Prologue
ASHER
Sometime between waking up this morning and sliding behind the wheel of my car, I veered off the road and crashed straight into “Hell.”
While struggling to unfasten my seatbelt, all my bad decisions flashed in front of my eyes, and every person I’d ever hurt stared me down through the rising smoke.
Okay, okay…
Maybe I’m being slightly overdramatic, but descending into Satan’s lair is the only logical explanation for this disaster of an afternoon.
And I refuse to believe that Hell’s flames can get any hotter than the ones right here in Riley Jane’s Homestyle Diner.
“Can you please get your greasy finger out of my face?” my fiancée, Delilah, screams at our waitress. “Like, what the heck is your deal, lady?”
“My deal is having to serve rude, bitch-ass customers like you.” She hisses, still wagging her finger. “We’re out of bolognese sauce, and avocado toast is not on our menu. I’ve told you this eight times already.”
“You serve avocado and toast separately.” Delilah fumes. “So, just go back there and tell the cooks to put those things together.”
“Or how about, you get up and go someplace else?”
“Excuse me?” Delilah gasps. “Get me your manager. Now.”
The waitress huffs and walks away, and I clasp Delilah’s hand atop the table.
“It’s not that serious, Delilah,” I whisper. “Just drop it, apologize for yelling at her, and we can go someplace else.”
“You wantmeto apologize?” She narrows her eyes. “She called me a bitch! Didn’t you hear her say that?”
You called her a cunt first…
“I just want to keep the peace,” I say. “You’re on edge about our wedding plans, and you’re taking it out on everyone else.”
“Because everyone else is out to get me, Asher.” Her eyes widen. “They don’t want me to win in life. Can’t you see?”
I look around the restaurant—at all the eyes staring in our direction, and I can’t help but hold back a sigh.
Were you always this crazy, or am I just now seeing it?
“You’re supposed to be on my side, for life.” She squeezes my hand. “Right or wrong, do or die. If I kill someone, you help me hide the body, remember?”
The sheriff sitting at the table across from us raises his eyebrow.
“Remember, Asher?” She squeezes me again. “We’ll share life sentences in prisontogether?”
“Yeah, together.” I look away from the sheriff and focus on her. “Look, just say sorry to the waitress, okay? Do it for me.”
“But—”
“For me.”
“Okay, fine…” She lets go of my hand as the manager steps in front of our table.
“Good afternoon.” He smiles. “I’m Mr. Burke, and my waitress said you needed to talk to me about something?”
“Yeah, about how effin’ rude, and—” Delilah clears her throat. “I mean, I wanted to say sorry for how rude my fiancé was to her.”
What the hell?
