(This is unedited and subject to change on final publishing of this story).

Asher

            “You know, I thought when you dragged me along to cash in your favor, it was going to involve a hail of gunfire or a knife fight in an illegal underground casino or something.”

            I side-eye Indy. Hard.

            Instead of cowering like anyone else would do under the threat in my glare, he smirks. “What? Your family’s the straight up,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “mafia, dude.”

            “And? You know I’m not involved in that shit.”

            “Tell that to the guy you dismembered last week.”

            I shrug, gripping the steering wheel tighter and glancing in the rearview. “I never said I didn’t pick up a few things.”

            He scoffs, narrowing his gray eyes. “That was muscle memory and we both know it. You were barely paying attention.”

            Okay, so I’ve offed a few people. Sue me. In my family, that’s not exactly newsworthy.  

            “What’s your point?”

            “This just seems…”

            “What?”

            “Easy. The old man wants you following around America’s Sweetheart. You could do this job in your sleep, so what the hell am I doing here?”

            I sigh and rub my hand down the rough stubble at my jaw, wishing I could close my eyes and tip my head back against the seat. Forget about what I’m about to walk into. Forget about Devon and what she stole from me.

            What I’ll never get back because of her.

            “You’re here to keep her safe, but not from them.” I gesture with my free hand to the city speeding by as we cruise down the freeway. “You’re here to protect her from me.”

            He’s silent but I feel his stare boring into the side of my face, trying to dig the secrets out of me. When I say nothing, he speaks.

            “I’m going to need to know what you have against her. Every little detail.” I glance away from the road for a second and find him grinning at me, the fucker. “Because you might be the first person I’ve met who wasn’t falling all over themselves at the idea of meeting Devon Holmes.”

            Yeah.

            The girl with the million-dollar smile.

            The one every girl wants to be.

            The one every guy wants to fuck.

            Also my goddamn step sister.

            “Maybe that’s because this isn’t going to be our first meeting.”

            Indy holds up his hand. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me you actually know Devon Holmes?”

            My lip curls and my stomach churns. “Your literal job is protecting high end clients. Why are you fangirling so hard right now?”

            I’m not looking at him, but I feel the roll of his eyes. “Way to avoid the question.”

            “Yeah, well… there’s history there. See, little miss perfect’s mom is married to my dad.”

            “Shut the fuck up. She’s your stepsister?” He’s cackling like a fucking witch over her cauldron. “You must’ve done something right for the porn gods to shine their almighty light down onto your life and bless you like that.”

            Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Bless me? Get the fuck out of here with that. She’s the devil. An incarnation of Satan made to walk the earth and torture me and not in the fun way.”

            “Harsh.”

            “True.”

            He must read in my shut down expression that I won’t be sharing more than that, so Indy turns up some nineties pop garbage on the radio. By the time we pull into the underground lot of one of the tallest skyscrapers in downtown LA, blood’s dripping from my ears.

            Not really, but I’m sporting the solid start to a migraine.

            Indy hops out of the car and slams his door. He’s back to being his chipper self now that he’s engaged and adopted his son. It’s like he’s left the darkness of his past behind and, fuck, sometimes I wish I could do that.

            I inhale until my lungs stretch and burn before letting the air out feeling no calmer than I did a second ago. We head for the elevator and Indy continues to speculate about all the ways I might know Devil, his favorite being biblically, but by the time we reach the sixty-first floor, I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears and the pounding of my pulse.

            “Can I help you?” The pretty receptionist asks. She’s blonde and fake as hell but eyeing me like she wants me to bend her over her desk and impale her on my cock.

            “We’re here to meet Ms. Berry,” Indy says, tossing me a smirk over his shoulder when the chick behind the desk shifts her attention to her computer.

            She picks up the phone and murmurs into it before standing and making a show of straightening her clothes, smoothing her hands down the curve of her hips and tugging her silky top so low for a second I think her tits might pop out.

            Her full lips stretch into a secretive smile, the kind women use to wrap men around their little fingers. Twenty-year-old me might’ve fallen for that bullshit, but now I can see through it for what it is.

            She struts on her four-inch heels down the hallway, tossing over her shoulder. “This way, gentlemen.”

            Her hips sway, but I’m bored of the show. I glance away and take in the posters lining the wall within their gilded frames, movies from the past that meant something to someone once. The earth could crack open, Hollywood and its manufactured reality could tumble inside and be lost forever, and I’d happily dance on the fault line.

            There’s just something about the idea of pretending to be something you’re not, the dishonesty of it, that I want no part of. I’ve had enough of that in my reality that using it as escapism feels like a really bad idea.

            How the fuck would I ever know what’s real?

            But this is my job, being here now, and as much as I don’t want to be here, the great Nicholas Mason—aka my father—asked for a favor. That’s not something you just walk away from. Having him owe me will ensure I never get sucked back into his Mason Empire bullshit again.

            “Have a seat. Marion will be right with you.” With one last longing glance, the receptionist saunters out of the office leaving a cloud of her perfume behind. My head throbs at the scent and I try to breathe through my mouth, closing my eyes to try and get some relief.

            “You gonna hit that?” Indy asks.

            “Fuck no.”

            “Yeah, she’d probably be a sushi style fuck at best.”

            I choke on a laugh and open my eyes, squinting at the bright light pouring in the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the empty desk. “What style?”

            “Sushi. You know, cold fish? Just lays there expecting you to do all the work. She might flop around a time or two, but she thinks spreading her thighs is enough and you should feel privileged to be there.”

             Before I can ask him where the hell he comes up with this shit, a tall woman in a power suit and a tight bun at the back of her neck strides into the room. She narrows her eyes at Indy before shifting them to me, assessing. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” she finally says before holding out her hand, first for Indy to shake and then me.

            “I’m Marion.”

            “Wait.” Indy’s grin widens until his dimple pops out. “Marion… Berry.”

            She rolls her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.”

            “I have about a thousand pie jokes queuing up, and surprisingly most of them aren’t about the cream variety,” Indy says.

            “Wow, dude.” I shake my head but stop when the throbbing gets worse. Fucking migraines.

             “Are you two done?”

            I glance at Indy and he’s smiling like an absolute lunatic, but he keeps his mouth shut. Focusing back on Marion, I nod.

            “Good, we only have a few minutes before Devon shows up, and I haven’t told her your father ordered her a security detail.” Marion looks like she’s the one with a migraine brewing, the way she’s rubbing her forehead. “It’s not going to go over well. I’ve been after her to do this for over a year, but she’s stubborn as a fucking blood stain in white underwear.”

            “What the fuck,” Indy and I both choke out. He looks at me with horror shining in his eyes.

            Marion waves her hand around. “Anyway, she’s gotten in a couple of sticky situations with fans lately and it’s going to catch up with her. Your father called me because he’s worried about her.”

            I nearly laugh. Nicholas Mason isn’t worried about Devil. He doesn’t just hand over a favor for worried. He’s got some ulterior motive here, and I’m going to figure out what it is.

            Before I can open my mouth to get more details, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I don’t bother turning around because I know who’s just stepped into the room. It’s always been like this between Devon and me—an inescapable pull toward each other, one that’s ended in ruin before, and no doubt will again before this is done.

            That doesn’t mean I’ll give her the satisfaction of knowing the way she affects me. The way my stomach twists in knots and my skin pricks with goosebumps when she steps into the room. The way every sense is attuned to her like she’s the north fucking star.

            No, fuck that. She doesn’t deserve to know.

            “What the hell is this?” she seethes from somewhere behind me before moving into my periphery. “What are you doing here?” She folds her arms across her chest and glares down at me.

            I smirk, letting my gaze slip down her body, lingering at her full lips and then her perfect tits. My cock goes half-mast at just the sight of her, that’s what she does to me. She’s not even touching me, and I fucking hate myself for it.

Hate that she still does this to me after what she did. My blood burns through my veins, carving a path of destruction as I force myself to remember. Any attraction I’d been feeling freezes into steel, sharpened into a blade. My stepsister huffs and I finally look into those striking dark eyes of hers. Eyes full of lies and a whole kingdom of deceit.

            “Devil,” I say, crossing one leg over the other as if I’m not affected by her at all. “If you’re here, who’s lording over Hell?”