Short Stories

He Wore His Hatred Like A Cruel Second Skin

He glared at the man standing across his desk. He could feel his blood boiling underneath his skin, his face impossibly red. His blue orbs portrayed his fury, the message crystal clear.

The man shook terribly; tremors invading his body. With his head bowed, he managed to utter a few words, "I-I'm sorry, Boss–"

That was, of course, before he was cut off almost immediately by Asher Clark. The most feared man alive, his enemies worst nightmare brought to life. People cowered when they heard his name, their fear for the said person overpowering all other senses they possessed.

"How did he get away?! How did he escape?!" His roar of disbelief echoed throughout the humongous mansion.

He was also recognised as someone "devilishly handsome". His striking blue eyes captivated people, just one glance; that's all it took. There was a rumour circulated anonymously, that his light brown hair, which was never out place, was so soft and voluminous it put everything else possessing those attributes to shame.

His perfect body drew women close like a magnet attracting metal. But he didn't want that, nor did he want to touch another woman. There was no one who deserved his love and touch like Aria Rose Vale did. But alas, she wasn't there to put him to ease, she wasn't there to put his disturbed mind to ease.

But if she was there, then there wouldn't have been anything like this happening anyway.

"How did he get past the heavy security outside the cells?!"

Once upon a time, he was also known for his generosity and loving attitude. The ice around his heart was never there before. But all it took was one night. One night and the man the people knew faded away; his soft eyes hardened into icy glares, his relaxed form tensed up, his body rigid at all times, his soft touch and gentle caresses turned into careless punches and blows, his knuckles the victim of several beatings.

The man, still shaking, mumbled, "B-boss he–"

A gunshot. A bullet wasted. A man relieved of Asher's wrath. Well, in a twisted way but still. A man would rather die than face the torture he could inflict upon him.

The night that changed him; he had lost her that night. He lost the one who kept him grounded. His anchor, his peace; the love of his life. The agony that had surrounded his heart for two whole years now had almost led to his demise more than once.

He couldn't take it, couldn't live with the memories and the night of her death playing in his head over and over again like a broken record.

Back in the present, his breathing turned laboured and he gripped his hair tight, pulling and tugging. This was his secret, with the exception of two people, one of them dead. He had panic attacks from time to time. Sometimes when Aria would invade his mind, or when he'd dream about his abusive father coming back to life only to beat him to a pulp.

Just when he felt like he was out of enough oxygen to ever breathe again, someone appeared by his side; clutching his shoulder and shaking him slightly, breaking him out of it. Damon gave him a few minutes to catch his breath before nudging his shoulder with his own, whispering, "We'll find him, don't you worry. We'll find him and we'll make him pay."

Damon was one of the closest people to Asher. They'd known each other their entire lives. They depended upon each other, they knew they could trust the other with their life.

Who had escaped? Why was he feeling so angry over it? Why was this person so important anyway?

Sean Michaels had escaped. He was so irate and furious because he was supposed to kill him in a few hours, with his own bare hands. He would have taken his sweet revenge on him. He had killed his love, he had brutally murdered Aria in front of his eyes, he had made him watch as she suffered at his hands. He made him watch her cry and plead and beg for mercy.