by Sarah Fine
Being that close to him made my heart race. I knew he was dangerous; he had calmly told a man to walk in front of a bus and wasn’t showing even a hint of remorse. I understood why—that Strikon could have gone straight back to Zhong and gotten more men, or he could have followed us to our hotel and struck again—but still, it was the coldness with which Asa had done it that was so terrifying. And now I was pressed up against him, nothing between us except my shirt. The unforgiving lines of him, the way there was no softness at all, just the smooth sweep of skin stretched over lean muscles, all his angles, all his edges . . . being near Asa was just intense in a way I couldn’t explain, on so many levels. It was a relief to help him pull the clean T-shirt over his body, covering it again.
“Are you finished puking your guts out?” I asked him.
“No promises. But I’m pretty much empty, so you can leave the wastebasket by the bed and I’ll be all set.”
I put my arm around his waist and escorted him to his bed. He sank into it with a groan. “What do you need?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I can take care of myself.” He was lying on his back, one hand sprawled out to his side, the other lying on his chest.
I shook my head in frustration and went to the foot of the bed, where I tugged the heavy motorcycle boots from his feet, then removed his socks. Whatever was in his pockets rattled as his legs fell to the bed again. “Do you want to take off your pants?”
He chuckled, a pained, dry sound. “Why, Mattie. I thought you’d never ask.” But he didn’t move.
I looked down at his belt buckle and swallowed hard. “Um . . .”
“It’s fine,” he said, and I looked up to see him squinting at me. “I’ll be fine, okay? You can go order yourself some dinner. We have a long trip ahead of us.”
“I’m not hungry.” I walked over to the side of the bed and sat down, and he scooted over a little to give me more space. I watched him rest for a few minutes, and some of his color seemed to come back. But in the dim light from the bathroom, his cheeks looked so hollow. “We were going to talk about Bangkok tonight,” I finally said. “I don’t know the first thing about Thailand. Only that it used to be called Siam but that’s not cool anymore. Oh, and I like pad thai. But is that the kind of thing that they serve here and call Thai food, but it’s really American and actual Thai people would never eat it? Like those Chinese superbuffet places?”
Asa’s expression turned pained the longer I babbled. “Shh. I’m pretty sure Thai people do actually eat pad thai sometimes, but finding out is pretty low on my list of priorities. We leave at noon tomorrow. Your passport and our tickets were delivered by courier this afternoon,” he mumbled.
“Not on a private jet this time, I guess.”
“Not this time. Montri monitors incoming private planes. Easier if we sneak in—in plain sight.”
“How are we going to find something when we don’t even know what we’re looking for?”
“I’ll make friends with the locals. There are ways.”
“You don’t sound worried.”
“Right now my brain feels like it’s going to dribble out my ears.”
I slumped. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, Mattie. I’ve been to Bangkok before, but I know this is all new to you.” His voice was gentle, like it had been when he’d played me in Chinatown, just to keep me calm. “You’re doing good.”
I looked down at him, searching for a sign that he was just playing me like he had before. But I swear, there wasn’t one there to find. On impulse, I drew my finger down his slightly crooked nose. “You’re so confusing, Asa.”
“I prefer to think of myself as fascinating.”
Maybe a little. “You’re nicer than you admit.”
“There’s a corpse down the street that would argue with you if he could.”
“You were protecting me.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he whispered.
“And you’re risking a lot for a brother you claim to hate.”
“Mattie . . .”
“Why didn’t you stay to talk to him last night?”
He groaned. “Just because I’m doing this job doesn’t mean everything’s all better. It won’t ever be. That might be how it works in your little world, but—”
“If it’s because you’re ashamed to face him after you threatened him, I really think—”
“Ashamed?” he rasped. “Fuck no. I’m not ashamed.”
Asa’s fingers closed over my wrist, and he pulled my hand to his face again, roughly clasped my index finger, and drew it along the bridge of his nose. “Who do you think did that to me, Mattie?”
I stared down at the place where his nose curved just off center. “Ben? Asa, he’s one of the gentlest people I’ve ever met.” I pulled my hand from Asa’s grasp, and his flopped onto his chest again. “Do I want to ask what you did to provoke him?” I asked in a teasing voice, though it felt a little strained.
Asa laid his arm over his eyes, fully blocking out the light. The movement pulled his T-shirt up, revealing a stretch of bare stomach, the defined V-shape of his abs above the low waist of his pants. I resisted the urge to tug the hem of the fabric down and cover him again, and instead focused on his face as he said, “I brought him home.”
“What do you mean?”
Asa sighed. “My dad had kicked me out the year before. He’d found me with . . .” He swallowed. “We’d never gotten along. I’d stayed for a bit with a friend whose dad was into magic, and he got me hooked on the nectar. It was better than weed for taking away the pain. At first it didn’t take much to get me high. Hell, I could just walk into the den, and I was floating.”
“Because you’re so sensitive to it.”
“Yeah. So I got into that scene, and started dealing. Because I could find it, you know, and the local den owner realized that. He had me stealing relics before I turned nineteen, and I was happy to do it, because I had money in my pocket again. Soon as I could, I started freelancing. Hustling. Fixing. Making whatever I could.”
“Wasn’t it hard for you, though? To be around magic?”
“Not Ekstazo magic. That’s like catnip to me.”
“You don’t seem sensitive to it now.”
He was quiet for a minute. “Now I know how to handle myself. Back then I was fucking lost. I needed more and more just to feel normal. And then one day, my little brother shows up. He’d seen me on the street and followed me into the den, and I found him all spread out, high as a fucking kite, his fucking letter jacket on and this stupid peach fuzz on his upper lip . . .” Asa let out a choked sound, and for a minute I thought he was going to be sick again, but then I realized it was emotion, not nausea, that was making him shake. “I hadn’t seen him in months, and he was so fucking innocent, and so fucking young, and so fucking perfect. I couldn’t stand the sight of him there, on that dirty floor, in that fucked-up drug den. I picked him up and took him home.”
My own chest felt a little tight at the thought of Ben having followed his big brother into this unknown place, maybe just because he missed him. “You were trying to save him.”
“Our dad was waiting when I got him through the door. One look at Ben and he fucking lost it.”
“He didn’t give you a chance to explain?”
Asa coughed out a laugh. “You never met my dad, did you?”
“No. He died before Ben and I met.”
“He was a fucking bastard,” Asa whispered.
“He blamed you for what had happened to Ben.”
“He blamed me for everything.” Asa’s nostrils flared, and it seemed like he was trying to slow down his breathing. “Ben was snapping out of it at that point. He knew what had happened. He knew he was in trouble.”
“He didn’t blame you, did he?” I couldn’t even imagine that. “He wouldn’t have lied about it.” Would he? Suddenly I wasn’t sure anymore.
“He didn’t have the chance. ‘Get off your fucking pansy ass,
boy.’ That’s what Dad said to him.” Asa’s voice had gone low and gravelly. “He shoved Ben. Started beating on him. I tried to stop him.” His loose fingers curled into a fist. “But then he was screaming to Ben that I was trying to kill him. And Ben tackled me. Plowed into me like the fucking varsity linebacker he was.”
Even then, Ben must have been thicker and more muscular than his lanky older brother. “That’s when he broke your nose?”
“No. My dad got hold of me, picked me up off the floor,” Asa murmured. “He held my arms behind my back and told Ben to hit me. He told him I was the reason our mom left. He said I was a fucking perverted scumbag who would drag him down, too. He said Ben had to choose.”
“No,” I breathed.
“I thought he would choose me. We were brothers. It was him and me. I was so fucking sure.” Asa let out a shuddering breath. “But then Ben hit me so hard I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I was kicking and thrashing. Felt like I was choking on my own blood. Dad had my arms, though, and I couldn’t . . .” Asa still had his arm over his eyes. “He told Ben to call the police. To tell them I’d broken in and threatened them.”
“Oh my God.”
“It wasn’t hard to make the police believe their story. They had me in cuffs within seconds, even though all I could do was bleed on their uniforms.”
I remembered what Detective Logan had told me—Asa had been arrested at nineteen and charged with assault and breaking and entering.
He’d served over a year in prison for trying to save his little brother from his own fate. “That’s when you said you were going to kill Ben.”
“I’m not sorry,” Asa snapped. “I won’t ever be sorry. So you can take your horror and your pity and your ‘poor Ben’ and your kumbaya ‘but you’re family’ shit and—” He gritted his teeth, trapping his words inside.
I reached up to touch his rigid jaw. “Shove it up my ass?”
It relaxed, just slightly. “Just for that, I’ll supply the lube.”
I couldn’t laugh; I was on the verge of tears. I felt so bad for both of them—seventeen-year-old Ben, who must have loved his brother, but had been placed in the wrenching position of choosing between Asa, whom he hadn’t seen in months, and his father. And Asa, who’d only been trying to help his brother, and had gotten beaten and imprisoned for his trouble. The betrayal was so painful that I felt it stretching through the years, growing with time. Asa must have relived those moments over and over: the hope that Ben would help him, the moment he realized he wouldn’t. That night had to be a thick scar on his heart.
“I don’t blame you, Asa,” I murmured. “I don’t blame you at all.”
Asa slid his arm up onto his forehead, letting me see his eyes. They were slightly redder than before. “Dammit, Mattie,” he said in a broken voice before covering them again.
I reached up and stroked his fist, which loosened enough to let me squeeze his fingers. I didn’t know what I was trying to do, exactly. Just let him know I was there, I guess, and on his side. Not because I was against Ben—he’d been put in an impossible position—but because I understood. Asa had needed his brother to stand with him, and he hadn’t. Instead, Ben, no doubt terrified and conflicted, had rearranged Asa’s face and broken his heart.
Asa didn’t return my squeeze, but he didn’t pull away. Still, I could feel his muscles going slack, his weight sinking into the mattress. Eventually, his chest rose and fell with even breaths, and I didn’t want to move for fear of disturbing him. I sat there, gently cradling his fingers in my palm, until I was certain he was asleep.
I don’t think anyone could say they know Asa well, Daria had told me. And yet, he’d just shared what had to be one of the most painful moments of his life. With me.
I let go of his hand. It suddenly felt like too much and not enough at the same time.
I needed to go back to my room.
I couldn’t go back to my room.
Not only did I not want to leave him—I didn’t want to be alone, not with these thoughts, not with all my fears, not with the journey ahead looming, not with knowing there were people out there who were hunting both of us. I slipped off my shoes, pulled the tie out of my hair, and crawled onto the opposite side of the bed. And I lay there, listening to Asa breathe, feeling the tremors in the mattress as he shifted and turned, until sleep came to claim me, too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I stretched, my toes curling as I felt Ben’s warmth behind me. I snuggled in, loving the weight of his arm over my waist, the feel of his body against mine.
“Stop squirming,” he said in a teasing, sleepy voice.
I obeyed, and his fingers found my belly and scratched, tickling me. “Good girl,” he mumbled.
Good girl? I didn’t want to be good. I’d missed him so much. And I wanted to be bad. I laid my hand over his and began to push it lower.
He froze. Then he yanked his hand away, and my eyes flew open. Reality crashing down on me, I rolled quickly—so quickly that I went right over the edge of the bed and landed on the floor, conking my skull on the bedside table. My heart hammering, I slowly raised my aching head and found Asa squinting back at me, his eyes still bloodshot and hair sticking up on one side of his head. “You thought I was Ben,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep.
My whole body was jangling with mixed signals: alarm along with the lingering pull of desire. My gaze darted to his long fingers, the ones I’d apparently just been pushing into the waist of my shorts. “And you thought I was . . .”
“Gracie.”
“You mistook me for your pit bull.”
“You mistook me for my brother. I think we’re even.”
“I’m not sure.” My face felt as if it were on fire. How far would it have gone if Asa hadn’t woken up enough to stop it? Shouldn’t I have known the difference immediately? I lowered my forehead to the bed.
“Well, this is awkward.” Asa’s laughter sent a tremor through the mattress. “Fortunately, although I love Gracie dearly, our relationship is strictly platonic.” He clutched at his head and sank into the pillow. “Ow,” he said feebly.
Needing something to do, I got up and filled a glass of water in the sink, then brought it to his side of the bed. He rose on one elbow and took a sip, then drained the glass. “Thanks.”
“I’ve got some Advil in my purse if you want it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t put anything like that in my body.” He pressed his face into the pillow and sighed.
“You must miss her a lot.”
“I hated leaving her.” His voice was muffled, but I heard the sadness there.
“She’s part of it, isn’t she? All the things you do to keep yourself healthy.” I’d seen it myself—every time he looked at Gracie, it was as if a weight were lifted from his shoulders. Every time she gave him a lick or laid her head in his lap, it drew a gentle smile to his face. Even his voice changed when he talked to her.
“She’s more than that.” Asa rolled to the side. “She’s my girl,” he said quietly. “She’d tear someone’s throat out if it meant protecting me.”
After what he’d told me last night, I could only imagine what that meant to him. “And you’d do the same if it meant protecting her.”
“Damn straight. I nearly did, the night I found her.”
I thought of the scars on Gracie’s ugly-cute face, the way her ears were cut to thin strips of skin and cartilage. “Someone was making her fight.”
He nodded. “It was in this little town in Kentucky. I was doing my thing, just there to swipe a relic and get out. She was in this tiny, dirty cage, waiting her turn to get torn up. She stuck her nose against the bars and whined as I passed, like she was begging me to help her, and I just couldn’t . . .” His shoulders flexed as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been in cages before. Every time, I thought I was going to lose my mind. And I couldn’t stand to see her in a cage, either. It wasn’t right.”
“Something
tells me this story ends with you and Gracie running for your lives.”
“Well, that time I was carrying her,” he said with a little smile. “She wasn’t as heavy as she is now, though.” He stretched and winced, his fingers rising to run along the purple bruises at his throat. “Still, I nearly got myself shot. I’m not sure if that was because of her or the relic I stole, though. Had to lie low for nearly a year after that.”
I shook my head. “You’re lucky you’re so hard to catch.”
“It’s not luck.” His arms dropped to his sides and he looked up at me. “I don’t do cages, Mattie. You could paint it up with gold and fill it with diamonds, but to me it still feels the same. And I won’t ever be put in one again.”
He stood up, walked into the bathroom, and shut the door. I looked down at a smear of blood on his pillowcase and knew what he was trying to tell me.
Too bad it was the last thing in the world I wanted to hear.
Of all the places one could go, Bangkok has to be the most alive, the wildest, the most intense. And as I walked down the street with Asa, seeing it for the first time, the air filled with the scent of gasoline and limes and sweat and roses and spices I couldn’t even name, as we passed markets brimming with flowers and fruits I’d never seen before, I felt like I’d been dropped into a brand-new world. After checking into our hotel, we set out on the main road, Sukhumvit, at least five lanes of snarled traffic penned in by high-rises on either side, flashing signs, and a train running on an elevated track. The heat raised little beads of sweat on my skin, and I was glad I’d put on just a tank and shorts for this excursion.
Asa insisted on holding my hand. “Because you’re afraid I’ll wander off?” I asked, even as my head was turned toward the sight of juicy dumplings arrayed on a street cart.
“No, because you’re my girlfriend,” he said casually, then laughed as I stopped dead right in the middle of the sidewalk. He turned to me, looking better rested than I’d seen him for a while—he’d slept the entire flight to Taipei and dozed again until we landed in Bangkok, then shut himself in his room for a few hours when we’d arrived at our hotel, probably meditating or doing tai chi or something. He’d emerged clean-shaven and looking like a tourist, wearing cargo shorts (I had to laugh), sandals, and sunglasses, which he now lowered on the bridge of his nose so I could see his eyes. “People here are going to get to know me right quick, Mattie, but they don’t know you, and they don’t need to. You don’t want me going around telling people you’re my reliquary.”