Chapter One
Brielle
Ifeel him behind me long before I smell his aftershave. Asher Blackstock is like a ghost, clinging to the edges of my subconscious, haunting my mind. No matter where I go, he's always there—gorgeous, cold, cruel, and untouchable.
I think he carved out a space in my psyche long before I understood the ramifications, back when I thought he was just my brother's best friend. Back before I realized that he's moremonster than man. Back before he made it his mission in life to ruin mine.
By the time I saw him for what he really is, it was already too late for me.
I've almost come to terms with the fact that he'll never let go now that he's gained a foothold on my soul. Almost.
That doesn't mean I don't intend to make him pay for it.
I absolutely do.
Which is precisely why I press myself up against the bar like some expensive call girl with my tits out and bat my lashes at the bartender in front of me. He's cute in an all-American kind of way. Maybe in another life, I could have dated him. But I'll never know, because Asher won't ever allow that to happen.
He isn't a good man. He isn't even a nice one. He's both devil and jailer, someone who takes pleasure in my torment. He goes out of his way to make me miserable, just because it makes him smile. Just because he's decided it's what I deserve for causing the crash that almost ruined his life.
He doesn't want me, but no one else is allowed to have me, either.
The first time I tried to date someone, I was eighteen. It was a few months after the accident. I think I was desperate for Asher to see me as a grown-up, not a little girl. Jude Ricci was my way of making it happen.
He showed up at my door with a bouquet and a devilish smirk. Asher answered the door before I could, only to loom over Jude like some monster guarding the gates of hell. He didn't say a word, just stared.
Jude left the flowers and peeled off on his motorcycle.
The next morning, his motorcycle was dismantled in his driveway…and he never spoke to me again.
Back then, I didn't understand why Asher did it. Part of me, naively, thought he was being protective, looking out for me because my brother, Liam, asked it of him.
Ha.Asher doesn't do protective.
He wants me in a cage where he can watch me squirm.
He's only gotten worse over the years.
My freshman year at NYU, I went out with an artist from my literature class. I was tired of being alone, and I convinced myself that it'd be fine. That Asher had no say over my life anymore since I was in college.
Gregory and I made it to the restaurant. Things were going well until he went to the bathroom and never came back. I found out later that Asher paid someone two hundred bucks and a bottle of expensive scotch to threaten him.
I don't even know how he knew about the date or where to find us.
It was weeks before I saw the photo Gregory took the next morning of his Prius outside his dorm, with all four tires slashed, and a note on the windshield warning him to find someone else to fuck.
It was written in blood.
By the time I turned twenty-one, most of the men in Manhattan had learned to steer clear of me. The ones who didn't, Asher broke. It was rarely a direct threat that they could tie back to him. All he had to do was hint and then follow it up by destroying something they loved, and most guys ran without ever looking back.
He crushed those who didn't take the hint, making it clear to everyone that I was off limits, chained in hell beside him simply because he decided that's the way it should be.
He intends to make me pay for that accident for eternity. I'll never truly be free of him, but I fight anyway, just to piss him off.
"Hi," I purr to the bartender, forcing my lips into a bright smile. He's in his mid-twenties, with a square jaw and icy blue eyes. Cute, but not gorgeous.
I can almost hear Asher grinding his teeth from ten feet away.
The bartender, Corey, according to his name tag, flashes me a cocky grin. "What can I get for you, sweetness?"
