Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

ASHER

I hate planes. I hate flying. Men my size were not meant to be packed like a sardine in a metal machine that flies through the sky and occasionally shakes.

Mother Nature does not want me here and she’s making it clear.

Message received.

I’m six foot five and weigh three hundred pounds. I take up more space than the engineers planned for one passenger, but driving from Los Angeles to New York wasn’t an option.

I haven’t been back here in months. Not that I’m home much anyways. I travel a lot for work.

My job has made seeing my brothers and being there for important things—like Rio’s birthday—difficult.

When the plane lands, the wheels skip a few times on the runway.

Not cool, pilot.

Thankfully, I was able to get a seat towards the front of the plane and get off this death trap as fast as possible.

As I make my way to the exit, the flight attendant doesn’t hide her perusal of my body.

“Welcome to La Guardia Airport! Enjoy your trip. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make it more enjoyable.” She bats her thick fake lashes and slides a folded up piece of paper in my pocket. She may be discreet about slipping me her number, but she’s not discreet about how she reaches for my dick.

Before she knows what’s happening, I grab her wrist and shove it away from me.

Leaning in close, I narrow my eyes and growl, “Keep your hands to yourself.” Then I turn and smile at the other flight attendant who watched the whole thing from the open door and continue off the plane.

I don’t care that handsy flight attendant is a woman or that she’s smaller than me. Women can still inflict pain, I see it every day.

Besides, she didn’t ask before trying to touch the family jewels. I’m thirty-five, not twenty-five.

My mother showed me the antithesis of how a woman should be treated. I always tell whoever I’m going home with, that it’s just for the night. I don’t give them my number, and I don’t make any promises other than a good time. So, no. The flight attendant will not be getting a call from me. All I want is to see my friends and sleep in a real bed. Not another notch in a cheap motel bed.

After grabbing my suitcase at baggage claim, I make my way to passenger pickup and spot Rio smiling proudly with a neon pink poster that reads “The Wolf.”

That motherfucker. He knows I hate that nickname. If I didn’t love my mother so much, I would blame her for naming me Asher Wolfgang Dawson.

“The Wolf is back!” he shouts across the crowds of people and proceeds to howl which turns some heads.

I scowl at him as I make my way over to where he’s standing. I know he’s just doing it to get a rise out of me. That’s Rio. Good to know that the only thing that has changed about him is the addition of a few tattoos. I’m surprised he still has skin to cover.

“Shut the fuck up, dickhead. You’re scaring the little grandmas.”

“Nah. The cougars love me.” He winks at the white haired woman leaning on her cane standing next to us.

“You’re an idiot,” I say and punch his arm before I pull him into a hug.

“Where’s Z?”

“He’s at the hospital with Spencer.”

Ah, yes. The victim.

Zane and Rio swear it’s the same group we’ve been trying to dismantle for over a year now. If she hadn’t been scrappy, she would have been sold to some sick fuck who would have taken her against her will over and over, or she would’ve ended up in a hell hole where it would have been more than one sick fuck.

Rio called me last night and told me to get my ass back to New York ASAP. The case in LA was stagnant anyways. It was clear my guy wasn’t even in the state anymore. He’s yet to kill in the same place twice, so I figured now was a good time to head home for some R&R. And by R&R I mean busting some assholes who think it’s okay to sell people.

“But he said he’d pick up a couple pizzas from Sal’s on his way home to make up for not being here,” Rio adds.

“Meat lovers?”

“Wolf, you know he’s got you.” Rio smirks, knowing he’s ruffling my feathers.

“Stop calling me that.” I say with a growl.

“But everyone calls you that.”

“Absolutely no one calls me that.”

“To your face.”

“Whatever you say, dipshit. Can we get out of here now? I’d like a shower, pizza, cold beer, and a good night’s sleep. In that order.”

“On it, hombre . ? Vamanos !”

As we walk away, I spot the grabby flight attendant getting onto a hotel shuttle. We make eye contact and she grimaces. Her ego is probably shot, but that’s not my problem. I smile wide and show her the crazy in my eyes. The crazy that comes out when I’m close to catching a perp who enjoys hurting someone smaller than them. The kind of perp who takes what isn’t theirs to take.

Her eyes widen, and she quickly looks away.

That’s right. Next time keep your hands to yourself, lady. You might avoid going home with a serial killer.

Rio rushes me through the parking lot, and we make our way to where he parked my car. With my bag loaded up in the back, we hop in.

Once the doors are closed, his demeanor instantly shifts. Yep, still the same Rio. Hot to cold in a flash.

“So, are you going to fill me in on what’s happening with your killer?”

I mean, one could classify me as such. But people usually call me Asher, shit face, “The Wolf,” apparently, or Special Agent Asher Dawson.

And fucking hell. Rio doesn’t know how to ease into a conversation, not that I expected him to change in the last few months since I’d last seen him.

“We’ll talk about it when we’re with Z,” Rio huffs a frustrated breath so I continue, “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I couldn’t talk about it on the phone.” That’s probably what he’s truly upset about. That I didn’t call and check in.

“That’s what we have the burners for, puto .”

“You can push all you want, but we’re not talking about it without Z. So drop it.”

“Whatever. I’ll drop you off at the house then head back to the hospital.”

Twenty minutes into the drive and Rio still isn’t talking to me. He has perfected the silent treatment. I would know. Once when we were roommates in college, he didn’t talk to me for a week because I ate the rest of the arroz con pollo his sister made.

“Rio, I’m serious. I’m not going to talk about it without Z.”

He gives me a side-eye and keeps driving. This is going to be a long drive.

Welcome home to me.