I Dare You

3 || I Feel Like I'm Dancing Precariously Close To The Edge Of A Cliff

January 29; 12:59 a.m.

Something else I should mention is that when my mom and stepfather got married, Ashton basically refused to speak to Tiernan and me. We have each other's number, but there has never been an exchange of texts.

Almost as nonexistent as our communication, is his presence at the house. And yet here he is, in all his gorgeous glory.

Honestly, he's got the appearance of an angel. Dark blonde hair that's shorter on the sides, with the top sometimes flopping into his light-green eyes. His jaw isn't square, but his jawline is hella sharp, and his cheekbones are amazing. He's got that olive skin that's smooth and flawless, and tan year-round, and straight pearly-whites framed by full lips. And his height of six-four is only enhanced by a wall of lickable muscle (AKA, his body).

But as we watch him from behind the blue couch now, dragging the body of a short, stocky corpse down the hall and towards the door, he looks unnervingly sexy in a dark, twisted way.

He's wearing a pair of black jeans and a charcoal-grey muscle hoodie with white strings, despite the frigid January weather. Asher's face is a careful mask of indifference, but I can see his eyes flashing with something I can't quite decipher.

Then he's out the basement door, carting the body off, probably to bury it. After all, now my stepfather has a murder to cover up — and I'm feeling pretty damn certain it's not his first.

After waiting a good two and a half minutes to give anyone else who wants to leave the time to do so, I mouth, "Let's go. Back door."

***

"Holy shit. What the hell was that?" Queenie paces back and forth between one of three walk-in closets and the bookshelf opposite it in my large attic bedroom.

"Gang?" Rowan suggests.

I shake my head, arms crossed, staring at the sliding door that leads out on the balcony overlooking the woods in the backyard. "Mafia."

"Damn," they say in perfect unison.

"Damn," I agree.

***

I barely sleep at all. At around eleven there's a sharp knock at my door. Rowan stirs, but a glance at her phone and she's back to sleep. Queenie just smacks her lips and rolls over to her left side, away from us.

Rising, I slip on my shorts, and a hoodie; Mom will already be gone to work and I'm not about to be caught by one of the two men in my house without a bra on.

My head pounds. I squint as I open the door. And my tongue is dry; tastes stale.

"What?" I demand, not sure who's actually at the door. My whole world is spinning — I feel like I'm dancing precariously close to the edge of a cliff.

"We need to talk."

The voice is deep and cutting, and suddenly, I feel completely sober.

And terrified as fucking hell.

Because why would Ashton want to talk to me after wanting nothing to do with me for the past year our parents have been married?

I can only think of one conclusion and it makes me want to piss myself where I stand. But instead of letting my fear show, I pull on a veil of annoyance. "Can I brush my teeth and put a bra on, first?"

I almost miss the way his beautiful green eyes widen a fraction of a fraction. Almost being the operative word. He shrugs.

Three minutes later, I open the door and gesture at him to come in. He raises a brow but I just say, "Queenie and Rowan are in here, and if we're gonna talk, it'll be on my turf."

So I pull him out onto the balcony and slide the door shut behind us.

"You are an idiot," is the first thing out of Asher's mouth.

"Excuse me?!" I splutter, crossing my arms, eyes rounded.

"One rule." He pokes a finger into my shoulder.
"My father gave you one rule, and you broke it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Damn, I'm good.

"Don't play dumb with me, Sailor." His gaze is accusing. "I saw you yesterday while I was taking care of business."

My eyes narrow and I poke him back but in the centre of his chest. "Oh, is that what they call covering up a murder, these days?" I hiss.

His hand shoots up, gripping my finger and placing my arm back at my side. "That man got what was coming to him. If he didn't want to die, he shouldn't have gotten caught."

Now my brows rise. "That's your philosophy?" I ask, incredulous. "Hell. I didn't know my mom was marrying a wacko with a son who's equally mentally unstable."

"I'm not — Don't insult my father. Well, unless you want to deal with the consequences."

"Why?" Getting on my tiptoes, I stare into his eyes, the top of my head level with his chin. "Is he the mafia boss of Chicago?" I laugh, but it's a humorless thing. My teeth chatter. The late January weather is freezing.

Ashton sighs, whips his big hoodie over his lean, muscled body, and hands it to me. Underneath, he has nothing on but a black tee.

Guys are a different breed.

I slide it on over my blue sweater. It hangs down to my mid thigh and smells like woods, metal, and vetiver. "So, you're not going to deny it?" I ask, folding the ends of the sleeves over my hands and using the "mittens" to pull the neck of the hoodie up to cover my nose down. It makes my voice come out muffled.

Ashton shrugs. "Is there really a point to denying it?"

I pretend to think about it for a few moments. "Nah, you're right."

For a solid minute we just stare out at the trees, and I begin to wonder where Ashton brought the body. Then, I ask, "What did that one guy mean about initiating me?"

The step-bro inhales sharply, his shoulders tensing. "Johan and Brookes are my age and they've seen you around. If you were initiated, they would have the option of dating you." His face darkens, almost imperceptibly, as he says this. "And there's no point in refusing the impact your looks have on the male population, so they naturally want you initiated because of that. My father, however, doesn't want to involve you in any way. I'm not sure why, but he's adamant about not even discussing the topic." His brows are furrowed. My fingers itch to smooth out the divots.

Odd.

My mind is whirring, face an echo of Ashton's. "If I have to be initiated for someone in the mafia to even date me, then does that mean my mom...?"

Ashton nods. "She's off toying with some unfortunate guy's heart. She'll play him like a fiddle until he gives her the information she wants, then she'll slip him something to make him forget everything."

"And by forget, do you mean...?"

Now he shakes his head. "No. Silene has only killed one person; it was out of self-defense. The man was trying to rape her."

I shudder, but before I can say or ask anything more, Rowan knocks on the door. My eyes slide over to her.

Hastily, Ashton snatches my upper arm, and forces me to look at him. "Be careful."

"You're not going to tell him?"

He grimaces. "My loyalties lie elsewhere."