tries to pull away from me.
