"She didn't know I'd come." His eyes haven't left Jinx. There's history in that stare, the kind that cuts deep. "But here I am."
"Why?"
The question hangs in the air. The man leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, the posture of someone who knows exactly how much space he takes up and doesn't give a shit about making anyone comfortable.
“Because I wanted a vacation.”
Jinx rolls his eyes. “Dick. You could have called.”
“Sorry, didn’t have your number.” The man says, his mouth a thin line.
Elliot clears his throat. “Sorry, ummm, how do you two know each other?”
"Jinx tried to kill me in the Foundry pits," he says, addressing the rest of us. His voice is gravel and smoke, rough like it's been dragged over broken glass. "Put me down three times. Broke my nose twice. Cracked four ribs and dislocated my shoulder."He pauses, something dark flickering in his eyes. "But he didn't finish it. Let me get back up. Walked away when he could've put me in the ground."
"So? If you hate me that much, why the fuck did you let us crash here." Jinx growls.
"So I figured I owed you one." Asher's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Been waiting years to pay it back. Looks like my chance finally showed up."
Jace lowers his knife slowly. "You fought in the pits."
"For six years. Started when I was fifteen. They pulled me out of juvie, told me I could fight or I could die. Wasn't much of a choice." His jaw tightens. "I fought. I survived. And when I was twenty-one, I walked out the front door because I'd killed enough men to earn my freedom."
"They let you leave?"
"Yeah, I was too damaged according to psych reports and slated for erasure. And then lo-and-behold, some shit went down and I was the least of their concerns. They thought I'd be dead within the year. Ex-pit fighters don't exactly have transferable skills." That sharp smile again. "They underestimated how angry I was."
He pushes off the doorframe, moving further into the room. He moves like a fighter, like Jinx moves, weight balanced, always ready, always aware of every angle of attack. But where Jinx is chaotic energy barely contained, this man is controlled. Patient. A different kind of dangerous.
"I'm Asher. Asher Madden. And you're the other Harrison brothers. The whole Syndicate is talking about you. The Reaper, the Architect, and the Enforcer, gone rogue. Very dramatic. Very stupid. But also very entertaining."
"We didn't go rogue," Jagger says, gun still raised but no longer aimed. "We made a choice."
"Same thing, from where they're sitting." Asher stops in front of Jinx, close enough that they're nearly chest to chest. They're almost the same height, almost the same build, two mountains staring each other down. "You look like shit, by the way."
"Fuck you."
"Maybe later, if you ask nicely." Asher's grin is all teeth, sharp and challenging. "Right now, I want to know what you're planning and how I can help blow it all to hell."
Jinx hasn't moved. His whole body is rigid, coiled tight, the way he gets right before violence erupts. But there's a brief moment when something more complicated than anger flashes in his eyes. It looks a hell of a lot like lust.
"We don't need your help," Jinx says.
"Bullshit. You need all the help you can get. You've got four facilities to hit, a Ministry hunting you, and maybe two weeks before they figure out where you are. And yes, I do know all of this because you’re not the only one with friends left on the inside." Asher tilts his head. "I know people. Fighters. Survivors. People who'd love nothing more than to tear down the system that chewed them up and spat them out."
"And what do you want in return?"
"A front row seat when it all burns." Asher's voice drops, something darker threading through it. "They destroyed me. Made me fight kids like me for the entertainment of men in suits. I watched friends die in that pit. Killed some of them myself." His hands clench at his sides. "I want to watch them lose everything. I want to be there when their whole world comes crashing down. That's what I want."
The room is silent. I look at Jagger, who's watching the exchange with calculating eyes. He's reading the situation, weighing variables, doing whatever it is his brain does when it's processing strategy.
"He's useful," Jagger says finally.
Jinx turns on him. "You don't know him."
"Neither do you." Jagger holsters his gun. "But he's right. We need people. We need resources. And if he's willing to provide both, we'd be stupid to turn him down."
"This isn't a fucking democracy."
