The few lingering concerns I had about Asher evaporated after that. In its place is respect. I respect Asher for the kind of man he is to me. Respecting a man I find attractive is dangerous territory.
If I’m not careful, I might begin to blur the lines in this relationship. I’m already far more aware of his body than I’ve ever been, struggling to come up with valid reasons for not pursuing a man that would risk his life for mine. It doesn’t help that I know what it feels like to be kissed by him.
Asher sighs. “They know the risks. Damien is an adrenaline junkie. He gets off on this shit. Caroline has cancer. She’s dying. She can’t do anything about it, but the two million dollars I’m paying her will go a long way in helping the family she’s leaving behind.”
My eyes widen.
Two million dollars?!
Is that how much a life is worth?
Is it how much his life is worth or mine?
Or is the figure somewhere in between?
I nod to Asher. I can’t judge him for this. Like always, he’s right. Caroline and Damien know what they’re doing. He’s not tricking them or anything like that. Still, a part of me can’t grasp the fact that they’re about to risk their lives for us.
“Hey. Come with me,” Asher says gently.
He leads me upstairs into our room. Once the door is closed, he backs me up into the wall, his hands pressed on either side of my face. I let him, because I need the comfort right now. I need to know that what we’re doing isn’t wrong and immoral.
His blue eyes stare into mine, searching for something, though I’m not sure what. “Don’t feel bad about this. It’s their decision to make. We’re not forcing them to do anything, okay?”
It’s hard to process what he’s saying when we’re in such an intimate position, but I know this is important. This needs to be said.
“I just… I can’t help but feel like I should be doing this. Not Caroline.”
“Don’t.” The harshness in his voice is shocking. “Don’t even think about it, Lucy. Between your life and hers, yours is the one that matters. Every. Single. Time.”
“Because she’s dying?”
“Because you’re mine.”
My eyes widen, and I instinctively take a step back from him, but I’m already trapped against the wall. I study him, trying to decipher what he means by that. His eyes are guarded, and I can’t read them, so I’m left drawing my own conclusions.
And my emotions are at war with logic.
If I’m his, is he mine?
Stop what you’re thinking.
I can’t help it.
He doesn’t mean it like that.
But what if he does?
You’re not actually his.
He just told me I am.
This isn’t real.
It feels so damn real to me.
I release a shaky breath. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”
“I can’t?” There’s amusement in his eyes.
“It’s confusing.”
Like when you go out of your way to help me with school.
And slip into bed with me because I’m having a nightmare.
And step in front of a bullet for me.
And defend me against Minka.
And whisper in my ear that you’ll do anything for the ones you love.
His eyes drop to my lips, and he opens his mouth to say something, but something in my face makes him stop. Instead, he nods and takes a step back from me. Asher leads me downstairs, where his security team is waiting.
They’re going over the plan again, so I leave them alone, entering the kitchen for a bottle of water. I don’t need a recap. My part of the plan is pretty simple anyways. I just have to stay here with Asher, Xavier and a few other guards while Caroline and Damien go out in public, pretending to be us.
I remember my conversation with Asher earlier.
“It’s a Cold Charlie. You put your helmet on the end of your sniper rifle. Someone takes a shot, and you flush them out. Then, you take the shot. It’s a Cold Charlie.”
“American Sniper? That’s just a movie, Asher.”
“And a book, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
We’re trying to draw out any more shooters, so we know which one of us they’re targeting. If Caroline and Damien stay realistically close but far enough apart that a shot will hit the intended target, we’ll know who they’re after.
Asher has a private detective tracking down who hired the shooter. So, until he figures that out, the best we can do is figure out which one of us is the intended target. And apparently, the quickest way to do that is to lure the shooters out.
Asher’s team has already made a route for our doppelgangers to take. Most of Asher’s guards will be following them discreetly, hoping to capture the new shooters. Meanwhile, three guards will stay in the security room with me along with Xavier and Asher’s personal guard. We’ll monitor the situation from there, using live high definition footage from the miniature body cameras attached on all the guards, Damien and Caroline.
When I approach Asher, he reaches behind him and sticks a finger in my belt loop, tugging until I’m beside him. It’s an intimate gesture, but it’s not an unexpected one. Since the shooting a few days ago, we’ve been more aware of each other.
Even though I have Xavier, Asher has barely left my side. He even went to lecture with me a few times this week. Whenever we went, Asher always dressed in black jogger sweats and a black hoodie to keep a low profile. We would sit in the dark back corners of the class, hidden from view, while I’d try and fail to pay attention to the professors.
To be fair, Asher in a suit is sexy as sin, but Asher in sweats and a hoodie? I’m more likely to go to Heaven than find a man hotter than him.
“We’re still waiting on hair and makeup,” Asher tells me.
I eye the group, noting that there’s a rooster person missing. “Where’s Monica?”
“This is need to know. Only security personnel and my family know.”
And me.
I have to ask, “Are you sure this isn’t mob related?”
“I’m not in the mob anymore, Lucy.”
Yet he asked Vincent Romano for these doubles, and Vince delivered them in record time. How does one even find a look-a-like so quickly?
“Mmhmm,” I say, shrugging, but it’s clear I don’t believe Asher.
His finger unhooks from my jeans, and he takes a step to the side, putting more distance between the two of us.
I already miss his touch.
“This is surreal,” I say, looking at the screen in awe.
Asher’s outside the room, while I’m in the security room with Xavier, Asher’s personal guard and the newbie guard, who I suppose isn’t a newbie anymore. We’re looking at the screen, where Caroline and Damien are walking into a boutique on 5th Avenue. They have their hands linked together and look like a happy couple.
They’re dressed in our bulletproof clothes, though the two don’t know they’re bulletproof. That’s apparently only divulged on a need-to-know basis “for security reasons.” I swear, if I hear “for security reasons” one more time, I’ll give them a reason for security.
Instead of telling them about the bulletproof fabric, Asher gave Damien and Caroline super thin bulletproof vests to go under their clothes, even though they don’t need the extra layer of protection. Dare Devil Damien didn’t seem to care, but Caroline was shaking like a leaf before she left, and the vest is doing wonders to ease her nerves.
I watch as Caroline picks up a dress and holds it against her body, pretending to see whether or not it looks nice on her. The fabric covers her body camera. We still have about eleven cameras on her and twelve on Damien, thanks to the guards trailing both of them.
I still can’t believe the resemblances between me and Caroline and Asher and Damien. Though it took almost two hours, the hair and makeup team did wonders with the prosthetic nose and chin they attached onto Caroline’s face. The
y also gave her a handmade wig that’s identical to my hair and looks unbelievably real. With a push up bra and sunglasses on, she looks just like me.
Damien looks pretty darn close to Asher, too. The prosthetics helped fix the differences in their ears. He was given contacts, a haircut, and some hair dye. He also has some makeup on to even his tan. In Asher’s suit, he bears an uncanny resemblance to him.
Vince did a great job in picking these two out. I wonder how he did it. Is there an underground search engine for this type of scenario? Like Google for the damned and deranged? I picture his internet search history in my head.
Browser History
www.StraightTalkWithSatan.com/search=how+to+dump+a+body/
www.BeelzebubKnowsBest.com/search=how+to+conjure+a+doppelganger/
www.LifeLessonsFromLucifer.com/search=how+to+talk+in+a+bad+ass+voice+like+Batman/
www.TheDailyDevil.com/search=so+is+he+into+me+or+not/
www.AskElDiablo.com/search=Oh+shit+I+think+I+like+him+what+do+I+do+fuck+fuck+fuck/
Okay, the last couple searches might be what my search history looks like.
And assuming that Vince gets his internet advice from the Devil isn’t fair.
Vince, Bastian, and Asher—the only mobsters I actually know—have been really nice to me. I’m just suffering from second hand bitchiness, courtesy of Monica, who called Asher a few minutes ago and demanded to know where he is and why it’s not on her schedule. He’s still outside the security room, talking to her when he should be in here.
On the screen, Caroline grabs a random scarf from the rack and purchases it. After it’s bagged, they head outside again. This is the part that makes me tensest. Caroline and Damien are exposed, and anything can happen to them out in the open.
This is probably the fifteenth store they’ve been into, and they’re running out of hands to carry bags. If something is going to happen, it has to happen now. Caroline and Damien can’t keep shopping forever. They have to stop eventually, and it’s almost that time.
I lean against Asher as soon as I sense him settling beside me. The contact eases my tension, and I revel in the feel of his thumb brushing against my arm. We watch together as Caroline and Damien leave the sidewalk and cross the street.
When they reach the middle of the crosswalk, we lose sight of them on the monitors briefly, the crowded New York street covering their exit. I’m waiting patiently for the streets to clear when a single shot goes off. Asher and I lean forward at the same time, our eyes scanning all the monitors, trying to find one with a clear view of Caroline and Damien, but there isn’t one.
There’s only chaos everywhere, as the pedestrians scramble, running in every direction.
I can’t tell whose audio it’s coming from, but I hear someone shout, “Terrorist attack!”
It only makes the chaos worse.
But then I see it, a little gap in the crowd. There’s a body on the ground, and I’m stunned to realize that it’s Caroline’s. She’s lying there on the ground, her arms clutching her stomach over her bulletproof dress.
The evidence is there, right before my eyes, yet I can hardly believe it.
I’m the target.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mistakes are always
forgivable, if one has
the courage to admit
them.
Bruce Lee
It turns out living with Asher is easier than I previously thought it would be. After we learned that I’m the target, we both agreed that a lockdown is the safest route.
Unfortunately, there have also been whisperings of the vote being moved up, so Asher had to act. He ended up starting a new line of hotels at Black Enterprises. Because he’s the resident expert in real estate law and has the most connections, this is the best move. It’s making him invaluable to the company, so they had to push the vote back until the beginning of the next business quarter.
But scouting locations for new hotels also means he has been traveling a lot lately, so he’s rarely home. But when he is here, he’s easier to be around than I initially expected. We have a nice roommate thing going on here, where we leave each other alone until bedtime comes.
Since I let him sleep on the bed after my nightmare, he hasn’t moved back to the floor. And I’m not about to ask him to. After doing it a lot, sleeping with him isn’t awkward anymore. I actually like it. I don’t dwell on it, but I enjoy his touch at night and even miss it when he’s gone.
Sometimes, I’ll cook when he’s in town, and we’ll eat together. But he mostly works when he’s in New York, so our contact is at a minimal, typically limited to nights in the bedroom, where he’ll cuddle me to stop my fidgeting. At times, I toss and turn just so he’ll touch me. I’m playing a dangerous game, but I crave his touch, and with all the time we spend apart, I’ll take what I can get.
In fact, I’m starting to wonder how our lack of time spent together is looking to the public and the people we’re supposed to be selling this relationship to. We’ve only been photographed together three times, and we weren’t even technically in one of the photographs.
The first time was when we left Carmen’s Cantina together. It’s the only normal picture of us. We’re holding hands, and I’m smiling up at him with a goofy smile on my face. Last week, I caught a glimpse of Asher’s phone and saw it as the wallpaper for the home and lock screen.
He must hate me. I swear. That’s the only reason he’d set a picture of me looking like a stupid sap as his background. I have to give him credit, though. He’s really selling this whole fiancé thing.
The second time we were photographed together was a totally un-embarrassing picture of me sitting in Asher’s lap after the first shooting. In it, there are ugly tears streaming down my face, and Asher looks like he’s about to commit first, second, third, fourth and fifth degree murder.
Fifth degree murder is when you make eye contact with Asher while he has an angry glare on his face, and you’re stunned to death by his hotness. It’s like getting petrified when making eye contact with the Basilisk in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, only Asher is gorgeous and came from a vagina rather than a chicken egg hatched under a toad. (Yes, we all know what you did, Herpo the Foul.)
The third picture is of Caroline aka Fake Lucy on the ground, a hand over her stomach, while Damien aka Fake Asher holds her hand while they wait for an ambulance to come. Someone is stepping on Fake Me’s hair, and Fake Asher looks like he’s having a blast. It’s an odd picture, and I hope no one ever asks us to explain it.
But as far as the media and everyone else is concerned, Caroline/I survived because she/I was wearing a bulletproof vest under my dress—not bulletproof clothes. I still don’t know why Asher is so hush hush about the bulletproof clothes.
The craziest part is that picture has been spread all over social media, and people still think it’s us. When I found out that we’d gone viral, I just about had a heart attack, wondering if Steve has seen it. But that old goat would have to learn how to use the internet first, and that’ll never happen…
Right?
I’m in the living room with Eduardo, my so called tutor of all things WASP related, when Asher descends the staircase with a suitcase in one hand and a book in the other. I tilt my head a little to read the title.
Sleeping Beauty in the 21st Century: A Modern Retelling.
I snort, causing him to narrow his eyes at me. I back up slowly when he approaches me. The books I’m balancing on my head wobble dangerously.
Eduardo is teaching me to walk properly in heels, which apparently involves using my cranium as his personal bookshelf. Two of the books are thesauruses, which is ironic, considering the only words Eduardo seems to know these days are “Damn it, Lucy!” and “Straighten your spine!”
“Damn it, Lucy!” Eduardo chastises me. “Straighten your spine!”
See what I mean?
I huff out an irritated breath, my wary eyes still focused on Asher as he stalks my way with a rare
mischievous look on his face. Over the course of our many months living together, I’ve come to learn that Asher can be impishly playful when it’s just us.
So, I’m justifiably wary when he advances on me, even though I know he won’t do anything too ridiculous with Eduardo watching.
“Yeah, Lucy. Straighten your spine,” Asher mocks.
And then the fucker puts his heavy hardcover book on my head and heads toward the door.
I teeter in odd little circles, trying to prevent the books from toppling over. This is my longest record thus far, and Asher is about to ruin it.
Because I can’t help myself, I shout, “Asher!” I’m satisfied when he pauses at the door, his back still to me. “Are you sure you don’t want your book back?” I smirk devilishly. “Don’t you want to find out if 21st Century Sleeping Beauty wakes up?”
And of course, that’s when the books have to topple over, finishing my comeback in classic Lucy fashion. I swear I hear him laughing when he exits into the hallway.
And because I’m a doomed sap, the melodious sound soars straight to my heart and sends a secret smile to my face.
An hour before noon, Eduardo heads home, leaving me with a massive headache, neck ache and foot ache. I hate days when I have to balance books on my head with sky high heels on, but even I have to admit that I’m a pro in heels now, able to walk in them better than most runway models.
Eduardo was appalled when we first met a month or so ago, not even hesitating to inform me that most of his five year old clients are more talented in walking and table etiquette than I am. After thrice weekly lessons in rich people expectations, I like to think I’m now his star pupil. He’ll never admit it, but I know he likes me… so long as my spine is straight.
Asher Black: A Fake Fiance Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 1) Page 19