Asher Forrester Novels & Stories

“You weren’t authorized.” The man grins. “I never am.” I recognize him before he speaks again. Not by face—by weight. By the way the city pulls away from him like it doesn’t want to be noticed. “Name’s Ash,” he says. “Protagonist, depending who you ask.” Jonas’s voice goes flat. “You’re supposed to be off-grid.” “Yeah,” Ash replies. “So are ghosts.” He looks at me then. Really looks. No reverence. No calculation. Just recognition.

his voice was deceptively calm, his power radiating off him in waves. Christopher groaned, trying to push himself up, but Asher was already there. Punch. Asher's fist connected with Christopher’s ribs. A sickening crack filled the air. Punch. Christopher choked on a breath as Asher’s fist slammed into his face, sending him sprawling onto his back. I took a slow step forward, watching with satisfaction as Asher straddled him, delivering punch after punch. Blood sprayed, mixing with the dirt beneath them. "That’s for trying to manipulate her." Punch.

Didn't anyone teach him that it was rude to stare? He locks eyes with me and gives me a smug look. His heavily tattooed arms are crossed around his biceps, his eyes a darker shade than Aaron's, his hair is jet black and shaved at the side where he has more tattoos. His bottom lip is pierced, it's like he was going for an extremely polar opposite look from Aaron. Because while Aaron is dressed in a pale blue shirt and light jeans, this guy is wearing all black. But there's no denying the resemblance, this is Archer Ashgroove. "Maybe you can show me to the restoom." Archer suggests to Tony, more as a command.

Every task had always been a job well done. Asher had been listed on Forbes as an under 30 CEO and mentioned as a force to look out for. He had smiled widely when he got the magazine. Aside the money, he had the looks and body. Every model, actress and business women in New York were attracted to him. Asher didn't mind giving a part of him to them. In the last three years he had dated more than ten top notch entertainers and dumped them. He had no intention of keeping any of them. The only person who stayed consistent was Catty. He had not expect her to return after all that transpired between them before he was dumped, but she kept throwing herself at him and since she was always there at h

He lowered his gaze and asked, “Why? Do I look like him?” “No one knows: His appearance is unknown.” “You hate him?” “Who likes a killer? Why would you ask…” Asher looked at her and smiled, but he felt a pang of pain and disappointment in his heart. “I’m not him, but I’ve seen him before at an auction. He was almost stabbed but I saved him and took the hit. He took me to the hospital and gave me his card as his means of saying, ‘thank you.’ Which was why I was able to give you his number.”

He was spoilt and inexperienced, and Asher would be damned if he showed him any level of respect. " Asher Walker " " Damien West "

“Right. How could I forget that?” “You know him well, Boss.” “Don’t ever underestimate that man,” Asher said. “He’s a retired American soldier. He can sense everything—even with his eyes closed. He’s also an expert in cleaning up crime scenes without leaving a single trace of evidence.” Everyone fell silent at the revelation. “You really know him well, Boss.” “Hmm. I do.” --- Liliana’s Point of View I slowly opened my eyes. The familiar scent of Asher’s room filled my nose. My memory returned quickly, and I tightly hugged the pillow, letting out a long sigh as I stared blankly.

He also had a connection to Marcus Volkov, a Russian mafia boss who owed him a debt, Marcus had provided the crucial information that saved her grandmother's life. "Promise me she's safe," Ivana whispered, tears threatening to spill on her face. "I promise you Ivana," Asher said, cupping her face gently, removing a stand of hair on her face. "I will wait for you outside," Asher reminded her, giving her a warm smile before moving toward the door. "We need to make an appearance tonight. My grandmother is expecting to see us together.” Asher added. Asher shut the door behind him, Ivana sat down on the chair near the clothing stand.

Vik and Ryder fueled by aggression and a desire to prove themselves, charge at Asher, Asher clearly anticipating their attack, stands his ground. Asher delivers a swift and hard kick to Vik’s stomach, sending him crashing on the pavement. As Vik struggles to get back to his feet, Asher seizes the opportunity to strike. He grabs Vik arm and twists it, snapping the bone with a sickening crack. Vik screams in agony while clutching his broken arm. “You broke my fucking arm! Ahh!!” Vik says, while groaning.

Asher wore a dark blue long-sleeve—loose but soft, clinging to his athlete’s frame. Wendy sipped her now-cold milk. Quarterbacks relied on core strength for those throws. Nobody moved like him. And his stamina? Unmatched. Asher finally reached the front of the waffle line, his tall frame awkwardly dominating the station. He fumbled with the machine. Those hands that launched perfect spirals were useless here. He skipped preheating, dumped in an overflowing scoop of batter, and—predictably—pale goo oozed out. Seeing his furrowed brow, Wendy stifled a laugh. This was priceless.