Asher Black: A Fake Fiance Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 1)

by Parker S. Huntington

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The best protection any

  woman can have… is

  courage.

  Elizabeth Cady Stanton

  I wake up to a flash of light. It’s quick and over by the time I open my eyes, but it was bright enough to wake me from my slumber.

  “Asher?” I ask, groggily. “What was that?”

  “The panic alarm,” he replies calmly from across the room. “It’s a bright light that shines once, followed by three quick and successive rings at a high enough frequency to wake us from a deep sleep.”

  I shoot up in alarm. When I glance at him, he’s already fully dressed and putting two magnets attached to a keychain on random parts of the full body mirror beside the door. It pops open, and inside of it is a safe built into the wall. There are weapons, ranging from an assault rifle to a samurai sword, in the safe.

  “Put some clothes on. Something that shows as little skin as possible,” he says. His voice is still relaxed, as if he didn’t just tell me the panic alarm was sounded and isn’t currently loading his body with enough weapons to fight a small army.

  I force myself to calm down, trying to exhibit the same cool Asher is. If he isn’t worried, I shouldn’t be either. By the time I’m dressed in black socks, black leggings and a black turtleneck, my hands are no longer trembling. I notice that Asher is dressed similarly and take the time to appreciate Asher’s command. Covered like this, we’ll both be fully protected from bullets everywhere but our heads.

  I follow Asher into the armory, both of us moving silently across the hardwood floor. It’s so silent in the halls, I almost don’t believe there’s a credible threat. When we reach the armory, Asher loads up on some more ammo, placing it on some strap that winds across his chest.

  He turns to me and says, “If I don’t return in 15 minutes, call the police and ask for a Detective Jameson. He’s with me.”

  And then he presses his lips to mine and leaves before I can say, “What?”

  A few seconds after he’s gone, the armory doors begin to shut and flat screens descend from the ceiling. I realize that Asher initiated the panic room protocol. When the screens are fully lowered, I focus on studying the images on them, ignoring the pit in my gut that forms at the thought of Asher in danger.

  I immediately recognize Asher’s security team. There are about thirteen of them outside the penthouse doors. Two of them are by the elevators, two are stationed in front of the stairs, and the rest of them are looking at some device attached to the door that separates the hallway from the penthouse. When I zoom in on the device, I realize that it has a bunch of wires on it and freeze.

  Is that a bomb?!

  The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd that frantic laughter bubbles in my throat. I turn away from that screen, because I can’t focus on that without freaking out. All of the rooms are empty, except the open area downstairs, where the living room, dining room and kitchen converge in one large open space.

  There are some men sprawled across the floor. I don’t recognize any of them, so I know they’re the attackers. The three guards that normally stay in the security room are joined by Asher’s night guard and mine. Even with the five of them alive and several of the enemies down, our guards are still outnumbered three to one.

  It worries me that I don’t see Asher anywhere, but I can’t focus on that or I’ll lose my cool. A glance at the clock tells me less than a minute has passed since Asher left, though it feels like an hour. I’ll give him his 15 minutes before I call the cops but not a second more.

  I observe from the safety of the panic room as my night guard fires two shots, the sound silent thanks to the silencer attached to the barrel of his gun. One hits an attacker in the neck, and the other hits one in between the eyes with unnerving accuracy. Two down, thirteen to go. My heart stops as one of the guards is hit in the chest with a bullet. He falls down and doesn’t get back up. There are only four guards left, and I still have thirteen minutes and fifty-two seconds before I can call the cops.

  The countdown reads thirteen minutes and eighteen seconds by the time I see Asher slithering his way down the stairwell. There are nine attackers left and only one of Asher’s guards standing. The rest have fallen on the floor, their bodies lifelessly still. My heart mourns for the loss of these men, but I force myself to push these feelings aside until the threat is eliminated.

  Asher stills at the last step, his body hidden behind the bend of the stairwell. While he stays there, the last guard is shot in the heart.

  It’s only Asher and the nine men now.

  I watch as the men separate into three groups of three. One group clears the left hall and the other clears the right hall. I still, my hand hovering over the panic room’s sat phone, when the last group silently approaches the stairwell, where Asher is hiding.

  But in one quick moment, Asher has thrown knives into two of them and has the last one in a head lock. When the guy passes out, Asher binds his wrists with a zip tie. Everything was done so quickly, so efficiently, that the only sound emitted was a soft thump from the knifed bodies hitting the floor.

  I watch as Asher enters the left hall, where one of the groups of three is still checking the rooms. He attaches a silencer onto a handgun, then slides into the office and shoots two of the attackers in the back of the head before they even realize he’s there.

  The third one is just now entering the hall from the theater room he just cleared. He passes the open office door and freezes. He and Asher make eye contact, and Asher springs into action, snapping the guy’s neck before he can even lift the gun in his shocked hands.

  There are only three attackers left and about ten minutes on my timer to spare. A few minutes ago, I would have thought it was an impossible task, but now I know better. Asher was born for this. I can see that now, in the way he moves, calm and self-assured. Each step he takes has such purpose and beauty, it makes these deaths seem almost stunning.

  That thought sickens me so much, I have trouble watching Asher kill the other three with ease. I move to turn away from the screen, but when I see Asher approaching the door to the outside hallway, I leap into action, running to the intercom and pressing a button.

  “Don’t!” I shout.

  Asher pauses on the screen as the sound of my voice echoes through the speakers, and I watch as his eyes lock onto the camera, a brow arched.

  “There’s a device on the other side. I think it’s a bomb,” I say. “Xavier and some other guards are out there dealing with it.”

  He nods and gestures for me to stay in the room, so I do. I watch as he clears the rest of the house by himself. I’m calm as he does this, because I can see from the security cameras that there’s no one alive but him, but I let him continue anyway. Better safe than sorry.

  When he’s done clearing the penthouse, he approaches the panic room. I press a button, and the door opens, the screens slide back into place, and the sat phone retreats back into the wall. As soon as Asher sees me, he open his arms, and I move to hug him.

  He leads me downstairs, and my brows furrow in confusion when he says, “The Walking Dead.”

  There’s humor laced in his voice, which booms loudly into the room. I jump in fright when I see the five guards rising. My night guard even stretches his hands out in front of him and poorly mimics a zombie’s walk. He isn’t winning any Oscars anytime soon.

  I breathe out, my voice just a whisper. “What the fuck?”

  Asher’s night guard hears me and grins. “Bulletproof clothes.”

  Understanding dawns on me immediately. This is why the bulletproof clothes are only divulged on a need-to-know basis. For situations like this, where the guards are outnumbered and might get shot. They pretended to be dead, while Asher remained hidden and waited for an opportunity to strike. The foresight necessary to have such a precaution in place is genius, and I find myself appreciating Asher even more.

  But I can’t help the jab I throw his way. “The Walking Dead? You couldn
’t come up with something better?”

  Asher shrugs, a smirk gracing his lips. “I thought it was funny.”

  There’s a groan on the floor. I watch as the zip tied attacker blinks his eyes a few times before shooting upright. He freezes when he sees me, Asher and the five very much alive guards. Then, he turns around and runs towards the door, his hands still bound behind his back.

  I remember the bomb on the door and stick my leg out, tripping him. It’s an elementary school move, but it works. He face plants onto the hardwood and slides a little across the floor before one of the guards steps on his back, stopping his movement.

  “Nice,” says Asher, a grin on his lips.

  I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling, too, because this is weird. I just tripped a guy sent to kill us.

  After the guards cut off the guy’s zip tie and cuff each of his hands to separate arms on one of the dining room chairs, Asher says to him, “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and you’re going to answer them.”

  The guy nods warily.

  “You’re not mafia,” he says, though I have no idea how he knows this, but I trust that he’s right. “So, you have no loyalties. No reason to lie. Keep that in mind.”

  The guy nods again but remains silent.

  Asher flips the butterfly knife he’s holding into the air and catches it. “Who hired you?”

  The guy doesn’t even hesitate when he says, “No names, but he was about 5’10”, middle age, and wearing a suit. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a round gut. Looked corporate.”

  Asher pulls out his phone, types something in, and shows it to the guy. “Is this him?”

  When the guy nods, I lean over to peak at the image. It’s René’s company picture.

  Asher continues his interrogation, “How did you get in here?”

  “Some lady gave us a key and helped us get through the biometrics. The client also gave us a file with all of your security protocols.” He eyes the guards’ clothing. “Well, I guess not all of them.”

  Asher nods, and then, in a movement too quick for me to track, slits the guy’s throat. He turns to his night guard and says, “Stage it and erase the security footage from tonight. Make it look like they did it.”

  The guards nod at Asher, and I watch in shock as the guy is untied and sprawled on the floor, so it looks like he was killed during the fight. He’s still faintly alive on the floor, but he’s losing so much blood. It’s pooling around him in a crimson halo.

  The sight is so gory, I lean over and throw up onto the floor. Half of it lands on one of the dead attackers, and I grimace before throwing up again. I run to the closest bathroom, and thankfully, Asher doesn’t follow.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Fate loves the fearless.

  James Russell Lowell

  “Did you have to kill him?” I ask Asher, my arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

  We’re in the office, standing disturbingly close to the three bodies Asher killed in here.

  “Yes.” At my disgusted look, he explains, “He knew about the bulletproof clothes. He had to go. It’s us or h—”

  “Him,” I finish.

  Asher’s right. I can’t fault that logic. I’ve seen firsthand how effective the clothes are and the potential they have for tricking enemies. But if people were to find out about them, they’d be prepared. They’d go for headshots and make sure that those who are down are dead.

  It’s us or them, and I’ll always choose us.

  That’s just the way this world operates.

  “So, it was René?” I ask, even though I know the answer to that. I just need him to confirm it, to make it real.

  Asher nods and pulls out his phone. When I glance at it, I see an email from Owen.

  To: a.black@blackenterprises.com

  Fr: o.carter@blackenterprises.com

  Subject: Emergency Board Meeting

  Dear Mr. Black,

  I am writing to inform you that the board has convened an emergency meeting in response to Mr. Toussaint’s actions tonight. In a unanimous vote, the board has decided to dismiss Mr. Toussaint from his position at Black Enterprises, effective immediately. He will receive no pension nor severance pay, given his actions against your fiancée.

  On a second note, we have also decided to cancel the upcoming vote regarding your position as CEO at Black Enterprises. We feel that you have suffered enough at the hands of Mr. Toussaint, and his claims against your competency are little more than a personal vendetta against you that has already been allowed to manifest itself long enough.

  Mr. Toussaint has just been sent a similar email, informing him about our decision to let him go effective immediately. He has also been made aware of the cancellation of the upcoming vote concerning your position at Black Enterprises.

  We suspect Mr. Toussaint will not take too kindly to his dismissal and will apprise you of the situation as it develops further. Until then, we suggest you brief your security detail on Mr. Toussaint, and we will do the same with the company’s security team.

  Thank you for your time. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to email me at any time.

  Very Best,

  Owen Carter, COO

  When I’m done reading, I say, “It was revenge.”

  Asher nods. “It looks that way.”

  “And Monica?” I ask, remembering what the guy said about a woman letting the attackers in. As far as I know, she’s the only other woman with access to the penthouse.

  “She’ll be taken care of.”

  “How involved in this do you think she is?”

  “She let them in and probably gave René access to the security detail.”

  I remember the late warning she gave Asher about the polo match. “And the polo match?”

  Asher winces. “She probably thought I wouldn’t reroute my flight to Dubai.”

  “But you did, and she was pissed off.”

  He nods. “I’m not sure why she’s doing this, though. I was under the impression that she likes me. I had no idea that she wants me dead.”

  I cringe. “Maybe you’re not the target for tonight either? I was the target for the last two shootings, after all.”

  I eye the dead bodies guiltily. It’s their fault they chose this line of work, but it’s also my fault they’re dead. All this death for me. It hardly makes any sense.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Asher says, his eyes intently on my face.

  “Of course, you do.”

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Not entirely. It’s also René’s.”

  “And mine.”

  I nod, because he’s right, but it doesn’t make me love him any less. “So, what are we going to do about this?” I gesture a hand toward all of the dead bodies.

  There are over two dozen in total.

  “I’ve called Vince, and we’ll g—”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No, you’ll call the cops.”

  “I can’t. If I call the cops, I have to do this their way.”

  “Exactly. Do this by the book. You have enough evidence.”

  “Do I?” He eyes René’s men. “They’re dead. They can’t exactly testify against René.”

  He’s right, but I’m sure there’s something connecting them. “If that guy met him in person, then there has to be something to connect him and the rest of these guys to René. Footage of the meet? Wire transfers?”

  “Are you willing to risk everything for that?”

  I’m okay with René being free if it means Asher keeps his company. I’ve seen how much he loves Black Enterprises, and I refuse to stand idly by while he risks his position there again. This isn’t like punching Steve in front of the whole company.

  This is, judging by what Asher’s capable of, killing René. If he does this, there’s no going back, and I can’t let that happen.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Think this thr
ough, Asher.” I take a step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, tilting my head up to look at his face. “If you do this, there’s no going back. René isn’t part of the underworld. He was on the board for your company, a company that only just cancelled their meeting to vote on whether or not you’re a risk to its wellbeing. You do this, and you’re as good as done at Black Enterprises.”

  “I don’t care.” There’s a stubborn expression on his face. “I have to do this, Lucy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they went after you.”

  My heart warms, realizing yet again how much this man is willing to risk for me.

  But I can’t let him.

  “They went after you, too, so I get a say in this. And I don’t want him dead. I want him to rot in jail.” I grab his hand, unclench his fist, and intertwine our fingers together. “Please, do this for me, Asher.”

  There’s a long stretch of silence before he nods, and I sag in relief, my body swaying onto his.

  He catches my weight and smirks. “Was that our first couple’s fight?”

  Rolling my eyes, I pull back and smack him playfully on the arm. Then, I walk towards the kitchen with Asher trailing behind me. When I enter the kitchen, more of Asher’s security team is there, surrounding the kitchen island. Even Xavier is standing here, which I assume means the bomb has been disarmed.

  “The rest of the guards are calling contacts and setting up in a perimeter around the building,” Xavier says to Asher, who nods.

  I eye the countertops. A few bottles of tequila lay strewn across the marble, along with at least a dozen shot glasses. Xavier pours me a shot and hands it to me.

  I grab it. “What are we drinking to?”

  “The fact that we still can.”

  I down the shot.

  Chapter Thirty-Three