Shattered Glass

The sky was a raging gray, clouds boiling darkly overhead as the first plump drops of rain began to fall.

Asher yanked his hood up over his sweatshirt and kept walking, acting like he didn't feel the cold creeping into his bones.

The city was always on edge before a storm — electric with tension waiting to be released.

Just like Asher himself.

It had been three weeks since he'd last seen Damien.

Three weeks of pretending to be okay, of building a new life brick by painful brick.

He had a part-time job at a local bookstore now — nothing exciting, but it was enough to cover expenses.

He had a studio apartment just large enough for a bed and a wobbly kitchen table.

He even had friends — real ones — like Kade, who came to see him more often than Asher was willing to let on.

On the surface, he was managing.

Beneath, he was unravelling.

Because no matter how many times he tried telling himself he was a better man without Damien, his heart wouldn't receive the memo.

It hurt him — like a phantom limb, as if part of him had been severed and left raw and bleeding.

And deep down, Asher knew it would never actually heal.

---

He pushed the door to the bookstore open with a jingle and was at once assaulted by the warm, comforting smell of old paper and coffee.

"Hey, Ash," called Mia from behind the counter, waving.

"Hey," Asher said, attempting a smile.

Mia was pleasant — a college student with a bright personality and an unabashed romantic when it came to reading romance.

If only life were as simple as the books she loved.

Asher shrugged out of his dripping coat and darted around behind the counter to start his shift.

The hours passed in a blur — shelving new titles, checking out customers, making meaningless small talk.

It was simple, mindless.

Safe.

Just what he needed.

Or at least that's what he believed.

Until the bell over the door rang once again, and Asher looked up — and the floor disappeared from his world.

---

Damien stood at the edge of the doorway, rain dripping from his hair, his black leather jacket clung to his wide shoulders.

He appeared. altered.

Harder.

More sinister.

But his eyes — turbulent gray eyes — pinned Asher's with the same raw urgency as before.

The world was reduced to one point.

Asher forgot how to breathe.

He dropped the book he was holding with a dull thud.

Mia stood between them, sensing the sudden, hard tension.

"I, uh, I'll be in the back," she muttered, grabbing a box and heading off.

Leaving them alone.

Asher managed to get his voice out first.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, hating how shaky he sounded.

Damien inched closer, rainwater puddling at his feet.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice low and rough.

Asher took an instinctive step back.

"I have nothing to say to you," he snapped.

Damien flinched — a tiny, almost imperceptible movement — but didn’t back down.

"You’re in danger," he said.

Asher barked out a bitter laugh.

"From what? My broken heart?"

Damien’s jaw clenched.

"This isn’t a joke, Asher," he said. "They're coming for you."

---

The bookstore suddenly felt too small, too close.

Asher shook his head, trying to make sense of it.

"Who's coming?" he growled.

Damien hesitated.

That one beat of silence said everything to Asher.

"You lied to me," he rasped. "Even now, you're lying."

Damien stretched out, begging, but Asher drew back again, out of reach.

"You should have kept away," Asher breathed.

"I couldn't," Damien answered, the words ripped from him. "I tried. God, I tried."

Asher folded his arms over his chest, trying to hold in the shivering.

He wasn't sure if it was from the cold or from seeing Damien.

Both, maybe.

"You're safe here," Asher said. "I'm safe."

Damien shook his head firmly.

"No, you're not."

And then — as if to show him — the front window exploded inward in a deafening crash.

Asher ducked instinctively, glass raining down around him.

Outside, black-clad tactical units burst toward the door.

---

Damien was moving before Asher could even process it.

He grabbed Asher's wrist and jerked him toward the back of the shop.

"Move!" he snarled.

Asher staggered after him, heart thudding against his chest.

"What the bloody heck is happening?!" he screamed.

"No time!" Damien spat.

They burst into the stockroom as one of the attackers came tearing in through the door.

Damien shoved a massive shelving unit over to block the way.

"Out the back!" he yelled.

Asher ran, adrenaline burning away the numbness.

They ran into the alleyway behind the bookstore, rain falling in sheets.

Damien grabbed his hand again, pulling him into the shadows.

They ran, skidding and sliding on the wet pavement, with the thudding of boots pursuing them.

Bullets tore through the evening.

Asher yelped and ducked reflexively.

"Move!" Damien growled.

Somehow, they reached Damien's car — a black, sleek sports car that screamed money and danger.

Damien shoved Asher into the passenger seat and peeled out with a squeal of tires.

Asher held on to the dashboard, gulping.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" he screamed.

Damien's teeth were gritted, his knuckles pale on the steering wheel.

"I'll tell you," he said. "Just. not here."

---

They sat in close, terrified silence for what felt like hours.

Finally, Damien pulled into a below-grade parking garage and killed the engine.

For a very long time, neither of them moved.

There was just the tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine and their tense breathing.

Asher stared at him, his voice shaking.

"Start talking."

Damien brushed his hand through his rain-drenched hair, looking weary.

"Do you recall the company my family runs?" he asked.

Asher nodded firmly.

"Blackwell Industries."

Damien smiled harshly.

"Yeah. So it seems they're more than just a tech company."

Asher was staring at him.

"What are you saying?"

Damien groaned.

"My father — and Veronica — they've washed money for years. Arms deals. Human trafficking. Name it."

Asher felt sick.

"Jesus."

"I learned," Damien said. "And I cautioned them that I would expose it all."

He spoke with his lips curled in bitterness.

"I believed I could protect you by releasing you. But Veronica sees you as a pawn."

Asher gulped.

"And those men last night?"

"Veronica's hounds," Damien said. "To remind me what's at stake."

Asher sat back in his chair, feeling ill.

"So what now?" he gasped.

Damien's eyes turned black.

"Now, I keep you alive."

---

The safehouse was an old, crumbling cabin on the outskirts of the city.

Damien reconnoitered it carefully before letting Asher inside.

It was cold and stinky, but dry and — for the time being — secure.

Asher flopped onto the dilapidated couch, wrapping his arms around himself.

He felt like a prisoner again.

Only this time, the bars were invisible — made of fear and betrayal instead of gold and marble.

Damien knelt in front of him, tentative.

"I’m sorry," he said roughly.

"For everything."

Asher stared at him, exhausted.

"Sorry doesn’t change anything," he said.

Damien bowed his head.

"I know."

For a long, long time, they sat in silence, the storm raging outside.

Finally, Asher spoke.

"I hate you," he said.

Damien flinched — but nodded.

"I know."

"I hate that you made me love you," Asher whispered, voice shattering.

Damien's eyes flashed shut, agony etching deep grooves into his cheeks.

"I never deserved it," he moaned.

Asher let out a shattered laugh.

"Finally," he said. "Something we agree on."

---

Later, after Asher had finally collapsed into an uneasy sleep on the couch, Damien stood at the window, staring out into the night.

He knew it wasn't finished.

Not even close.

Veronica wouldn't quit.

Not until one — and, if worst came to worst, both of them — were dead.

He'd dragged Asher into this war without the slightest idea what was going on.

And now Damien's job was to save him out of it.

Alive.

If it cost him everything.

Even his hope of having Asher for all time.

Damien ran his hand along the glass, water running down in tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the sleeping child behind him.

"But I'm not losing you again."

Not without a fight.