Asher (Heartbreakers & Troublemakers Book 6) Read online

  Desert sunsets are breathtaking; I can admit that. People who always talked about how gorgeous the sun looked setting over a city skyline obviously had never seen one over an uninterrupted vista. Pink and purple light peeked around the cacti-dotted horizon as the sky darkened and filled with stars. I found Jasper. He was lighting a fire. He stopped, hearing me close the door.

  “There you are. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, great. Thank you.”

  “I have some chicken and potatoes roasting in the oven for dinner. I hope you aren’t one of those vegans,” he said smiling. I smiled weakly. I actually didn’t eat meat, but I’d keep that to myself.

  “Do you own this place?”

  “Yeah. I have it up for rent most of the year, but I drop in when I’m traveling, or when I want to get away. Go ahead, have some wine,” he offered, motioning to the bottle on the small table on the patio.

  “I’m good, thanks. Empty stomach,” I said, giving him an excuse that wasn’t, ‘I want to be as clear-headed as possible if the sun is going down and I’m here alone with you.’ I watched him arrange the wood in a teepee shape and walked a little ways away to chop some more over a stump. I should have felt a little freaked out that there was an ax in his hands, but he was chopping wood. I was from Washington, of course; I thought that was hot. I watched his back as he swung the ax, splitting the wood and wished I was actually looking at his back instead of the plain fabric of his t-shirt. Lean muscles and raw power, swinging that ax.

  “You wanna go grab the food? We can eat out here before the temperature drops,” he said suddenly, snapping me out of my fantasy. I shot up saying I would and rushed back into the house. I thought a side effect of the pills I was taking was dampened libido. I shook my head walking towards the kitchen. I was not going to have sex with this guy. I wasn’t. No way. I couldn’t. Shame on you for even thinking that I admonished myself. The man isn’t a piece of meat. Who the hell said he didn’t have a girlfriend or something?

  Not only that. He literally picked me up off the street. He was being nice. I couldn’t decide that that meant he was into me. If anything, it proved that he was maybe a little sorry for me.

  I searched the drawers for plates before I took the food out of the oven. It smelled great. I was only going to have the potatoes, but he’d thrown some peppers and zucchini in there too. It took a little while to find utensils and to serve the food onto the plates, especially his because I didn’t know how much he wanted to eat. When I went back outside, he was sitting on a wooden stool by the fire with a beer. I didn’t see where he’d pulled it out of, but I guess he sort of looked like a beer over wine sort of guy.

  “Grub’s up,” I said cheerfully, offering him his plate. He smiled, taking it.

  “Thanks, sure you don’t want any wine?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Do you prefer beer?” he asked. I shook my head. “You can drink. It’s fine. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. I looked at him gauging the look in his eyes. The light from the fire danced across the planes of his face. He was sort of rugged, the right amount of scruff a guy could have without looking like a homeless man.

  “That sounds like exactly what you would tell someone you did want to hurt,” I said. He smiled. I sunk down into the stool next to his placing the plate on my lap.

  “I’ll match you every drink,” he said. “Can’t do anything if we’re both drunk.”

  “You’d drink me under the table,” I scoffed. “Pardon me for saying, but I don’t think a few beers would take you out.”

  “I sure hope not. Not when I have a strange girl I picked up off the interstate with me,” he said mischievously. “I don’t like to think what you’d do with all that power.” I laughed at the notion. He was a solid guy. Tall… broad. I couldn’t think of a way I would be able to overpower him without a deadly weapon or a chloroform-soaked rag. The strange girl, he picked up off the interstate… I was a stranger too, I realized.

  He didn’t know me. Me getting in his car was the same as him letting me in his car. Letting me in this house, to spend the night with him. He didn’t know if I was some sort of highway robber who did this to unsuspecting men. I thought he was a serial killer, hell, he must have thought I was too.

  “I would never take advantage of your hospitality like that,” I said.

  “Just let me know if you’re feeling… generous. We could work something out,” he said. I smirked. Was that a come on?

  “Hm, how about if I do the dishes?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t say no to that. What else?” he asked.

  “And… I’ll put them away?” I offered.

  “Keep going,” he goaded, grinning.

  “I think I know what you want and I’m way too sober for that,” I said. He held his beer out to me, and I laughed. I took it and took a deep swallow, just to humor him.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Not tonight,” I said, smiling at him, handing it back.

  “Well, it’s still better than riding alone,” he said. “The wine’s still on offer if you change your mind.”

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that,” I said, giggling. I hadn’t been on the receiving end of flirtation for a while now. I didn’t think he was a serial killer anymore, so it was sort of nice. He was a nice-looking guy too, so that made it even nicer. You could give yourself all the affirmations under the sun; it still felt good when someone else thought you were a piece and told you so.

  “What are you going to do when you get to LA?” he asked.

  “My sister lives there. I’ll be moving in with her,” I lied.

  “You’re there to stay, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “You packed a little light for that, didn’t you?” I looked at him. He wasn’t buying it. Not a word. I shrugged and looked down.

  “I carried everything I needed.”

  “I’m sure you did. I’m sure you’ve called your sister to tell her where you are and when to expect you too.” I looked at him. He wasn’t accusing me of anything, but he was calling my bluff. I sighed.

  “What do you want, Jasper?”

  “I just want to know whether I’m harboring a fugitive. If I’m taking you away from where you’re supposed to be, I need to know.”

  “I’m not a fugitive,” I sighed.

  “But you are a runaway,” he stated instead of asked. “Do they know you’re gone or did you escape?”

  “I checked myself out. How did you know I was a patient at the ranch?”

  “I didn’t. You just told me,” he smirked. “I heard it’s pretty nice in there. I don’t know why you guys keep running away.”

  “That’s because you’ve never been.”

  “Can I ask what happened to you?”

  “You can ask whatever you want,” I said looking at him.

  “But you won’t tell me?”

  “I’ve done nothing but talk about what happened since I checked in. I left it there when I walked out of that gate. I’d like it to stay there rather than follow me around anymore.” He nodded.

  “I get it. If it ever comes up again, you can talk to me, if you want.” I thanked him though I thought it was highly unlikely I was going to talk about what had brought me to Arizona for real. To him anyway. Or anyone again. I wanted it to be done. All of it and if that meant pretending it didn’t happen, then that was what I’d do.

  “Still want to go to LA?”

  “Yeah. I can get home from there.”

  “Where’s home?”

  I told him. The truth this time. We talked out by the fire for a little while longer before we went inside and separated into our bedrooms. The bed was comfortable, and I was a lot more tired than I realized. I stared into the pitch darkness for some time before I fell asleep. We were back on the road before breakfast the next day.

  3

  Asher

  I watched the door of the shop. We had gotten here at the same time, literally driven here in the same car. How
the fuck was he late? Where the hell was he going to get that damn coffee from? Did he go to Colombia to harvest it first? Getting coffee was sort of part of his job, but maybe that responsibility was too much for him. I had only asked him for some because he had said he was going. The other artists would ask him to get them some because he always offered. Anything to get out of work, I guess.

  Ryan wasn’t good at his job. He wasn’t a desk guy. He couldn’t really sit still very well, you know, like one of those ADHD kids. The spot was temporary whether or not he wanted to believe it. We had lost our last shop manager to the fine institution of marriage. He had been dating this Russian chick, and instead of making her one of us, he went to live with her over there. Either he loved her, or he was crazy. Her pussy must have been something else if he was leaving California for the fucking tundra. Best of luck to him and all that. We were fucked, though.

  Until we got someone who knew what they were doing, we had Ryan. He was good with the marketing, especially the social media stuff, but as far as actually managing a business, he was shit. As far as managing me, he was even worse. I had nearly missed two appointments because he hadn’t remembered to tell me that I had them. Why was I even paying him for this? Hopefully, someone would hire him to do something, because as much as I didn’t want to leave him hanging, I couldn’t let him fuck with my business.

  I had the sterilizer going and didn’t have anyone coming in till later that afternoon. Ryan was terrible at placing orders so I’d probably do that while I waited. After I got my coffee. It was noon, but I had just gotten up a couple of hours ago, so it was morning to me. I sketched idly on a piece of paper while glancing out the window. People walked by the shop every day and watching them was a good enough distraction when you had nothing else to do.

  A girl strolling past the window and glancing inside caught my eye. She was holding a duffel bag and had long, tousled hair. She didn’t look like she had come from the gym or anything. Couldn’t really see her face from where she was very well, but she looked like she was heading somewhere in a hurry.

  The door opened and in came Mallory, distracting me.

  “Mal,” I said to her. I noticed her shades and the travel mug of coffee she was carrying, smirking. She’d always wait to have her coffee when she got here. She wasn’t even wearing heels, and she had a pair on every day. “Big night last night?”

  “This,” she said pointing at her face, “is your fault.”

  I laughed as she walked to her station and plopped her purse on the massage chair and then stretched out on it herself. We closed around nine every night, but that was only when the tattooing stopped. That’s the thing about owning your own space; you don’t have to have people at your house all the time. Our parties never got out of hand but the liquor flowed, and it flowed freely. Last I’d seen Mal before just then was with some guy in our storeroom, which had meant that I couldn’t use the storeroom with the girl I had been with. I had had to take her home; this tattoo model that I had done work on: Penina, or Portia—something with a ‘P.’

  “No one forced that tequila down your throat, Mal,” I said. “You good to work today?”

  “I’ll be fine. My first appointment’s in an hour.” She leaned up on her elbows and looked around. “Where’s the clown?”

  “Ryan? Coffee run.”

  “Where’d he go to get it? There’s a coffee place across the street,” she sniped, stretching back out. She’d have to move. It was very unprofessional for her to be laid out on the massage chair like that. While she was, I noticed how her top rode up over her stomach, revealing a tattoo on her hip I knew went low enough to cover half of her ass. I knew because I did it, and also because I’d hit it.

  Mal was hot as all hell. She was the only female artist I had at the shop. Half her head was buzzed, and the rest of her hair was dyed dark blue, which looked black if she wasn’t in the sun. She wore a long-sleeved t-shirt, but it was tight enough to show off her tits which were not real—I’d felt them—but still nice.

  She had tight black shorts on but would look like she was wearing tights if you saw her from a distance since her legs were completely covered. Besides tattooing, she was also our piercer. You could guess almost any body part that traditionally got pierced and be sure she had one there.

  “Go nurse your hangover somewhere else; the massage chairs are for clients,” I told her. She sighed and lazily pulled herself up into a sitting position.

  “Am I the first one here?” she asked.

  “No, I was the first one here,” I said turning my attention back to the storefront. The girl with the duffel walked by again, this time not looking inside.

  “Can I use your office to chill until my appointment gets here?” she asked.

  “The couch. Don’t touch anything,” I instructed. She thanked me and went through the shop to the back where my office was. She’d be fine. She was a good artist. She took her work seriously. All my guys did. That was the only condition for continuing to have parties here. If it started fucking up their work, then they stopped. That was the only thing I didn’t budge on; work.

  Your work spoke for you in tattooing. Therefore, you could not fuck up. People talked about you, recommended you and sought you out when your work was good. They also talked when your work was bad, and that was bad.

  I had a hangover too. I had gone to the gym before coming here, so maybe I’d pumped enough oxygen into my cells to make me not feel like I’d been run over by a truck. I wasn’t doing anything too major today, but just because you only had small tattoos to do didn’t mean you could perform at anything less than one hundred percent.

  Ryan finally walked back into the shop, carrying four coffees in a tray and one in his hand.

  “It’s about fucking time,” I said.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, “I met some people at the coffee spot, and we started talking.” He handed me my coffee.

  “Mal’s in the back,” I told him. “She’s going to need that. She’s fucked up after last night.”

  “Did she end up leaving with that guy?” he asked.

  “Not sure. Why? Would that be a problem?” He shrugged like he didn’t care, but he cared. He really cared. It was a little sad how much he cared because Mal didn’t give a shit. He stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Tattoo virgin, no piercings, his hair was its original color, and I was pretty sure I’d never seen him in anything black. It wasn’t that we had a uniform, but Ryan definitely wouldn’t strike you as a person who worked in a tattoo shop when you saw him. Given the amount of actual work he got done that judgment would be right.

  “Hey, who’s that?” he asked.

  “Hm? Who?” I asked, looking up.

  He nodded towards the storefront. It was her. She was back, standing still this time. Her head was tilted up like she was reading the sign. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders. It was blonde. Her clothes were casual—a sweatshirt and jeans with sneakers. She looked sort of like a college student. Around the right age too.

  “Don’t know. She’s been out there for a while now.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Who knows? Waiting for someone?”

  “She’s cute.”

  “Is she?” I asked. If you were using cute in a general way, yeah, like whether you’d hit it if given the chance. I would. She was cute. Also, too far away to see whether she was good from far, or far from good when she got closer.

  “I’m going to talk to her,” he said, getting up and leaving before I could stop him. He walked out the door and stood against the glass lighting a cigarette, something I had asked him a million times not to do. He pushed off the glass and walked up to her. He caught her attention because she was looking at him next, smiling a little as he spoke to her.

  With Ryan over there for scale, she looked sort of small. Not short, but just about. Ryan was a big guy, tall too. Softer than usual because he was bulking. Summer was over; he didn’t need to be hoe-ready anymore. Her sweats
hirt was doing a good job of hiding her body, but she had something going on under there.

  I couldn’t hear them, but I knew Ryan well enough to know what he was saying to her. He was flirting. That was all he knew how to do when there was a hot woman around. She was smiling, looking down, which made me think it was working. They looked inside at the same time at me, and she smiled in my direction.

  Yeah. Definitely cute. Solid eight or better. She laughed at something he said and shook her head. I put my pencil down because I was a little impressed. Was he about to get her number? He motioned towards the door and asked her something. She looked in the shop and bit her lip. He was inviting her in.

  Come inside, I thought. I actually hoped Ryan wouldn’t strike out so she’d come in here and I could get a better look at her. They talked a short while longer, and Ryan dropped his cigarette on the ground, crushing it under his foot. They walked towards the door, him ahead of her holding the door open so she could walk in first.

  “Hey, Ash,” he said, “this is Jenn, she hitchhiked here from Arizona,” he said walking in. Jenn smiled shyly as she looked around the shop.

  “Jenn. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Asher,” I said to her. “Don’t pay attention to Ryan; he isn’t part of the official welcome wagon.”

  “Oh, I was just looking,” she said. “I’ve never been inside a tattoo shop before.”

  “Well, today’s your lucky day. I was just telling her she could hang out here for a while,” Ryan said. I shot him an unimpressed glance.

  “Were you?”

  “She has nowhere to be today. I told her you’d be okay with her hanging out.” I stared at Ryan. This was the first time he had done this, but that didn’t mean it was okay that he’d done this. This was a business. I didn’t need a friend of his loitering in the shop all day because she had nowhere else to be.

  “You have a job here Ryan, did you forget? Who do you think is going to manage the shop while you and Jenn hang out?”

  “I can leave if it’s too much trouble,” she said suddenly. It wasn’t. She could stay. As long as she minded her own business, she could hang out in the back. I just hoped Ryan didn’t think he was getting the day off because he thought he was getting lucky with that girl.