Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

SPENCER

B e cool. Be cool. Don’t act like an idiot. Yes, a complete stranger is coming to hang around in the shadows like you work, but it’s no big deal. If Rio and Zane trust him then you can trust him too.

My inner pep talk is shit. I fully intend on hiding in the storage room pretending to take inventory or camping out in the breakroom.

After the guys left, I ran upstairs and got ready for the day. My morning is going to be spent at the gallery so I wrestled my ass into a pencil skirt, realizing there was a glimmer of excitement that Rio and Zane might notice how it accentuates my curves. I did my best to cover my bruises with makeup, but my attempts were futile. The black and blue marring my skin isn’t easy to conceal.

I’m adjusting an oil landscape painting on the wall when I hear the front door open. My clomp echoes behind me as I make my way to the breakroom. Safe to say I can take “expert in stealth” off my resume. The people in The Mudhouse next door could hear me.

My workspace for the day consists of a simple kitchenette with a table, a few chairs, and a cushy couch I found online. The patrons from Clay Creations use the breakroom to eat lunch if they don’t want to ingest a pound of clay dust with their food. It’s a simple setup, but cozy.

The door bangs open and I just about jump out of my skin. A squeak may or may not escape my lips at the noise.

“What are you doing back here?” Iris questions.

“Working?” Note to self: work on my confidence when lying.

“Without your laptop or paperwork of any kind?” Iris lets out a laugh.

“Shut up. What do you need?”

Iris grins at me. “There’s a Viking here to see you.”

“A what?”

“That’s what I’m calling him. It’s either Viking Hottie or Thor.”

“Girl, stop with the nicknames.” I pull a face to emphasize my point.

“Why would I do that when I’m so good at them?” Iris replies with her signature cheeky grin.

Even though Iris makes me uncomfortable by pushing me outside my comfort zone, she makes me laugh just as often and I desperately need that.

“Could you tell the Viking I'm not here?”

Iris frowns. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because you’re my friend and you love me?” The desperation in my eyes leaves Iris unconvinced.

“Try again, babe.”

I scoff. “Oh my God! How is being friends not enough to lie for me?”

“Because one”—Iris holds up a finger—“that man is hot as fuck. The harem you’re gathering could use a third to round out the group. Not to mention he looks like he has abs that any woman would die to lick”—another finger goes up—“and two, that God out there is not the kind of man you lie to. He looks like he could snap me in half with his pinky, and I’d thank him afterwards because that’s how fuckable he is.”

“You can’t talk like that about customers. What if they hear you?”

Iris offers me a bemused smile. “I’m sure he’d be flattered. Besides, I’m in a happy relationship.”

My eyes roll at her antics. Again, I needed the laugh.

Timidly, I make my way to the front of the gallery. Each step bringing me closer to whom I’m praying is not my babysitter for the day.

When I round the partition dividing the showroom and the front desk, my jaw drops. Iris was right. Standing in front of me is a rugged man that I would indeed thank for breaking me with his pinky—or his dick.

He has honey hair tied in a bun at the top of his head. Man buns were never my thing before, but now they are. His thick muscular thighs are encased in denim, and a simple white tee leaves his colorfully inked arms exposed. He really does give Viking energy. I notice his ocean blue eyes are staring at me with indifference, possibly annoyance.

“Hi, I’m Spencer Gray. What can I do for you?”

“I’m your shadow for the day,” he retorts in a curt tone. Definitely annoyed. Not that I blame him. I’m just as annoyed, but his shitty attitude isn’t helping anything.

“Oh. Asher. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s Asher Dawson.”

“Yes. Well, thank you for coming by. I’m sure you’d rather be at home right now?—”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Princess.”

I lift my chin. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s cut the bullshit. I know you don’t want me here and you know I don’t want to be here. I’ve been traveling for work for the last few months. So yes, I’d rather be home, but here I am. I don’t know what you did to make Rio and Zane follow you around like lost puppies, but they’re important to me. They’re my family, so when they ask for a favor, I jump to it.”

“Are you serious right now?” I can feel my scowl conveying everything my words aren’t.

His slow, steady gait brings him right to me. “I don’t like wasting time,” he whispers.

“Neither do I, but I’m not a dick about it,” I whisper back.

“I’m not here to make friends, Princess. I’m just here to make sure no one else tries to snatch you up.”

His words make me flinch, but the hurt quickly turns. My mouth flattens. “Stop calling me Princess.”

“Whatever you say,” he quips back.

I steady a heavy frown in his direction. I cannot believe this asshole.

“Princess.”

My stubborn side refuses to dignify his adolescence with a response. So instead, I turn on my heel and head back to the breakroom, stomping the entire way.

The gall of that man!

When I turn to slam the door, he’s right there, causing me to jump back and ball my fists at my sides.

“You don’t need to follow me everywhere, Asshole Dawson.” When I say his new name, I spit it out like rotten food. I know I’m throwing a temper tantrum, but I’m way beyond giving a shit. Hell hath no fury.

Asher steps into me. With him this close I can see the outline of his pectoral muscles; wafts of eucalyptus and sandalwood invade my senses. I have an overwhelming impulse to unwind his hair and run my fingers through his silky strands. His lips are a sultry soft pink that is drawing me closer. He’s taller than Rio and Zane, and his height only adds to the Viking persona.

“I think I do, Spencer Gray.” My name on his lips sends a jolt of lust straight to my core. My body once again betraying me.

A huff of air leaves my lungs and causes the tips of my breasts to graze his upper abs. The move was supposed to calm my reactive hormones, instead my breathing increases and a heat rises in my cheeks.

He leans in close, leveling his face with mine, lips drawing closer, but not close enough. I lean in ever so slightly anticipating his mouth on mine, but he halts his movement.

“Get used to me being in your space. You’re stuck with me for the next few days.” Then he pulls away, leaving me feeling hot and cold.

What was I thinking? I’m not a fan of Asher Dawson.

Then why was I desperate for his kiss?

After an hour of Viking Hottie—which Iris had decided on—hovering like a damn helicopter mom, I’m ready to rip my hair out. I should be grateful to Rio and Zane, they asked their overworked friend to protect me even if that friend is an overbearing boulder.

A sexy boulder.

Rocks aren’t sexy, dammit. It doesn't matter, I would lick Asher’s rock hard abs if he asked.

He’s distracting everyone, myself included, and it’s frustrating as hell.

Alma was more than happy to welcome Asher. She said that it was time we had some more eye candy in the studio, as if she doesn’t get enough from Rio and Zane. Even Paul struck up a conversation with the man. I didn’t stick around to listen, but apparently, they made plans to go to a shooting range. I didn’t even know Paul was interested in that kind of thing.

The real kick to the gut was when Asher won over Hayes without even trying. Hayes took one look at Asher’s tattoos and they were instant bffs.

Traitors. All of them.

Don’t get me started on Inner Spencer. I constantly find myself watching him and more than half the time he’s watching me back. I don’t like how that causes flutters in my stomach and heat rushes to my center. He’s annoying and rude.

Noticing he’s occupied with Hayes, as they discuss where Hayes should go for his first tattoo, I discreetly slink out the front door and take in deep breaths of fresh air. I know the guys mean well, but I like my space.

The heavenly scent of rich espresso draws me to The Mudhouse. Deciding caffeine is the perfect cure, I peruse the menu at the coffee shop. I do this every time, even though I know I’m going to get my usual: a venti mocha with extra whip cream and oat milk.

As I order my coffee, I feel guilty for sneaking away and decide to order one for Asher. He doesn’t seem like a fellow chocoholic, so I go with classic black coffee. He can always get creamer or sugar from the break room if he has a secret sweet tooth. Maybe some good old bean juice will put him in a better mood. Plus, you can’t hate the person who brings you coffee, it’s the law.

With a to-go cup in each hand, I stroll back to Clay Creations. When I walk through the door I feel better. I needed that little reset, but that contentment disappears as soon as I spot Asher. To describe him as furious would be an understatement, he looks ready to explode.

Nostrils flaring, he barrels towards me. “Where the fuck did you go?” he barks.

I hold up his cup as if it’s obvious. “Coffee.” I muster half a smile.

He crosses his arms and stands in front of me with a lethal stillness that seems to come to him naturally. “Did you forget you’re not supposed to go anywhere without me?”

Refusing to be intimidated I widen my stance. “I needed to get out of the studio for a second. It’s not like I went far. I was right next door. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

“If my eyes aren’t on you, it’s too far. Got it? You do not go anywhere without me.”

I cock my head to the side. “Whatever you say, big guy.”

“Big guy?”

I gesture to his formidable size. “Do I really need to explain it? You can’t be that oblivious,” before he can respond I continue, “Look, there’s no need for us to argue the point further. Next time I get the urge for a hit of bean fuel, you can tag along.”

His only response is to glower. I guess the giant has gone silent. Can’t say I’m bothered by it, but his silence is deafening.

Unsure of how to make the situation better, I give him my peace offering. “Here, it’s just black.” I thrust the white cup forward urging him to take it. Instead, he narrows his gaze at the drink as if it kicked his puppy.

After what feels like an abnormal amount of time, he reluctantly grabs the cup. His fingers brush mine as he takes it from me. When we touch, I let out a small gasp and those flutters make another appearance, but they go into overdrive. I notice his eyes flare with heat. He’s just as affected as I am, but neither of us say a word.

Expressionless, he takes his coffee back to his comically short stool. I go back to working on a chunk of clay but steal a glance in Asher’s direction out of the corner of my eye. I watch him sip his coffee and his shoulders relax.

One point for Spencer.