Deceit (Gallows Hill #1)

29. Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Eight

Skyla

I flatten the hem of my black dress against my lower thigh as Asher drives down the road in silence. He didn’t say anything to me when I came out to the car, didn’t make any snide remarks about my outfit, my attitude or the fact that I’m dating his best friend. Instead, he has remained completely stoic which is fine with me.

My phone buzzes in my clutch and I pull it out quickly, unable to stop the smile that comes to my face.

Liam: Is he treating my girl alright?

Me: Surprisingly, he’s been mute.

Liam: Good. Just keep your head down tonight, and come home to me. I’ll be in your room waiting.

Shaking my head, I scoff as I reply.

Me: You need a key to get into my room, remember?

Liam: Babygirl, the fact that you assume I haven’t already duplicated your key is adorable.

What a little shit. I’m typing out my reply when my phone is ripped from my hands and tossed onto the floorboard.

“Fuck around with my best friend all you want, but if my father finds out, you’re gonna get all three of us fucking buried. Use your last remaining brain cells, and have some goddamn common sense!” Asher snaps, before pushing his way out his door.

He storms around to my side, ripping the door open just as I unbuckle my seat belt before his hand is wrapped around my bicep, yanking me to my feet.

His dark brown eyes are practically on fire as he sneers down at me, his grip on me beginning to shake as if he were barely restraining himself.

“We are going to walk through those doors, and you’re not going to say a goddamn word unless you are directly asked. Do you understand me? You will be silent. You will be demure. You will be a fucking wallflower.”

“The fact that you think I need a reminder of how to behave in front of men like our fathers is astounding. You’re not the only one who grew up like this. I’m not some ill-mannered degenerate. I believe that title goes to the man who is currently leaving bruises on his fiancée’s arm,” I grit out, as my arm begins to ache in pain.

Surprisingly, he releases me in an instant, those molten eyes coming down to the reddening area before coming back to my eyes. He doesn’t apologize and I don’t expect him to. Instead, he gives me a terse nod, offers his arm and we begin walking up the front steps of Putnam Manor together.

We don’t even make it to the front door before a butler is opening it for us, bowing slightly, as if we were royalty while we step in. Asher doesn’t even make eye contact, but I give him a small smile of appreciation as he ushers us through the foyer and into the grand dining room.

My father and Asher’s are seated at the table, amber colored drinks in crystal glasses before them. Their eyes snap to us, like lions stalking their prey, and a sudden urge to flee takes over me. However, I push that fear away and proceed to put on the song and dance Asher and I have agreed upon.

Christopher is seated at the head of the table, with my father on his left. Asher pulls out my seat beside him while he takes the seat on his father’s right. Gently taking my seat, I make eye contact with my father and give him a soft smile and submissive head dip that always seems to please him. He nods approvingly before my eyes meet Christopher’s.

He is watching me with a barely there smile, his eyes full of intrigue as he stares at me.

“She really is a spitting image of Giselle, isn’t she?” he asks, assumingly speaking to my father but his eyes never leave mine.

My father hums his agreement, but doesn’t speak. I have the urge to ask him how well he knew my mother. I’d assume very well, since they obviously went to school together. Aunt Steph told me as much as she could about her, but that’s only one person’s perception of her. I want the whole image, the whole person. I do the smart thing though and bite my tongue, staying still and silent as Asher is handed a glass of the same scotch our fathers are drinking.

“How have things been?” Christopher asks after a heavy moment, finally looking away from me and turning to face his son.

Asher is stiff and rigid, though his words are as smooth as honey.

“Very well. I’ve been making excellent headway in my studies as well as fortifying new friendships that will be beneficial to us all.”

The cryptic meaning behind his words are plain as day, I just don’t have a clue what it is yet. That’s the point though, I’m sure. Nothing about these men, this society, screams subtle. They are very proud of themselves and whatever business they conduct, they just simply won’t give you the exact details.

A small garden salad is placed before each of us, and I practically jump out of my seat with excitement to focus on anything other than the stiff conversation the three of them begin to make. Happily busying myself with my food, I take small delicate bites, intending on stretching out my attention over each course to avoid my father’s permanent disapproving stare or Christopher’s wolfish gaze that sends chills down my spine.

I’m disappointed Ronan couldn’t be here tonight. He told me he tried to casually receive an invitation, to which he was promptly rejected. It would have looked weird if he insisted but I could really use him right now. He always knows how to put me at ease, make me feel comforted and supported. It’s as if he can sense what I need before even I do. God, I wish he would unexpectedly walk in here right now.

Unfortunately, I know that isn’t an option considering he had to head to New York on an errand for the Brethren. That’s what he told me, at least, and obviously I didn’t pry. I haven’t heard from him since he left this morning, and he told me that he wouldn’t be back for a few days. He did promise to facetime with me tonight once I’m home, so at least I can look forward to that.

My thigh is squeezed suddenly, sharply, and my head whips up from my empty salad plate to find Asher’s eyes on me, his jaw tense as he flicks his eyes to his father who is already watching me. Placing my fork down quickly, I give him all my attention no matter how it rolls my stomach.

“My apologies.”

“No apologies needed, my dear,” Christopher says, with a patient smile that looks anything but. “Your father and I have been discussing wedding plans and seeing as you and Asher have gotten along so well, we thought it would be best to move up the nuptials.”

Yeah, Asher and I get along so well. We—

“I beg your pardon?” I ask before I can help myself, earning another harsh squeeze from Asher as I correct my next words. “When were you thinking?”

“October 31 st ,” he nods, as if it were set in stone.

I frown at that. “Halloween?”

The table goes still, and I can’t help but feel as if I’ve said the wrong thing, but I’m not the one suggesting a Halloween wedding. What, are we giving away candy as wedding favors? Everyone has to dress up in a costume?

“That’s a month from now,” Asher states, taking control of the conversation.

“Correct,” Christopher answers as his eyes come to him. “We still intend to have the wedding celebrations in the spring, but we felt that the ceremony itself could occur sooner.”

“Why?” I blurt out, practically choking on my words when I realize that I said that out loud.

Christopher’s easy going smile slips away, an angered glare rivaling my father’s taking over.

“Because I deemed it so. I set the plans, I give the instructions and you both would do well to follow them,” he snaps, before he gestures to the wait staff and turns his ire to Asher.

“Son, tell me, why isn’t your fiancée over the moon to become a Putnam? Have you been mistreating her? Disrespecting her?”

“Of course not,” Asher defends, as one of the staff hands Christopher a yellow envelope.

Christopher nods like he believes Asher, before dropping the envelope onto his untouched plate. Wordlessly, Asher opens it, pulling out picture after picture of him. It’s not just him, though. It’s him and Bridgette Brenton, it’s him and Marcy Kravitz. It’s the picture of my pillow and the note that was sent out to the entire school. There is even a picture of him, shoving me mid-frame, into that empty grave in the cemetery.

If I allowed it, my mouth would be unhinged on the floor. I force my lips closed though and stare on in shock. The only indicator of fear is in the slight shake of Asher’s hands, as he thumbs through picture after picture.

He swallows once, roughly, before setting the photos down and looking between my father and his.

“I have been discreet.”

In a flash, Christopher’s hand is behind Asher’s head, smashing it against the table, the glass of his drink and plate shattering from the impact. I startle at the crash, but don’t move a muscle as I watch on with horror.

Christopher digs his fingers into Asher’s hair, rearing his face back up to look at him. Blood instantly begins seeping out of the multiple cuts on his face, and his nose is bent in a way that has to be broken.

My eyes are wide, and my breath stalled in my lungs as I watch Christopher unleash his fury.

“You have been everything but!” he sneers. “You have disrespected your fiancée, your match, my own Bond Brother. Your insolence and defiance is not only noted, it is deplorable. If I even hear a whisper of you in a room alone with another woman, apart from your fiancée, until your ceremony, I will personally break every bone in your face while Henry handles your arms and your legs.”

I risk a glance over to my father, surprised to see such a satisfied grin across his features. He stares at Asher like he is eager for the chance to hurt him, blood thirsty even. It’s a look I’ve never seen on him before. One I didn’t even think he would be capable of.

Asher doesn’t make a sound, he’s completely silent, as he stares at his father.

“Understood,” Asher says numbly, not a hint of hurt or emotion behind his words.

Christopher lets go of his hair, nodding once, before rearing back and delivering a punch so vicious it literally knocks Asher out of his chair and onto his back.

“Son or not, everyone will fall into line or find themselves dispensed. Get out of my sight.”

Asher shakes his head, blinking the no doubt stars away before he pushes himself up to stand. My eyes cautiously come to Christopher who takes his seat again, reaching his hand out for a staff member to hand him a towel. He easily wipes the blood off of his knuckles, as he gives me an empathetic smile that truly speaks to how much of a psychopath he is.

“My deepest apologies, Skyla. Normally, I would handle such messy matters in private, but I thought it important that you witness his punishment since it is you and your father who are truly the victims here. The relationship between the Putnam’s and the Parris’ mean absolutely everything to me, as well as my son,” he says, cutting Asher a sharp look who is now standing.

“Should he ever misbehave again, I want you to come directly to me. Do you understand?”

I hesitate, glancing at Asher’s bloodied face as he looks down at me, softly nodding his head. I mimic the movement, giving Christopher a tight smile.

“Thank you.”

He nods in approval, before giving me a dismissive hand wave. I practically scramble to my feet and Asher is right beside me, gently cupping my arm as we briskly make our exit. We don’t say a word as we leave the manor. Asher opens my door quietly before closing it and slipping inside his own. He fires up the car and we are gone in the next second.

We drive for a few miles in silence, him wiping at his eyes every few seconds. It’s clear he can’t see with the way the blood is pouring into his eyes, and not only is it sad, it’s dangerous. A drugstore is up on our right, and I point to it as I speak.

“Pull over.”

“You can get your boyfriend to get you tampons later,” he grouches lowly.

I roll my eyes, surprised he even has any fight left in him tonight.

“Pull over so I can get some stuff to clean up your face, idiot. You can’t see and I’d like to make it home in one piece.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. He hits his blinker and whips into the parking lot without a single complaint. I slip out of the car, fully aware of the possibility that he may just leave me here. I don’t have much to work with, since I don’t really know the extent of his injuries, but I do grab some tweezers, rubbing alcohol, bandages and gauze.

Once I’ve checked out, I’m back at the car, more than a little relieved that he didn’t take off on me. Instead of going to my side, I open his door, crouching down beside him.

“Face me,” I say.

He sneers at me. “Why?”

I roll my eyes. “Because, that way I know what is glass and what is your arrogant fucking mouth,” I snap.

Begrudgingly, he faces me, and I instantly notice one piece of glass embedded just below his eyebrow. Pulling out the tweezers, I sterilize them with a little bit of alcohol before I pause.

“This might not feel very good.”

“Whatever,” he says numbly.

I nod as I grip the glass shard, carefully pulling it out and repulsed to see the size of it. He doesn’t grimace or flinch as I pull piece by piece out of his face, until there is nothing left that I can see. Taking some of the gauze, I soak it in alcohol before applying it to his open cuts. His left eye twitches just slightly, but that’s the only indication he gives that he isn’t a robot and does feel some pain. As I work on cleaning him up as best as I can, his eyes track me, slowly following my every move.

Once his wounds are clean, I’m actually impressed that the damage isn’t near as bad as I expected. The cuts don’t seem too deep, so I don’t think he will need any stitches. I unpeel a band aid and go to put it on the deepest cut on his cheek, when his hand catches my wrist midair.

“What are you doing?” he practically growls.

I wave the band aid dramatically, causing him to roll his eyes and shake his head.

“I’m fine.”

Whatever. I point towards his nose that is slightly bent to the side now.

“What about that? It looks like it might be broken.”

He looks into the rear view mirror and assesses his nose before he pinches it between both hands and jerks. I gasp at the horrific cracking noise it makes, as he scrunches his nose up and down a few times and inhales deeply.

“Good as new.”

I stare at him in shock for several seconds, before I begin gathering up all the supplies, putting them back into the bag and making my way around the car. As soon as I slip inside, Asher fires up the car and we are pulling back onto the road.

We’re almost back to campus when he speaks, his eyes remaining on the road as he does.

“Thanks.”

It’s so low, almost a grumble. Honestly, it was so quiet that I think for a moment that I imagined it, until he looks at me from the corner of his eyes.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” I say.

“Then why did you?” he fires back, as he turns into the parking lot.

I don’t answer when he parks the car, not even when he turns the engine off and turns in his seat to face me. His head is angled to the side curiously, his eyes narrowed as if he was on guard. If what I saw tonight was just a glimpse of his childhood, then it makes a lot more sense why Asher is the way he is. It’s not an excuse by any means, but all the pieces are starting to fit together.

“Because, despite this villainized image you have of me in your head, I’m a good person, Asher. I’m not my father’s daughter, just like you’re not your father’s son.”

His brows cave in as he speaks.

“If you tell anyone about what you saw tonight—”

“Trust me, I have far more interesting things to discuss than you,” I say on a scoff, though I don’t miss the way his shoulders relax, and he eases back into the seat.

This piece of him I really get. Christopher must be exactly like my dad. Image is everything.

Without another word, I grab my clutch and my phone and push my door open, shutting it without a backwards glance as I make my way to my dorm. My head is reeling with everything that happened tonight. From the way Asher’s father treated him, to being told I’m getting married in a little over thirty days. To a man that can hardly stand me, to top it off. I feel myself visibly frowning until I open my bedroom door, revealing a smiley golden retriever of a human laying on my bed watching a movie.

When his eyes lock on mine, he smiles so wide that I can’t help but return it.

“Babygirl! You’re back early.”

He closes the distance between us, cupping my face and dragging me in for a kiss that I lean into, all too willingly. When we break apart, he grins at me, making my heart flip flop as he reaches for my hand.

“C’mon, the movie just started.”

I chuckle at him as I stand in place.

“I want to change and take a shower first.”

“Great idea. I could use a shower too,” he says, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes and shake my head as I move to the bathroom, shooting off a quick text to Ronan that I’m home safe, before setting my phone onto the bathroom vanity.

“That wasn’t a no!” Liam shouts, before walking into the bathroom.

He’s behind me in a flash, his hand on my dress zipper while the other rests on my hip.

“What are you doing?” I laugh.

“Shhh, I’ve always wanted to do this move,” he smirks as he slowly pulls the zipper down, chasing the newly exposed skin with his finger as he does.

It sends a shiver down my spine and forces a deep chuckle to escape him.

“Am I supposed to believe you’ve never done that before?” I ask breathlessly.

“Doesn’t it sound better if I say yes?” he asks.

I snicker.

“You’re such a manwhore.”

“Was,” he says, reaching around to cup my jaw and force my eyes to him over my shoulder. “Abso-fucking-lutely was before you. Now, I’m just your whore.”

My pulse quickens and I feel my chest tighten. That isn’t sweet. Is it? I don’t know. Maybe it is.

I’m about to speak when my phone starts ringing. It startles us both for a moment before Liam turns to look at it, smirking when he accepts the facetime call.