Page 19 of The Consequence of You
I will never hear her laughter ring out.
I will never see her beautiful smile again.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and tried to regain some composure.
Breathe in for the count of four.
Hold for the count of four.
Breathe out for the count of four.
Hold for the count of four.
The box breathing technique did enough to stop the tears that were only seconds away from falling. Holding them in made my eyes burn and my heart race to the point of pain, but I wasn’t doing it for myself. It was for my stoic Papa, his cheeks dry since the day we had the news. On the surface, he was calm, but his pain was still acutely tangible.
My parents had an arranged marriage, but their love was genuine. Mama was the love of his life, the light in his eyes.Light, which was extinguished seventeen days ago by an elderly driver who, according to the police, should have given his license up years before.
Except she was only on that road because of me.
She was only there because of the lie I told and the choices I made.
I wasn’t driving the car that hit her.
But she was dead because of me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ASHER
When I made my plan to humiliate Callie, I didn’t exactly think through how I’d get her to agree to come to the charity ball. I was confident I would come up with something, but I had no idea the opportunity would present itself quite so quickly.
It’s Friday afternoon, so lectures finish early. Most students head to a strip of bars near the university to decompress.
I’d arranged to meet Grayson and, as seems to be the norm lately, Dahlia has dragged Callie along.
We’ve been out for a few hours, and Dahlia and Grayson have spent the whole time wrapped up in conversation with each other. Loved up and oblivious to the rest of us.
Sickeningly sweet if you ask me.
Callie’s currently at the bar, and it’s taking far longerthan it should. Especially considering there’s no queue and I happen to know her father owns the place, so she always gets served first.
Neither of us have brought up what happened last week and seeing her should make me more pissed off, but knowing what she looks like under her clothes is just making my blood heat in an entirely different way.
As she leans over the bar to shout her order into the barman’s ear, her short-pleated skirt rides up until it sits indecently high on her slender, milky thighs. The fishnet stockings she’s wearing stop just above her knee, meaning there are inches and inches of uncovered perfect flesh, begging to be stroked.
Fuck me, she has no idea what kind of visual she’s giving the patrons of her father’s bar right now.
Glancing around the dark room, it’s easy to identify her security detail. She doesn’t always have guards with her, but tonight she has two.
Rossi, her regular bodyguard, stands stiffly in the corner surveying the large, busy room, looking for potential dangers with his usual look of indifference pasted on his face. He must be in his late twenties, and despite being openly ogled by some of the women dancing nearby, he never breaks his concentration.
My eyes drift to the other side of the room where another bodyguard stands. This one’s new. He looks closer to our age, and he’s built like a fighter. Thick arms and thighs, and a stance that screams stay away.
He’s pretty though, no signs of ever having broken his nose, so his muscles are clearly effective and not just for show.
I don’t like him.
He’s acting like he’s surveying the room, but everytime his eyes return to Callie, they land firmly on her arse. He clearly likes what he sees. Anyone with eyes can see the subtle way he shifts his stance and clasps his hands in front of himself is to cover his fucking hard-on.
