Briar

It’s been a few weeks since Asher brought me to River’s Edge. Something shifted that day, or maybe the night of the gala, but things have been different. Good different. After we finished in the hot tub, he brought me up to his room and we showered together before calling it a night. We had to leave the next morning, before people started wondering where we were, and I was surprisingly sad to go. And if I wasn’t mistaken, I could’ve sworn that Asher looked a little disappointed to leave Dare’s, too.

Dare. That man. He’s equal parts intimidating and beautiful. Jet-black hair peeking out from under his beanie and striking blue eyes. Both of his arms were covered with vibrant, intricate art, and his eyebrows were cinched together in a perpetual scowl. He was the broodier version of Asher, and that’s saying a lot.

Asher was quiet on the way home, but so was I. I think we were both contemplating what our futures held. The deeper we fell, the harder it was to hide. So, tonight, when I got a text from Ash earlier, saying he wanted to talk, it was just vague enough to worry me. I can’t help but think he already has one foot out the door. That our secret is already taking its toll.

My dirty black Vans struggle to keep up with Natalia’s nude pumps as she quite literally drags me toward the music blaring from the two-story house that’s only a few minutes’ walk from the university. Of course, Adrian’s spoiled ass wouldn’t even entertain the idea of staying at the dorms. Unless they were co-ed. He’s going on his fourth year of college, and I’m convinced he’s only here for the parties and fresh meat. It took a fair amount of time convincing me to come, so there’s a good chance that we’re the only sober ones. And judging by the two chicks that are trying to lift their friend, who is doing a fantastic impression of a limp noodle off the lawn, I’d say that’s a safe assumption.

I wasn’t going to come tonight. Wasn’t in the mood after receiving that text, but Nat insisted she needed a wingman. Apparently, she and Adrian have some kind of bet going on, so, she went full-on predatory female tonight. With her incredibly tight, incredibly short, black bandage dress from her mom’s boutique, you’d think she was hitting up the Las Vegas strip instead of a college party. Her dark red, messy hair is tussled in that perfectly imperfect kind of way. Adrian doesn’t stand a chance. Me, on the other hand? I’m wearing black jean shorts, a black tank, and a flannel. Her pursed lips told me that she wasn’t happy with what I chose to wear, but she knew better than to argue once I agreed to come if she wanted a wingman.

We step over the drunk girls, who are now all three sprawled out on the ground, and walk in the front door. “Do Re Mi” by Blackbear assaults my ears as we shuffle through the sweaty, drunk bodies and the cloud of smoke from some dude’s bong rip. Natalia is on a mission, pulling me by my elbow straight toward the kitchen, ignoring the looks and whistles. Once we’re in the kitchen, I’m immediately aware of Asher’s presence. I haven’t even spotted him yet, but I know he’s close. And like a magnet, my eyes find him through the glass patio door, sitting on the beer pong table, smoking a cigarette with my brother. He nods as someone talks, but I know he’s not paying attention, not really. I’m focused on those thick, calloused fingers and the way the cigarette sits between them. The way he draws it up to those full lips and his eyebrows tug together before taking a drag. I hate smokers—I hate that Ash is a smoker—but there is something undeniably sexy about watching the act. I’m just glad he only does it when he’s drinking these days.

“Here.” My attention snaps back to Nat when she shoves a blue plastic cup of God knows what into my line of vision.

“What is it?” I ask, raising a brow.

“Whatever that is,” she says, gesturing toward some mysterious red juice in a bowl. She takes a tentative sip. “Vodka. I think.”

I take the cup, but I don’t drink it. I’m not in the mood tonight.

“So, where is he?” I look around for Adrian, but I don’t see him.

“Oh, he’s here,” Nat says, looking like she’s preparing for battle with the way she scans the room for her victim, eyes narrowed to slits. “Somewhere.”

Just then, Adrian walks around the corner, and his jaw drops when his eyes land on Nat. She ditches her drink and saunters toward him with a victorious smile. He checks her out from head to toe, biting his bottom lip as she gets closer. Once she’s within reach, he holds out his hand, but she bypasses him instead, wrapping her arms around some random guy’s neck. The guy is clearly caught off guard, but he doesn’t dare complain. She leads him into the living room where the music is, and his hands land on her hips, squeezing. She’s putting on a show, rolling her body seductively, and the poor guy doesn’t even know it’s not for him. Adrian’s eyes burn a hole into the back of his head, and I can’t help but laugh. When I grow up, I want to be just like Natalia. Balls of steel.

I stand near the counter, not really wanting to venture outside, but also not having any desire to mingle with randoms. I recognize a lot of these people—some of them friends with my brother, and others that graduated when I was a freshman—but I don’t know any of them well enough to call them friends.

“Hey, little Vale, right?” a guy who’s vaguely familiar says, invading my personal space. He has light brown hair and kind eyes. Very red, high on marijuana eyes, but kind nonetheless.

“Heyyyy,” I say, letting the word linger between us, unsure of his name.

“Tanner,” he supplies.

“Right.” I snap my fingers. “You graduated with my brother. How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Just graduated from MIT and came back for a visit.”

A stoner engineer. Impressive. Before I can respond, the sliding glass door opens, and Asher is suddenly at my side.

“Can we talk?”

“What, now?” Surely he wouldn’t break it off in a public place. Right?

His nostrils flare, cutting a glare at what’s-his-face, probably not liking the fact that I’m making him talk in front of him.

“Yeah, now.”

I lift a brow.

“Please,” he grudgingly tacks on.

I give an apologetic wave to stoner engineer guy and reluctantly follow Asher.

“I really don’t think this is the place,” I say, pausing before the stairs. “My brother is here. All his friends are here. And this,” I say, gesturing between us, “does not look good.”

“I don’t give a fuck what it looks like, and I don’t give a fuck who knows anymore.”

There it is. That little spark of hope that Asher is so good at giving me, just enough to keep me on his string. I hate that it’s there. I hate that some part of me believes it’s different this time. And I hate that it has me accepting his proffered hand and following him upstairs.

He tries a door, but it’s locked. The next one is the bathroom. But the third time is a charm. Or so we think. The room is dark except for a light from the closet off to the right, but I can just barely make out two figures on the bed. I laugh when I hear moaning and go to close the door, until I hear something that stops us both in our tracks.

“Fuck me, Jackson. Fuck me like you want to fuck her.”

Whitley? I’d know that voice anywhere. Like nails on a chalkboard. And Jackson? I don’t even think they know each other.

“You get off on this, don’t you?” The voice that I know to be Jackson’s asks as his bare butt moves between her spread legs, and I can’t look away. Why are we still watching this? “You like knowing you can have what she does? That it?”

“Yes,” Whitley whines.

“Briar,” he growls. “Fuck yeah, Briar.” My eyes widen, and I feel like I’m going to vomit all over my shoes.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Whitley grits out.

“Why not? It’s what you want, right?”

“No!” Whitley smacks him in the face, and to my shock, he slaps her right back. Whitley moans, clearly enjoying their depravity as Jackson pins her hands to the bed. I sneak a glance at Ash to gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look at all surprised. Disgusted, maybe, but not surprised. It makes me wonder what kind of sex they had together.

I’ve seen enough of their fucked-up little games. Tugging on Asher’s hand, I start to lead him away from the doorway. He’s stiff. Unmoving. And the hard angles of his jaw are sharp enough to cut glass right now.

“You wanna do something Briar never did for me?” Jackson asks, and Whitley moans her response. Asher’s head cocks to the side—like a predator zeroing in on his prey—hands squeezed into fists, and I know I need to get him out of here in about one second, or all hell is going to break loose.

“Suck me off.”

I hear some rustling around, and I try again to pull Ash away, to no avail. He’s rooted to this spot.

“She won’t suck my dick, but she’ll get finger fucked in public like a whore. Do you want to be my whore, Whitley?”

Whitley gives a breathy yes.

Ash lunges forward, and I bring both hands up to clasp his face between them. To force his focus on me. I shake my head, silently begging him to walk away. This isn’t worth it. They aren’t worth it. Who cares what two shitbags say or do together?

“I’ve seen the bite marks he leaves on her. Maybe that’s what she’s into. Maybe she just needs a little more convincing next time,” Jackson says darkly.

Everything happens in slow motion. I see the minute his eyes turn black. I see the second there’s no going back.

Ash rips his face from my hands.

Kicks the door open.

Whitley screams.

Jackson springs away from her.

There aren’t any words exchanged. Asher charges at him in the dark, and I hear the sickening sound of fist meeting flesh and bone. I slap at the wall in search of the light switch. I finally find it, bathing the room in brightness, and see Asher straddling a very bloody Jackson.

I bolt toward them, trying to pull Ash off Jackson without leaving him vulnerable to getting hit.

“Stop!”

“Briar, get the fuck out of here!” Ash yells, not taking his eyes off Jackson, one hand gripping his polo shirt by the collar. Jackson’s jeans are around his ankles now, exposing his boxers. He tries pulling them up, but he can’t reach with Asher crushing his abdomen with his weight. Jackson throws a fist, grazing Ash’s cheekbone, but he doesn’t even flinch.

Whitley takes her time adjusting her skirt, then stands back by the window, arms crossed. Asher lifts Jackson by fisting his collar with both hands and throws him into the desk, sending a computer and a lamp flying.

“I told you what would happen the next time you so much as looked at her,” Ash says menacingly before cracking his forehead against Jackson’s. He pulls back, and Jackson’s head lulls to the side against the wall for a beat, dazed, before he regains control. “You’re lucky you’re even alive, motherfucker.”

Ash cocks back and lands punch after punch. Whitley still stands there, looking mildly entertained, if anything. This isn’t going to end well. If I don’t break this up soon, Asher is going to end up in jail, and Jackson in hell. Because he’s going to kill him.

Coming to a decision I know I’ll regret even before I act on it, I run out into the hallway, stopping at the top of the stairs. I have no other choice.

“Dashiell!” I scream, cupping my mouth with my hands. “Adrian! Someone get my brother!” The music is still loud, but my screams are louder. I run back to the room, hoping someone heard me. I can’t get through to Ash right now, and I don’t have the physical strength to stop him.

They’re rolling around on the floor, and it’s all Jackson can do to block his face from the blows.

In a last-ditch effort to get through to him, I wrap my arms around Asher’s waist as he pummels Jackson. He pauses, hesitating, fist poised for another hit. I press my lips to his spine, resting my forehead in between his shoulder blades.

“Please, baby. Stop,” I beg him.

“What the fuck?” Pools of blue that match mine meet my guilty ones as Dash barges in, taking in the scene before him.

Asher whips his head around, panting and heaving with exertion. His black hair has fallen into his eyes, and he flips it out of the way with a jerk of his chin. Dash shakes his head in disbelief, and Adrian stands with his arms folded across his chest, eyebrows pinched together, with his usually playful demeanor nowhere to be found.

“Dash—” I start, backing away, but before his name leaves my lips, Jackson takes advantage of the distraction and clocks Asher. Not expecting the hit, his head flies back, and he stumbles, almost taking me out. I lunge for Jackson, suddenly no longer concerned with his safety. I slap and claw at his face for all of two seconds before he shoves me away and all three guys are on him, pinning him back against the wall.

“What the fuck!” my brother yells. He has Jackson’s right shoulder, Adrian his left, and Asher? Asher has his throat. “Somebody better start fucking talking. Now.”

A feminine giggle reminds me of Whitley’s presence, and we all turn to see what could possibly be funny. She stands there, black thigh-high socks askew, laughing and shaking her head. Next to her is a glass mirror with little white lines cut into rows, a rolled up hundred-dollar bill, and a credit card on top of the nightstand.

“You’re so fucked up, Whit,” Adrian says. “This is low, even for you.”

Her face falls, her eyes narrow, and I already know what’s coming. She’s about to drop a bomb that’s going to leave my world in ashes without giving one, single fuck.

“I’m fucked up?” she screeches, pointing a finger in our direction. “You four want to act like you’re all so close. So loyal. Untouchable to outsiders. But you’re the fucked-up ones. You’re keeping more secrets from each other than you know what to do with.”

I lock eyes with Asher, both of us mentally bracing ourselves for what we know is coming. I want to tell my brother about us. I want to tell the world about us. But not like this. It shouldn’t come from Whitley.

Adrian huffs out a laugh, letting go of Jackson, and starts toward the door. “I’m out.”

“Let’s start with you, then, Adrian,” Whitley says. He pauses and turns around, throwing his arms out in a hit me with your best shot gesture.

“I bet no one here knows that you can’t get it up. At least not without your best friend there. Why is that? Could it be that pussy just doesn’t do it for you?”

What is she talking about?

“No, it’s just yours that tends to kill my boner,” he strikes back, but I can tell her jab hit its intended target from the way that he grinds his jaw and clenches his fists.

“He’s not gay. That’s enough, Whitley,” Dash says in a low, threatening tone. She turns her attention to him, lifting one perfectly arched brow. Dash releases his hold on Jackson, but Asher keeps him pinned by his throat.

“Why? Because you don’t want your precious little sister to know how messed up you really are? How you like to share girls with Adrian. How you both fucked me together, night after night, even in high school.”

Her eyes glow with victory, dying for my reaction. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. I knew Adrian was into some freaky shit, but there are just some things you don’t need to know about your brother. Dash won’t so much as meet my eyes, and I hate Whitley right now. I hate her for all of this.

“And what about you?” I snap. “You have literally slept with everyone in this room besides me. Did Daddy not love you enough? Or is this because of Asher? He doesn’t want you, Whitley. Why can’t you accept it? Sleeping with all his friends isn’t going to make him jealous.”

I know I’m being harsh. I hear the words being spewed from my mouth like verbal diarrhea, but I can’t stop myself. Whitley is toxic, and she’s hurting every single person I love with her brand of poison. I’ve put up with her for years. But this? This is too far.

Whitley’s mouth snaps shut, and her face reddens.

“You,” she says, pointing a finger at me, “are one to talk, Little Miss Make Out Slut. You’ll shove your tongue down anyone’s throat, but when it comes to fucking, no one gets you off like your brother’s best friend.”

And there it is. My pulse races, and I hear my heartbeat in my ears that are now on fire. All eyes are on me. No one speaks. Dash begs me with his eyes to deny it, but I won’t lie to him. Jackson laughs, despite Asher’s fingers closed around his neck, but Ash doesn’t show any emotion whatsoever. His face is completely blank, but I know what he’s doing. He’s bracing himself for the fallout. Slipping that mask back into place.

“I mean, sure, you screwed Jackson in an attempt to get over Asher. But even that was a one-off. Not that I blame you, though,” she whispers conspiratorially, holding her finger and thumb an inch apart in the universal sign for tiny penis, with her bottom lip jutted out in a fake pout.

“What the hell, Whit?!” Jackson yells, while my brother says, “You fucked my sister?”

“Since we’re all sharing secrets,” Jackson shoots back, “do you want to know the real reason Asher had to leave?”

“Jackson, no.” Whitley shakes her head, looking genuinely nervous for the first time. My heart sinks, stomach full of dread. Even Asher seems confused. What could Jackson possibly know about Asher leaving?

“Whitley saw you guys that night,” he starts, and Asher’s grip on his throat tightens. “In Dash’s room. She saw you in the window.”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” my brother, who is rapidly losing patience, asks.

“She knew right then she’d lost him, so she snapped a picture before Dash caught up and sent it to Daddy Vale. He’s the one who had him sent away. All because she was jealous.”

What? How?

My dad has made his feelings for Asher clear, but he would never do something like that. And if he did, he would’ve mentioned knowing, right? Asher drops his hand abruptly, bringing both hands behind his head as he paces back and forth, letting this new information sink in. She did this. I underestimated her. I thought she was just a typical high school mean girl: Gothic edition. I never thought she’d be capable of something like this. I shouldn’t be surprised, yet I still am.

“She was fourteen!” Dash shouts, and from the sheer outrage in his voice, I know this is going to be bad. “You were with my sister when she was fourteen?”

“No, it wasn’t like tha—” I try, but Dash lunges at Asher, only to be held back by Adrian.

“You fucking piece of shit,” my brother says between clenched teeth. “I let you into my house. I trusted you with her. Instead, you fucking preyed on her! She’s a child!”

Asher wipes his bloody nose with the back of his hand and sniffs.

“I didn’t fucking touch her, man.”

“So, she’s lying?” Jackson stabs a finger in Whitley’s direction. “You two haven’t been seeing each other behind my back?”

“Not back then, we weren’t. I fought it when she was younger. I fucking fought it as hard as I could.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“I love her.”

My mouth drops open. Love. Asher loves me. And he’s admitting it in a room full of people. The words are right, so right, but the timing is so wrong.

Dash rushes Asher, and they both go down. Jackson takes the opportunity to slip out of the room like the coward he is, and both Adrian and I try to break them up. Asher is doing his best to block my brother’s hits without actually doing any harm, but after a few good punches, I can tell his graciousness is wearing off, and he’s close to fighting back. In all the years that Dash and Asher have been friends, they’ve never come to blows.

“Knock it the fuck off!” Adrian shouts, separating them with a palm to each of their chests. I step in front of Asher just as Dash throws another punch. Ash shoves me out of the way and I stumble toward Whitley, but I catch myself. I turn my attention back to Dash and Asher, still trying to find my footing when I feel something abruptly pull me backward by my hair. I throw my arms out and try to twist around to brace myself for the fall, but something sharp hits my temple and then…nothing.

Black.

Just black.