Page 13 of Moonstruck
“No. No fucking way. Not tonight. It’s bad enough Dad made me go to that dumb fucking press—” Asa’s voice cut off as if listening. “No, I didn’t get his stupid award. He doesn’t need another fucking trophy. I’m not leaving the house for…that. I have company. Get Archer to help you.” Once more, silence, then he said, “I have a life, too, you know. Where’s Adam? Or August? Shit, where’s Freckles?”
Freckles?Maybe sugar britches wasn’t so bad.
“Fuck. Fine, but you owe me so big. Text me—Fuck, you can’t text me on this phone. Double fuck. I need to find a pen. Who uses pens anymore when there’s texting?”
Asa’s voice faded as he made his way deeper into the house. Zane padded down to the first floor, grabbing his underwear from the pile of clothing at the foot of the stairs, slipping them on before following Asa’s now muffled voice. He peeked his head around the door of what turned out to be a study just as Asa dropped a pen onto the desk and pulled a yellow sticky note from the top of the square. “Got it. Give me an hour. Yeah, an hour.”
“Everything okay?” Zane asked, knocking gently on the open door.
Asa looked up, his fury fading into a polite smile. “Family emergency.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll just get my things,” Zane said, pointing to the door.
“No, it’s cool,” Asa said, his gaze raking over Zane. “Just grab a water from the fridge. Take your time getting dressed. The door will lock automatically behind you.”
Zane stood there, dazed, as Asa walked back to the foyer where a tray held his keys and wallet. He palmed his wallet into his back pocket, glancing up to see Zane watching him with wide eyes.
Asa moved quickly, crossing back to Zane, once more crowding him up against a door, capturing his mouth in a kiss that lingered. “Fuck, you look hot. I was really hoping to spend the night inside you.”
Zane sucked in a breath at Asa’s casual comment.
“Yeah, that whole scandalized maiden thing is so hot,” Asa teased.
“I’m not a scandalized maiden,” Zane muttered, heat blooming beneath his skin.
“Uh-huh. Well, in that case, don’t get any ideas. There are more cameras planted around this house than the Pentagon.”
“So, you recorded us doing…on camera doing…” Zane trailed off.
Asa frowned. “Don’t worry, sugar. I don’t keep trophies. I’ll erase them once I’m home.”
With that, he was gone, door slamming shut behind him. Zane had a split second to decide. Fuck. He opened the door to the study, running to the desk to grab the stack of little yellow papers. He snatched a pencil from the cup on his desk, rubbing it over the paper, adrenaline flooding his system as GPS coordinates appeared.
What kind of family emergency required a burner phone and GPS coordinates? The kind that might win him a fucking Pulitzer.
Or get you shot.
Was he really fucking doing this?
Yeah, he was definitely doing this. He snatched the sticky note, quickly making his way back to his clothes. Once dressed, he took one last look around before running to his car, grateful he hadn’t taken Asa up on his limo offer.
A tremor of trepidation shivered over him. Would Asa look at the cameras later? Would he see Zane snooping? Would he know he wasn’t just borrowing a piece of paper? Did it even matter?
Zane punched the coordinates into his phone, frowning when he saw it was in the middle of nowhere. Gage’s voice whispered that this was a trap. That Asa was luring him away from the house to kill him. But it was Zane who was the one doing something shady. Not Asa.
At least, not yet.
“Why exactly”—Asa swung his ax with a grunt—“can’t your husband help with this?”
He picked up the neatly severed hand and chucked it into an industrial strength trash bag before standing up to take a breather. Dismantling bodies was hard work. Dismantling the corpse of a four-hundred-pound leather-clad biker was damn near impossible.
Jericho gave Asa an incredulous look. “Can you imagine Freckles out here wielding an ax in his Ferragamos?”
Asa snorted. Freckles—aka his brother, Atticus—used to unalive and dismember people all the time before he fell in love with a guy who was far more comfortable with the work than he was. Some people thought it was Atticus’s vow as a physician to do no harm, but Asa thought Jericho was probably right. It was probably about the shoes. His brother was a label whore and a neat freak.
Asa sighed, glaring at the mostly intact corpse. “Still, it hardly seems fair. You shouldn’t always have to do the dirty work.”
Jericho brought his ax down, amputating the man’s leg just below the knee. “I enjoy the dirty work. Besides, I knew what I was getting into. The day I said ‘I do’ was the day your brother said he won’t. As in, he won’t be killing anybody else unless I’ve exhausted all other options. If I called and asked him out here for this, I wouldn’t get laid for a month.”
