Page 47 of Taste of Blood
When I stumble into a bar stool, Asher grabs my arm to right me then leans closer. “Give me your keys.”
“What?” I stare at him. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re exhausted. I’ll take you home, get you fed and a few hours’ sleep.”
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m serious, Cord. Let me take care of you. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
The truth is, I know he’s right. Despite his annoying criticism of every fucking thing I do, Asher has always been the one constant I could depend on in my life. Would it be so bad to let someone else take the reins for a while?
I dig my keys out of my pocket and slap them into his hand. “Fine. But this better not be a ploy.”
He grins. “I promise there are no ulterior motives.”
Yeah, right.
It feels weird to ride in the passenger seat of my car. I start to make some crack about Asher not being able to drive since he’s always being chauffeured around, but I know for a fact he used to drive back in the day.
Before the Clan.
Before we got to the city and he started working for Carlyle.
Still, it’s been a while and that fact is obvious as he edges out into traffic and old-lady’s his way down the street.
“Jesus, we’ll never get there at this rate,” I mumble.
“Are you in that big of a hurry?”
“That’s not the point.”
Asher snorts and ignores me. I might have dozed off for a second–no doubt due to his somnambulant pace–but I jerk awake when I see the parking garage we turn into isn’t the one at my apartment.
“What the fuck?”
“I said I’d take you home. I didn’t say which one.”
“Damn it, Ash, you said no ulterior motives.”
“Stop bitching. The sooner we get inside, the sooner you can get to bed.”
“I should’ve known I couldn’t trust you,” I grumble as I get out of the car.
He smiles at me sweetly and leads me through the door into the lobby. The concierge nods at us as Asher makes his way to the private elevator and punches the button. The door opens immediately. Before he enters, he turns back to the concierge.
“I’ll be expecting some visitors soon. Send them up when they get here.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Winston.”
Visitors? “What visitors?” I ask as I follow him into the elevator.
“Donors.”
I start to protest, then shut my mouth. I’ve never had my food delivered. Hell, most times, when I indulge in live at all, it’s a quickie in an alley. Thinking about it, I guess I spend a lot of time in alleys.
When we get inside the apartment, Asher points me toward the door to his bedroom. “Bathroom’s through there. Go take a shower. There’s a clean robe on the hook.”
A shower. I can’t remember the last time I was home to take one. Was that days ago? Do I smell that bad?
